Tumgik
#mafia!reader
indyluckycharlie · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU
Summary:  Love and obligation. How can you serve one and still save the other?
Warnings: Dark themes. Threats and portrayals of violence, including murder and assault. There are references to but no depictions of noncon. Violent and abusive acts are directed at the reader, but not by Bucky. There is also betrayal, controlling/abusive behavior, death of loved ones/main characters, grief, LOTS of angst, a little bit of fluff, nonexplicit s.mut and sexual references. Please note, there is an element to this story that is a surprise and won't be revealed until about 4/5 chapters in. Therefore, I am not including the related warnings here, but I will include them in the tags in case anyone is truly uncomfortable proceeding without knowing what's coming.
A/N: I started writing this story ages ago, and I've been sitting on it because I put so much time and energy into it, that part of me was scared to share it. But I've decided to let go of that worry and just see what happens. I don't have a specific posting schedule but once I start, I hope to keep up the momentum. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged as I post. Thanks all ❤️
Tumblr media
Prologue: Her
Prologue: Him
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
491 notes · View notes
remusslove · 1 year
Note
"dont even try" is so cute! can we see more of sub remus with his mafia doms?
“Siri, you think we could go outside today?” Remus asked batting his eyelashes. He knew his eyes made Sirius weak. “No baby. We already said no.” His answer made remus secretly roll his eyes.
He walked into the kitchen where you and James were discussing something that looked very secretive. He put a pout on before pushing out his bottom lip. “Hey bunny, what’s got you all pouty?” You asked gesturing for him to come to you.
“I just want to go outside today” he mumbled. “Maybe we can go shopping for an hour, can’t have our boy all bored in the house now can we?” James suggested making Remus eyes light up.
“Sirius! Go get the car!” James yelled. “For what?” Sirius asked walking into the room. “We’re going shopping” you said making Sirius raise his eyebrow. “Oh really? Remus didnt I tell you no?” Sirius asked making Remus turn red.
“What did we say about asking one of us if the other one said no?” Sirius said grabbing the small boys chin to look at him. “Not to. M’sorry. I just wanted to go outside.” You cooed mockingly at his words knowing your nice attitude will fade once you punish the boy.
414 notes · View notes
cod-z · 21 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
| Ch. 2 | How to catch a Spider?
Your media consumption isn’t my responsibility | TW: inaccuracy of things, ooc(?).
Pairing(s): Poly!141 x Mafia!Reader
| Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | WC: 3.7k
Price paced in his office as he goes over through the plans that sprawled on his desk, he had been talking to his planner since the day he and his boys came back from your casino. It had been 2 weeks since you had given them a temp-ban from entering, they don't know how long this ban will last but they needed the information now. You knew who the guy they were chasing after, you knew intel that could lead to their next step but you're stubborn to not give it.
Price kept a vice grip on his phone as he awaited news from his friend, they had been organising to break into your casino, from the interior design when they had first visited, it was well guarded, cameras at different locations, even ones where there shouldn't be. Your casino, your palace was a minefield of security.
The double door entrance for people to walk in and out were guarded by two bouncers, both heavily guarded with weapons at the ready, pistols in holster that's hidden behind them while the rifles sat idly in their strong mitts, they were trained. Trained than the average bouncer, Price assumes at least, perhaps they were veterans or you had trained them yourself?
The guards that you hired around to protect the peace were also highly trained to his understanding, when the brawl had spread throughout the casino, they were quick, precise in their movement just as you were when you had taken down Ghost. They were all alert, highly active even when some of them seemed to be relaxed on their breaks, meerkats, they were. Satellite their surroundings, waiting for any danger to come crawling about in their establishment.
Then there was you, the brains, the beauty, the mystery behind all of this operation, the Queen of the Web, the Temptress of Gambles, the Master of Fate.
You were the eyes and ears of everything in that building, those eagle eyes watching down below your casino, behind the darkened screen of where your nest is, sipping on a glass of champagne. Eyes watching the unfortunate souls that dare to enter your cave and be eaten by the hosts that awaited their presence just like you had with the Task Force 141. You had known of their arrival, you had waited for them to enter your den and you took a bite out of them, their ego and pride laid damage when they had left.
Whatever this sick and twisted game you play of the cat and mouse had them quivering in their knees.
Price had to deal with the horrors of the battlefield, had dealt with enemies worse than you, had grazed death's doorstep, and not once had he ever felt fear. Not until he met you.
You weren't a foe nor a friend, yet that sickening feeling of fear made his throat hitch, gagging on nothing, nauseas, felt goosebumps spread throughout his body, the hair on his neck rising as if he were staring at a beast that looked at them with hunger. That sweet, false smile plastered onto your face reminded him of that crazy cat in Alice in Wonderland or that pale faced Creepypasta he saw on the internet that one time. Hated the eternal smiles because anything could be hidden through the fake innocence of a smile.
Something about false innocence irked Price to the bones. Whenever someone acts too sweet and kind, later showing the true intentions scared him. The fact that you can smile while doing something so inhumane, so cruel and corrupting, never settled right with him. Sure, he has done a lot of things beyond humane, but he never smiled about it, occasionally relinquishing through anger or burying it deep into his soul, and uses stoicism like Ghost, to hide it all. But a smile? It showed something more unstable within that person.
Insanity.
Price felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought of evils that you hid behind that sadistic smile, that mentally broken mind of yours and what you had done to deserve so much fearful respect, that your clienteles didn't utter a single word when you had exterminated that man. During the execution he glanced at you for the quick second, he found nothing but a pair of eyes that held no colour, no emotions, no remorse, just a steel wall that couldn't be penetrated. A story that had yet to see the light of day, guarded by a monster that gorges on fear and screams.
A high pitched ring echoed throughout the room, Price's thoughts being interrupted by the sudden noise as he jolts where he stood. His hands bolted towards his phone before clicking the green button, answering and placing it between his right shoulder and ear, sitting back down on his seat while grabbing the plans and documents.
"Price."
"Leonardo."
"Don't call me that, old man."
Price lets out a hefty chuckle at the nickname, he's heard it from the others, especially Soap but hearing it from an old friend felt rejuvenating, familiar.
"Status?"
"I'm not your soldiers, Price, but sad to say there's not much we can gather," Price groans quietly, irritated, nothing again. "Whoever you're after Price, whatever ties you have with them, better sever it."
"If only. Need intel from 'em."
"Laswell still got nothin'?"
"No."
Throughout their investigation, the only other valuable information that they've understood was that, all, your clients were hidden under your hand. Names and occupations only showed just the same as yours, every client, regulars, some who don't visit often. Hidden. Their lives disappear as if they never existed in the planes of existence, their names being the only fragment that indicated that they had even existed. It was unusual to say the least, it left Price and Laswell baffled.
Why these people?
Why were they kept secret?
Is it all of your clients that entered the casino?
The last question being answered. A list of thousands if not, millions of people, filled their screens. Many millionaires and billionaires on that list, people who were in higher status, famous people. They were all connected to you in some way, the opulents were connected through casinos throughout the world. People who had seniority, connected through rented or purchased buildings that you had owned. Luminaries were stationed at villas and radio broadcasts signed by your father's name in which now in your name.
The Queen's Web.
You were global. You knew who people were. You know people's lives. And yet, no one knows you. You hide behind shadows, watching your subjects draw in new prey. Watching your minions fight amongst each other, brainwashed by the circular, golden metal, or the lushed, green, paper that you dangle in front of their faces - waiting - for them to take a bite, before lunging at them with your own fangs, injecting them with toxins that corrupts them into doing your bidding.
Price scratches at the table, the thought of what you were capable of scared him, the amount of people you knew was vast and at your command.
He's seen it, heard it, from you.
That sickening giggle ruptured from your throat while you held down Ghost, him, lying on his stomach, his arm twisted around his back while you hold his wrist above him, your foot pressed upon his right shoulder, pinning him down and immobilising him. Your eyes held no false sweetness from before as you mockingly cackle at his pathetic form, the feared Ghost, is now under your mercy. You hadn't broken his arm, no, you weren't after physical damage, Price noticed.
You wanted to squish the pride that Ghost held inside him, extinguish that flame inside him along with his ego, leave him to be a more broken man because he was defeated by someone more fragile than he was.
Your smile flattening into a line as your eyes squinted and became cold, glaring down at Ghost before looking at the other three in the room, the glare sending a chill down their backs for the third time that night.
"Is this really it? Task Force 141?"
The mockery hidden behind the seriousness of your tone, the degradation that you spat out at them through your tinted, red lips. No one dares to say anything, they didn't even give you a glare, they just stared at you with shock and fear. It fueled you and they could tell, they mentally battled to stop acting out of character but they couldn't.
"Pathetic."
It stung. That word stung. Just as before, they didn't know why your words made them feel like they were nothing but dirt, like gum that was stuck underneath your shoe, it damaged their pride, their ego, their confidence. Mixed with your distasteful glare, it didn't help, it made their throat dry, hoarse.
They didn't say anything. Not even when you had told them that they were temporarily banned from entering your casino, the reasoning that you spouted out were muffled by their own thoughts while they stared at Ghost. Battered, bruised, small bits of blood on his body and mask. Their silence being the last thing before you had kicked them out with the help of your guards.
That single click of your figure, embedded into Price's brain, the way they mindlessly obey your order through a sound and the nod of your head. The guards were much bulkier, stronger, taller than you were and yet they didn't question your commands, were they afraid of you? No, they respected you but why?
Price continued to pace in his office, his hands brushing through his messy hair, he had been pulling, ruffling, plucking out of stress and anger, unable to decipher you or the security walls on his screen.
He had another profile up, another random regular that you know, that you had interacted with before - he hopes - that maybe the outcome would be different, a mess-up that you had forgot to put up a security wall on it. To his dismay, the same result, another security that he was unable to breach, not even Laswell or her team could bypass it, not Gaz either.
He slams that laptop shut before yelling out in his office, the tea on his desk long gone cold, papers scattered around his office, the pin board fueled with pinned information and pictures gathered in different areas, the pins scattered with aligning threads indicating that they linked. Except for the thread in Price's hand, unbeknownst to him it was your favourite colour.
He had yet to link you to the colourful mess of his pin board, none of the details making you fit in, the little knowledge that surrounded your picture was only your name and the occupation that you had given along with the fact that you're worldwide business, even that doesn't quite fit you. You didn't act or seem like the part that you're a business woman.
You were adamant on giving documentation, you didn't care for your casino like an owner would, sure, you'd watched what was going on but you didn't do anything to stop it. Though the only time you did interfere was because you had guests.
Price lets out a hefty sigh, murmuring underneath his breath before falling onto his chair, the chair squeaking at the sudden impact and swaying a little as he adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. He swivels his chair to face his desk, placing his elbows on the rough surface before leaning forward, his hands bawled and his forehead rests against them.
"Price, you solid?"
Right, he was on a call.
"I'm solid."
"You still in?"
In? What was Leonardo talking about? Was Price that out of it?
"Sorry, repeat."
A sigh, could be heard through the phone before the sound of papers being moved, the sound of shuffling and the scrapping sound of a chair being moved forward.
"Listen, I'll help out," Price perks a little. "But..."
"But what?"
"This person that you're dealing with, they're..."
"What Leon?" Price was agitated as it is, he needed answers, he needed information. Secrets and the unknown is still foreign to him even with his line of work.
"I think they're part of the mafia."
Tumblr media
The room was silent. Air suffocating as they wait. Price stood at the head of the table, Ghost sat to his right and Gaz to his left, Soap sat left next to Ghost. The three of them felt uneasy at the sudden briefing, no one had been informed of Price's findings, Leon's findings, before being summoned to the room with nothing but their casual wear. Ghost returning from the gym, Gaz coming from the rec room and Soap who came out of his room from a nap.
"Why are we here? We got nae info," Soap mutters, rubbing his eyes while he yawned, still trying to wake himself from his small nap.
"We do now."
The double doors open, Laswell and Price's companion walked through. The man was above 6ft, brown hair stylised in a soft undercut, though there was a streak of grey mainly on the left side, his balbo beard matching the same, he also wore a rectangular shaped, black glasses. However his ragged clothes mismatched his facial appearance, dressed up like Price when he's gone on a fishing trip, minus the fishing gear and the hat.
"The names Leonardo."
Soap opens his mouth, quickly being shutted up.
"Not Leonardo DiCaprio," Leon pinches the ridge of his nose. His glasses being pushed up by his index and thumb as his massages the ridge, the annoyed sigh making Price bite back a chuckle earning a glare from his friend. Laswell already earned herself a headache, clears her throat, the room being silence once more.
Ruffled papers being slapped down onto the table, Laswell’s hand graces through them spreading them out separately. Profiles being shown to the people in the room, her body leaning over the desk as she goes over what Leonardo had discovered through his findings.
“How can we know this is legit?”
Leonardo scoffs at Gaz’s question, his arms folded across his chest while holding a small grin, he pushes the middle of his glasses, the shine being reflected.
“I’ve been following a lead, trying to see when or how new people get into the system,” he throws a few photos in front of the group, one of a snooty, old hag and another of a handsome, young lad about in his 30s at least.
“These two are new in town, fresh meat for the taking. Both are very wealthy, narcissistic, though they have… a partnership, illegal business running underground,” Leon pulls another photo out of a warehouse. “Suppliers of guns and weaponry, imported illegally. Manufacturers, unknown.”
“From what we’ve gathered, the weapons that they hold are rather powerful. Bombs and grenades, having more impact than military standard, guns that are designed to be more lethal, brutal but easier to handle and travel with and rumours are flying that they have rockets, missiles located on innominate islands, close enough to have quick hits but far enough that it won’t be picked up on radar or found by the government,” Leon fired out polaroids after polaroids, mainly in black and white, hefty amounts of them were blurred, some were decipherable but the rest, useless.
Gaz grabs a polaroid. The weapons laid across the table, it seemed ordinary enough, nothing out of the usual, a basic rifle. His brows furrow the more he stared at it, unscrambling the puzzles that were in front of him, the same being said with his team.
“Why them?” Surely there were better suppliers out there and with the amount of connections that you had, could’ve went straight to the source. Yet you didn’t.
“That— we don’t know,” Leon sighs heavily, staring at all the pictures, documents, the reasoning has yet to be found. A moment of silence lingers in the room, everyone rifling through the documentation that was on the table, rooting it into their minds.
"So what's the plan?"
All of their gaze lands on Ghost, the skull-faced man staring at Price, Laswell and Leonardo. Leon's brows furrowed as he takes a deep breath in before rounding up the papers and pictures on the table, putting them in a specific order and organising them, his eyes focused intensely as he analysis each one, remembering which puzzle piece fits with which.
"I've tried to find blueprints for the casino to no avail, keeping that as a secret too," he takes out an A2 piece of paper, draping over carefully at the top of the desk. Completed and faded lines scattered throughout the piece of paper, a map that's uncompleted. "I tried to go by what you've seen, what you told me, what I've seen through the pictures and such, and this is all I got so far."
Leonardo grabs out a black marker, the tip touching the page as he starts lining some of them up to give a clearer picture, his eyes and brain trying to work together to complete the missing blank areas. The others trying to help with their own knowledge, what others haven't seen when they haven't paid attention, somehow, a miracle that they managed to have a decent enough - guessed - blueprint of your casino. If this was any other situation they wouldn't have gone with it, but this entire ordeal was strange and new, the unknown was something that they never get to deal with head on. Always a back-up, an insight of what the unknown could have, yet you had hid everything from everyone, from them. A void that truly defines risk.
The six of them work overtime, planning to enter your casino. Taking them 2 more weeks to plan outcomes that are more likely to happen, going off on nothing but guesses and memories. So foreign to them, feeling like they're more of spies than a Task Force for the SAS, sure they had stake-outs, lurking in the shadows but this was something else.
The impression that you had left on them made them delusional and overthink the scenarios. Your strength and speed to take down Ghost, the amount of guards and security unknown to them, the regulars that enter your casino could be a liability.
Soap lays slumped against the sofa armrest, his hand rubbing against the temple of his head from the restless nights and from the planning, thinking of the break-in.
"Ah swear, if this is all for nothin' ah'm gonna shoot myself."
Gaz chuckles as he pries his eyes off the screen of his laptop, the blue hue emphasising the black bags underneath his eyes, clearly from the lack of sleep that he suffers with the others.
"For once, I agree with you," the Scotsman glances towards his friend with a small, tired grin etched onto his face. Both of them seemed more pale, messier, dragged from everything that was happening during the two weeks. "Then we can all just, relax."
Silence.
The two of them laugh at the idea to relax, their work of line never allowing that piece of paradise even during the night where their minds were fueled with nightmares of the battlefield and things that they have seen. Soap heaves out as his laughs stutter into a sigh, using a finger to wipe away the tear that built up.
"Nice one, Garrick," Soap grabs a beer bottle next to the sofa and tosses one to Gaz which he caught. "But really tho' I hope this is all worth it, tha' bonnie really got us runnin' for our money."
"Information."
"Ye ken what I mean," Soap opened his own beer before taking a sip of it, the slight burn going down his throat as he pulled away with a satisfied groan.
"'ope we're not celebrating yet, boys," Leon leans against the doorframe with a tired looking Price behind him. Price rubbing his temples from the lightning and the same reason why everyone was tired.
"Nae, just a wee break before the mission," Soap nods, raising the bottle in his hand.
"Fuck it, pass me one."
Sooner or later everyone was in the rec room finalising the plan as they drank, staying sober but keeping their blood pumping with the alcohol. The next day, early in the morning they gather their resources and equipment, securing everything into place, going it over once again even with the slight buzz in their head from the night before as well with the minor sleep that they had from passing out.
During the night they head towards the casino through a rental, burrowed from close relatives of Soap's, parking a few blocks down to your casino. Eyes focused on the bright colours of your sign as it flashed off and on, watching the regulars entering, hearing the chatter and gossips.
Price grumbles as he tucks away the small mic into his suit. "Ready boys?" he asks before stepping out of the car.
Ghost stands on the balcony over the poker tables, adjusting his cuffs, turning and twisting it as he hides a weapon underneath the sleeves before reaching over his face and presses down a fake brunette moustache and slicks back the wig. "Rog."
Gaz entered inside the building with a bald cap, a fake, black handlebar moustache, matching with a pointy, tipped beard, his attire of silver, silk suit and a black tie. "Landed in."
"Why do ah have to wear a dress?" Soap grumbles through the comms. Gaz huffs out a strained chuckle, Ghost leaned over the balcony to compose himself quickly before hearing Price stifle a laugh.
"We needed one female," Leon states over comms.
"Shouldn' Gaz be in this instead? He's more petite than ah."
"HEY!"
"Well, he said 'not it' first," Leon chuckles, making Soap grumble as he enters through the side exits. The navy blue dress loosely hanging around the back as the ruffles cover the cleavage area.
"The corset is killin' me, this is why I never question my sisters when they dress so pretty like," Soap whines more as he adjusts the front, the heels digging into his ankles, knowing those were going to chafe. The blonde wig he wore already irritated his scalp. In his 'best' female voice, answers; "Lass on duty."
"Pfft- Eyes and Ears at your beck and call," Leon answered for him and Laswell. Everyone stared at the interiors, marking their plans, seeing exits for emergencies as they enter your den.
Mission: Capture the Spider, is a go.
Tumblr media
A/N: *wheeze* I am cacklin'-
Taglist(s): @chickennn-soupp, @ghostlythots, @kaoyamamegami, @ocyeanicc, @hxnneydew
Tumblr media
122 notes · View notes
bon2bonn · 2 months
Text
Breakeven
0-0
Mafia!Charles leclerc X Mafia!reader
° Ex!lestappen X reader , ex!Charles leclerc X ex!max verstappen , ex!max verstappen X ex!reader .
Words count : 1.3k
Warnings : violence, guns , grammar, death, not proof read.
*did I get sidetracked/distracted again and started yet another fic that I daydreamed about in a sleep deprived haze ? YEP! I sure did . do I regret it now ? Heck no! . will I regret it later for indulging my mind by writing it instead of focusing on my already full WIP list? Absolutely! . So enjoy🍷!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Charles leaned his back against her side tilting his head on her chest , his hair is tussled and his frown gone as he closed his eyes in content, her arm draped over his shoulder from the back , as her hand rested over his heart with one of his holding onto it as he slept .
Their joined hands raising and falling with every breath he took and his posture calm a relaxed, A major contrast from his usually tense and guarded self . Her other hand rested on Max's hand that he let her hold , tracing over his scared hand as she followed the lines and raised tissue on the back of it , his head resting on her shoulder with hers leaning over his .
All three basking in the cool wind as it breathed around them the place is a small piece of heaven with overgrown trees and wild flowers scattering around and disappearing beyond the treelines , tucked away from the main court where the main families meet to for business .
They Found it years ago and run to whenever they got the chance , taking a fresh breath of air was a rare occurrence as their families increased their responsibilities with every passing day , yet they cherished these fleeting moments even if short and spent in silence, still very precious to them .
She closed her eyes , enjoying the stolen moment of peace , Max's voice cuts through the peaceful haze " Mijn liefje , you have to wake up " . She frowned at his words, but kept her eyes closed " but I want to stay here , with you " she felt him hold her hand gently , lifting it up to place a delicate kiss on the back of it , leaving behind a a tingling sensation that turned into a scorching pain causing her to wince , he whispered in a far away voice " but you know that this isn't real " , she tried to argue back but her words got caught in her throat . And as she strained her hearing she couldn't hear the sound of bustling leaves above them anymore as it fades into a steady ticking bounced around her head before it stopped with the loud ringing of the church bell from the other side of the block . Snapping her awake from the beautifully haunting daydreams that kept plaguing her days .
Moving away from the wall she was leaning on , fighting the urge to scratch at the back of her tightly wrapped hand as she crouched down , readjusting her coms before leaning down into position , sight set on the moving cars as she counted three moving ahead towards the gates, another one barked not far from the front entrance across the street, and another going around for the past hour or so appearing irregularly without a specific timing but not close enough to draw attention, a surveillance team of sorts.
Clicking her coms on as she followed the van one block before it turned a corner and out of sight " Marv , surveillance is heading your way 10 seconds east " the line clicked and the voice answered back " copy that " . Another line connected as she fixed her aim at the last car as it stopped before the gate but no one got out " Jinx here, the back is cleared, no setbacks here , sirens are in position and ready to go " she acknowledged with a "copy that " , swiftly shooting the tires of the the target's car as a precaution , forcing them to get him out eventually to ensure his safety.
Counting her side tasks for the day , the first car had at least three armed guards the , second had 4 armed who posed as a diversion to cover the third which had two armed guards one personal bodyguard along with the target .
She took down the first two guards injuring the third as they stepped out, another one from the second car and three more as they tried to shoot back at her place in the rooftop. Leaving the best for last when two more guards emerged from the said car . She ducked as the last guard aimed at her head , missing twice before he ran out of ammo. She took him out with one shot , Leaving the target with no protection for now .
The silence was defining as she head down the stairs , gun loaded and ready . she called through her Comms " we're on the move, start phase 2, sirens , lock and move " , they answered in confirmation starting their own tasks at hand .
While she approached the car slowly , she found the target first , unarmed and trembling as he babbled on trying to bargain himself out " I'll give you whatever you want, how much ?! 5 million , 9 I'll give you 12 please! Whatever you want!!" As he kept frantically pleading his guard sneaked up on her , trying to grab her by the neck , but was met with a kick and a bullet to the leg caughting him off guard, he stumbled back but grabbed a hold of her ankle dragging her down with him , she rolled away aiming for his head but he took cover with the car door , the target was screaming as bullets kept shooting towards him with one barley taking his ear as he ducked , she groaned as she threw her now empty gun , taking out another one but the bastard kicked it out of her hand , she took a deep breath " you asked for it " she charged at him ducking last second swiping his feet , making him fall face first before pinning him down with both arms pulled behind his back with her knee centered between his shoulders blades , putting pressure down while pulling hard enough until two loud pops were heard , the guard screamed along with the target who held his arms in fear , watching in horror as she now held her fallen gun to the back of the guard's head shooting once before she stood up turning to him .
He tried to scoot back shaking the door beside him in attempt to flee his death , she got in slowly , sitting beside him in a bored manner shutting the door behind her with a swift move, he stilled as she finally looked at him with sharp eyes , feeling cold chills running through his bones he attempted to plead again " I'll give everything you want! Please spare me!" She shook her head as she leaned back into the seat , keeping him cornered as she spoke in a cold voice " you seem to forget our values Mr Matthew , we don't spare traitors , nor do we bargain with death" he shouted at her cursing as he couldn't escape his fate " you're a wretched girl you'll rott in hell! Where you belong !!!!" She gave him a sinister smile as she leaned in close to whisper in his ear " then tell the devil I'm coming for his throne while you're down there" wiping the grin off her face as she shot a final bullet before she got out , closing the door swiftly behind her as she walked away and down the street , clicking her coms back on she updated " target is terminated , Marv status?" stopping by a white van , getting in as she got a response " all clear here , heading out " she looked at the flowing data on the screens before her " copy that " turning to the driver she signalled for him to drive before she reconnect one last time " sirens , your status?" An answer sounds out immediately " targets secured, no casualties, heading out now " satisfied with the results she call out " regrouping in 10 " everyone called back " copy" before she turned off her earpiece, letting the monitor on as they drove back in silence , she filtered through the files in search for what they needed , humming quitely before she stilled with wide eyes in astonishment as she finally came across what she was looking for , smiling devilishly at the screen " Oh , it seems like you've dug yourself a deep hole Mr Ralph , and I'll make sure to bury you in it " .
116 notes · View notes
addicted-to-slashers · 10 months
Text
For Anonymous
Who asked: Asa emory and Michael myers with a mafia boss S/O that is rich? Nsfw
——————————————
POV: First Person 
Characters: Michael Myers, Asa Emory, Gender neutral!reader
Pairing(s): Michael Myers x gender neutral!reader, Asa Emory x gender neutral!reader
Content warning: NSFW, Knife play, NOT FOR MINORS, Somewhat descriptive 
—--------------------------------------------
Michael loves to watch your naked body, shift underneath him, hears the way you beg for more of his cock, he loves to hear you beg. Your clothes were cut off with the knife you had gifted him. 
It was part of a set. 
A set you had gifted him after his original blade had broken due to his fight with his latest victim. 
How could he not show you how thankful he is? 
And this is his way of doing that. 
When you felt the knife against your skin, you could tell that it was going to be a long night. 
-——————————————————
Asa was relentlessly focused as he fucked you into the mattress, he used his brute strength to his advantage, to pin you, and his hips slammed against yours. 
It was the roughest he had ever been with you. 
Especially with the way he had used the knife against your skin, to give you cuts, shallow cuts, not enough to make you bleed, but just enough for you to feel them throbbing afterwards. 
This was of course part of the game you played with him. 
You kept antagonizing him, pushing his buttons, and now, it cultivated in this: being fucked so rough in one of the many bedrooms in your mansion that you were sure that you wouldn't be able to remember your own name by the time Asa was done with you. 
Just how he liked it. 
219 notes · View notes
metalbuckaroo · 1 year
Text
Queen’s Blight Pt. 2
Summary// Hired as your bodyguard, James slowly starts to regain his memories and realizes just how poisonous he is
AU// Bodyguard!WS!Bucky x Mafia!F!Reader
Warnings// fingering, mention of nightmares, smut, cursing, a little angst with a smidgen of fluff, Im rusty at this so if I forgot anything let me know
Note// I'm baaaaaaack, hopefully for good but we'll just have to see jebshajfb
Series Masterlist
Tumblr media
The two month mark of Soldat’s position was slowly creeping up. Along with the thought of how much longer he’d be staying.
He knew he was getting too comfortable.
It was near impossible not to- homemade meals instead of straight from a can, warm showers instead of cold hose downs, and a comfortable bed instead of a worn down mattress on a concrete floor. And, the longer he had been staying, the more missing time he’d pieced back together and the more emotion that started to seep through day by day.
Ones he hadn’t felt in god knows how long and he had trouble processing.
But, none of it compared to how much worse the dreams had gotten. Plaguing him during the night to the point he’d pace back and forth, occasionally slipping out into the hallway to peek into your room across the hall to make sure you were fine.
So, when you sat the plate of freshly cooked sausage and eggs in front of him before sitting across the small breakfast table, he just picked at it. Thinking that maybe if he tried weening himself away from the luxury of having everything at his fingertips it wouldn’t feel as miserable to think about going back.
‘Not hungry?’ Your voice tore him away from his own bubble as he poked the fork into a piece of sausage.
‘Just thinking’
‘If you want something else there’s plenty of food in the kitchen. You’re welcome to it.’ You offered, getting a shake of his head in response.
He appreciated when you’d speak to him in the language that had been drilled into his mind, it made him feel heard when you’d answer him. Like no one else knew what the two of you were talking about when others were around.
The rest of breakfast went by without much conversation. Your silky robe falling apart enough for him to get a small glimpse of the lacy bra underneath when you leaned to take his empty plate. A warm smile gracing your face as you laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.
“I have a meeting soon, yell for me when you need help into the stupid uniform.”
-
There was an odd bubbly feeling somewhere between Soldat’s chest and stomach. One that made him feel like something bad was going to happen as he stood to your right and slightly behind you. Eyes staying glued to the door as you talked on the phone.
“Go ahead and send him in.” He watched as you sat the phone back on its receiver, the office door opening soon after.
His heart sank when the handler that had brought him in the first day shut the door behind him. Stomach twisting itself in a disgusted knot as you exhaled heavily and leaned back in your chair.
Soldat knew his time in your home was limited, but he hadn’t imagined it would come to an end so soon.
But still, he kept his gaze on the door behind the man and a blank stare.
“I don’t like unannounced visits. I signed your contract, followed your rules. There’s no reason you should be here.” The stern tone of your voice sent a shiver down Soldat’s spine, eyes flicking over to look at your momentarily.
“Just checking in to make sure he’s following the rules.”
You scoffed, feeling the tension in the room getting thicker in the passing moments. “Check whatever you want. But, my contract isn’t up for another ten months.” You snapped, watching the man walk closer to inspect Soldat’s uniform.
The sound of his bionic arm whirring grew louder as he clenched his fist, teeth gritted behind the thick plastic mask and cold stare directed to a spot on the carpet. Focusing on how the color was slightly different than the rest of the room from an incident only weeks before.
“What is that smell?” The man said, lips curving in what seemed to be disgust but was really disapproval.
“Soap? Do you expect him to smell while he’s working?” You quipped, earning a threatening glare in response.
“No gun? How is he suppose to protect you without one?”
“Firearms aren’t allowed on the property. That’s why they searched you at the gate. Besides- I think the arm your ‘company’ attached to him does just fine.” You droned, going back to the paperwork you were working on before he’d shown up.
“Your attitude could be considered breach of contract.”
You snorted a laugh and shook your head, not looking up from your paperwork. “I read it cover to cover. No rules have been broken. Now, get out if you’re finished.”
Soldat felt like a weight was lifted from his lungs when the door shut behind the handler, looking over his shoulder until he saw the sleek black car leaving the gate. Finally letting his muscles relax as he exhaled a long breath and looked to you. “I’m not gonna rat you out for being comfortable here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
-
Bucky’s shouting from across the hall is what had woke you up, the man’s large frame thrashing around on the bed as he groaned as if he was in pain.
You knew trying to wake him would be dangerous, but the thought of walking away made your stomach knot. Your feet mindlessly carrying you further into the room, only wanting to get a closer look to make sure he was fine.
A scream that couldn’t seem to make it out of his throat made you stumble back a step, the sound gravelly and deep in his chest before his right hand flew up. Blunt nails clawing at the base of his shoulder as he cursed and panted in his sleep.
You panicked, quickly grabbing at his hand to stop him. The action making him jerk awake and sit up abruptly, bionic hand clamping around your wrist.
“James! James, you’re okay.” You rushed out, holding your free hand out to him as he looked around the room. His chest heaving and face etched with fear. “Need some water?”
He nodded silently, eyes not meeting yours as he shifted around the bed. Listening to your retreating footsteps, hearing the echo of glasses clinking and running water through the vent that led to the kitchen below.
When you walked back into the room with the glass of water, he was sat on the edge of his bed. A blank expression as he stared at the wall. Not looking away or moving when you hesitantly sat beside him, holding the glass out for him to take.
“Everything okay?” You asked gently as he lifted the glass to his lips. The room unbearably quiet other than the mechanical whir of his arm as you thoughtfully laid your hand on his back.
“I don’t… know who I am anymore. Especially after seeing my paperwork on your desk. I shouldn't have looked but- Nothing makes sense.” His accent was still evident when he spoke, eyes glued to their spot on the wall.
You sucked in a deep breath and shrugged. “You are- James Buchanan Barnes from Brooklyn, New York.” You said with a comforting smile that made his stomach flip.
“Yeah…” He hesitated to rest his hand on your bare thigh, the skin soft against his calloused palm as he squeezed lightly.
“Get some sleep. I’m across the hall if you need anything.” You assured, rubbing small, soothing circles to the taut skin of his back.
You swore you saw a ghost of a smile when he finally turned his head to look at you. “I’m suppose to be saying that to you.”
You felt horrible to leave him alone after his nightmare, his hand warm against your thigh and bringing comfort you weren’t aware that you needed. “Do you want to come and watch some tv? Try to relax your mind? Cartoons sometimes help me.”
A breath of a laugh left his nose, a brief moment passing before he nodded.
Entering your room, he shifted back and forth on his feet. Watching as you got comfortable in your bed before patting the spot next to you.
He was tense as he laid on top of the thick comforter. Hands smoothing against the fabric of his sweatpants as you flipped through different movie titles on the tv that hung on the wall.
And, though the animated movie you picked did seem to help, James’ mind was wandering to other, more pleasant places.
Like, how the swell of your breasts rose and fell with each breath, and what they’d look like littered in bite marks left behind in a fit of lust. Your fingers pulling and twisting a loose thread, and what he would give to feel your manicured fingertips dig into his skin. To hear needy moans and whines pull from your throat as he buried himself in the warmth of your cunt.
Snapping himself away from his filthy thoughts, James focused on the tv. Hand gripping the blanket that covered his lap in hopes to hide the swelling in his sweatpants.
But, you were more focused on how ridged his form was. Sitting up to face him with creased eyebrows, worry plastered across your features.
“Everything okay?” You asked quietly, fingertips cradling his jaw.
James leaned into your touch, a barely audible whimper leaving his parted lips. A vulnerable feeling bubbling in his chest when they grazed along his stubble and down the side of his neck, hand resting on his shoulder. “James?”
He hummed in response, eyes glued to your mouth when his name fell into the air. “Are you okay?” You asked again, this time slower before his warm right hand lifted. Knuckles gently dragging along your cheek before he nodded.
In a sudden motion, his lips slotted over yours. Sloppy and taking you off guard at first before a rhythm was found, calloused fingers carefully curling around the back of your neck in attempt to pull you impossibly closer.
He wanted to feel more, a desire that burned deep to feel your bare skin against his as he urged you to your back. Settling between your legs, leaving wet kisses along the column of your neck as his hips rocked forward. The friction eliciting a soft moan from you as your legs lifted to his hips.
He couldn’t wait any longer, shuffling his pants down enough to free his erection. A nervous look etching across his flush face as your hands cupped his cheeks. “It’s okay, take your time.”
Shaky breaths fanned your face as his trembling hand went down to grip himself. “Do you want me to-“
He shook his head and swallowed hard, trying to remember the last time he was intimate with anyone. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.” He murmured, bulbous tip prodding at your folds before he eased in. Trying his hardest not to jerk his hips forward and fill you in a single thrust when a shiver rolled down his spine.
The pain of the stretch was bearable, laced with pleasure as your arms went around his broad shoulders. Holding him close as his face buried in the crook of your neck, short, slow thrusts sending sparks of pleasure down your legs.
Words weren’t needed- quiet moans and the feel of his skin against yours being enough for both of you as the roll of his hips started to lose rhythm. Slowing to a grind as he tried to hold off his high.
But, it was too much, too overwhelming to even attempt to do as it wracked through him and made his whole body tense. Gasped out moans sounding in your ear as a pleased smile crept across your face.
“Fuck- I’m sorry.” He panted, face red from both excitement and embarrassment when he lifted his head to look at you.
Cradling his jaw in your fingers, you placed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s okay, I understand.”
“Let me-“ his knuckles grazed your inner thigh when you stopped him with a shake of your head.
“You don’t have to.” You assured, fingers threading in his thick hair.
“I want to. It’s only fair.” He insisted, slotting his lips over yours in a supple kiss as his fingertips glided along your glistening folds. Circling your clit before easing two of them into you, pressing into the rough patch just inside your cunt when he curled the long digits upwards. Eliciting a whine that he swallowed when his tongue slipped into your mouth, pressing into yours in a sloppier kiss.
He took his time, wanting to do it right as he curled and twisted his fingers against your velvety walls, breaths mixing together as you moaned into his mouth. Until, the throb of his cock took over again.
A needy whine pulled from your throat when he removed his hand. Quickly replaced with a gasp of a moan when he slammed into you. The pace much more rough as he held himself up on his forearms, lips brushing yours with every feverish snap of his hips and your fingers carving against the smooth skin of his back.
“Oh, god-“ you keened, legs tightening around his waist when the bubbling pleasure boiled over. Your walls clenching around him sending him over the edge as his hips pressed tight to yours.
Your body relaxed against the mattress when he slipped from between your legs. Leaving an empty feeling behind as he stood next to the bed and adjusted himself.
“I should probably go back to my room.” His voice was quiet as he found some tissues on the bedside table. Handing them to you so you could clean up.
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you sat up. His eyes glossy from the afterglow as he looked at the tv.
“You can stay in here if you want.”
51 notes · View notes
marvelmusing · 2 years
Text
The Devil’s in the Details
[18+ content below]
Billy Russo getting a job as a bartender in one of Mafia!Reader’s clubs. The reader is quite low level in New York’s hierarchy of crime lords. But Billy sees potential - both for you and for him.
Billy’s always been good at manipulating people, and he’s no stranger to violence. He gives some of the best advice, and you soon find yourself eager to hear your bartender’s opinion on certain jobs and deals.
He finds himself listening to your problems, not just about work, and he actually starts caring about the nights where you work too late, or drink a little too much. He finds himself wanting to take care of you, especially when you admit one night that you long for someone else to take over. Sure, you love the power, the fact that no one can touch you. But you’re lonely, and making all the decisions is exhausting.
Somewhere along the way you and Billy end up in one another’s beds.
With Billy’s assistance, you work your way to the top, meeting up with New York’s finest criminals. It isn’t long before you’re the one they’re listening too. And of course, when you’re offered a seat at their table, you ensure that Billy is beside you.
Meaning that he can slide a hand under the skirt of your dress, make you come undone over his fingers, and tell everyone that from now onwards he’s the one in charge.
“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
81 notes · View notes
squishycheekanon · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Darling of the Mafia
If I have to tie you to this bed I will.
Always causing trouble
Why do you defy me?
Fuck a Princess, I’m a Queen
58 notes · View notes
gutsby · 3 months
Text
Wedded Bliss
Tumblr media
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.
Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.
Part 2 | Part 3
Tumblr media
You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.
You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.
Frankly, you were mortified.
And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”
“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”
Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.
You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,
“Put it down.”
You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.
Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.
“Are we done?”
Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.
You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.
“Now darling—” he started.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Light of my life—”
“I’ll kill you.”
Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.
Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.
Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.
His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.
“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”
You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.
“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.
“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”
You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,
“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better half of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”
That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.
“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.
“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”
You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.
At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.
“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.
A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.
“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”
It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.
Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.
“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.
At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.
Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.
Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.
The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.
“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.
“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.
“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”
Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.
“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.
You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’
No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.
What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.
“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”
Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.
“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”
“I don’t fuck strangers.”
Bucky smiled at that.
“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.
Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.
“You like skylines?” he asked.
You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.
“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.
Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.
You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.
“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.
Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.
Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.
“James,” you hissed.
Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are you undressing me?”
Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.
“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.
The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.
“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”
You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?
“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”
Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.
The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.
You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.
“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”
You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.
“James!”
Again with that name.
“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”
Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.
“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.
You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.
“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.
Like he’d read your mind.
In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.
“Just let it happen, honey.”
He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.
Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.
Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:
“N-no, Bucky.”
To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.
He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.
“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.
“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”
The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.
Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.
A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.
“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.
His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.
You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.
“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”
His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.
He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.
Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.
And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.
When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.
Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.
He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.
Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.
Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.
“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.
You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.
Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.
“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”
In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.
Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?
It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.
You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.
“Open the fucking door!”
He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.
Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.
One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.
You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.
Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—
“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.
You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.
“What are you doing?!” he roared.
You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.
He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.
“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”
No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.
The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.
“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.
“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:
Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!
Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.
“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.
Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.
“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.
He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.
“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”
That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.
“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”
His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.
You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.
The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.
“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.
“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.
Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.
This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.
Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.
“I’ve never had sex before.”
At last, the tie loosened a little.
Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.
“What?”
You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.
“You’re a virgin?”
You nodded.
“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”
“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”
He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.
“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.
As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.
You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.
You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.
Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.
Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.
He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:
“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”
Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.
“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.
“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.
For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.
While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.
How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.
Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.
Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.
Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.
Any minute now, he thought with some relief.
Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.
A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.
Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.
You barged in and froze.
“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.
Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.
Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.
Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.
He was only met with silence.
Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.
The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.
“James?”
Your voice almost pained.
A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”
Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.
Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.
“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.
Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.
“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”
If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.
Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.
Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.
“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.
Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.
You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.
You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.
“James.”
“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.
At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,
“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”
Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.
“Oh yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.
“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.
You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.
You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.
His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.
Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.
“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.
“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.
“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.
Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.
A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.
He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.
Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.
No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.
“Are you sure it’ll fit?”
Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.
“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.
“Okay.”
Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.
You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.
Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.
Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.
His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?
When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.
Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.
You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.
Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.
Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.
Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.
You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.
Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?
Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.
Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.
Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.
You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.
He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.
“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”
He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.
You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.
“Keep going, I’m good.”
Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“N—”
“Don’t lie.”
You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.
“Aw hell.”
The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.
He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.
“I didn’t wanna interrup—”
“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”
Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.
“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”
Bucky eyed you incredulously.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.
You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.
“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.
“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”
It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.
The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.
When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.
“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”
He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.
When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.
The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?
Bucky paused. Swallowed.
The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.
“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.
Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.
“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.
This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.
Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.
“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.
“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.
He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.
“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.
You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.
“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.
Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.
“Doll, I’m so sorry.”
The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.
When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.
The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.
“Doing so good for me.”
“Stretching so nice for this cock.”
“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”
Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.
Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.
“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”
An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.
“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.
Your cheeks flushed.
“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”
‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.
“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.
You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.
“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”
You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.
“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”
Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.
“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”
You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.
“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.
Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.
Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.
“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.
“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.
“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.
“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”
Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.
Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.
You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.
“One more for me, honey.”
You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?
Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.
“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.
“Sure you can.”
Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.
His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,
“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”
With a command like that, how could you refuse?
You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.
Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.
But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.
It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.
The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.
“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.
You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.
“I love you.”
You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.
“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.
“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.
You would’ve liked to speak.
Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.
In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.
The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.
Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.
“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.
When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.
“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.
“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”
9K notes · View notes
groguspicklejar · 4 months
Text
[takes place right after this]
Tumblr media
you were going to combust. you can feel it.
the zip ties on your legs had been cut loose. but you came to realize that it was not for your benefit. your legs had been slung over a pair of broad shoulders, toes curling on his back. Gaz worked his mouth over you, his tongue stroking firmly through your soaked folds.
the other Sergeant, a Scottish man with a mohawk and the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen, fondled your breasts and whispered the dirtiest things to you, drawing you closer to your orgasm than ever before.
the largest man, the one wearing a skull mask, watched on while Price circled your no-good husband like a shark, looking for answers. "so who else knows about the safe house?"
"i didn't tell nobody!" came his irate voice as he struggled against his restraints. you hissed sharply when the heat slinks down to the base of your spine because of having your swollen clit sucked and swirled upon by a feverish mouth.
a long moan drawls out of you, your head tipping back. delirium is starting to take over your senses. it's been building and building and for a while, they've denied your body what it needs. but now— now you think you're careening right towards the edge.
and this time, they have no intention of stopping you from hurling over.
"Soap." Price calls out, not looking away from your husband.
the Sergeant pulled his mouth away from your breast while he still played with the other. you whimpered softly, legs jerking when Gaz's fingers grazed the deepest sensitive nerve he could find inside your throbbing cunt.
"dinnae think she'll last long, Captain." he sounds as wrecked as you feel. "her legs are tremblin'."
he wasn't lying. Gaz had his arms hooked around your thighs, to keep you still. you moaned helplessly as he swirled his tongue against your clit, the fire in your belly licking at your pelvis. you catch the fondness in his eyes when you looked down to watch him, to watch the way his tongue licked through your folds.
he was so good— so fucking good at what he does. you bet they all were in different ways. but Gaz is the first to have you like this, and that is something you'll hold dearly to your heart.
you think he knows it too. when they found out that you've never had your pussy eaten, not even by your sorry excuse of a husband, he was the first to volunteer. and he took the task very seriously.
Blair fumed in his chair, trying as best as he can to kick and scream, but to no avail. the chair only makes a loud sound when it scrapes against the floor, yet he does not get anywhere beyond that. "that is my wife, goddammit!"
"doesn't look like it from my perspective, mate." Ghost muses, tilting his head. you think he's smiling underneath that mask.
"last chance." Price leans to down to look at Blair. "who else knows?"
"i don't know!"
Price sighs and goes to stand behind the restrained man, gripping his hair tightly to make him look at you.
"when she comes in his mouth," he starts, eyes trailing to your dazed expression, to the your glazed eyes as he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "we're each going to take turns with her and we're going to make her forget that she's even married." Blair hissed, eyes widening when the grip in his hair grew tighter. "and we're going to make you watch every second of it."
"hell, that's if she'll even remember your name by the time we're done with her—" Ghost cuts off when you wail, your back arching off the chair while your toes curled deliciously.
you think your head blanked. dark spots clouded your vision as the ecstasy consumed you. Gaz held fast, groaning loudly into your cunt, keeping his thumb firm on your clit while you gushed eagerly in his mouth, prolonging your pleasure. you slumped over the chair, panting deeply, when the high slowly came to a stop.
"tha's a good fuckin' girl." Soap cheered with a wicked smile.
Price chuckled. "Soap, you're first. Gaz, you're next."
"no, don't you fucking touch her—"
you were delirious and dizzy when the zip ties on your arms got cut loose. for a moment, you felt weightless, a hand cradling your head when it lolled back until you were set down on a dark surface.
someone was touching your legs, spreading you open, fingers sinking into your pulsing cunt.
"Steamin' bloody jesus, Gaz." a voice groaned. "she's fucking soaked. what did ye do tae the poor lass?"
"just a little magic trick." a chuckle followed before you were yanked further on the edge of the hard surface.
it's a desk. you were lying on a desk. your husband's desk. your eyes fluttered open to find Soap's heated stare lingering on your breasts, his cock hard and a hand cupping its base as he glides it through your slick folds. your leg instinctively curled against his hip as he pushed inside, a weak mewl escaping you.
"fuck..." his head tilts back as he drawls before he immediately starts fucking you in earnest. you don't get a chance to breathe before the next orgasm starts building up in your veins.
he's rough with you, praising you for taking him so well. places a hand on your stomach before it trails to your breasts as his thrusts hammer against your throbbing walls with a glint in his eye. he plucks your nipples, painfully pulling them, grinning when you mewl and make weak attempts to shove at his hand.
you feel it coming all too fast, your breath seizing in your lungs as the pleasure overrides your system. he fucks you harder, a howl escaping his mouth when he cums inside you. he's so mean about it too, especially when he mocks your husband.
"she's so fucking tight when she cums." he pants, grinning. "bet ye've never felt tha', have ye?"
Gaz is a little softer with you. takes his time dragging his cock in and out of you, watching your expression twist to that of pleasure. but he's just as heinous to your spouse as Soap while moans spill out of your mouth.
"you've never made her sound like that, huh?" he scoffs, chuckling with a shake of his head. he wasn't referring to your moans, but the lewd squelches of your pussy as he jerks his hips. "some husband, you are. it's fucking pathetic."
you don't know why that made you clench tightly around him, but it takes him by surprise. "oh, you like it when we talk shit about him?"
and just like that, the small comment opens Pandora's box.
"such a good little wife you are, putting up with him." he says. "he doesn't deserve a sweet cunt like yours."
Ghost makes Blair listen to every one of those insults. how his cock was only ever good for nothing. wasted on a good pussy like yours.
"aww, gonna cry?" Gaz cooed mockingly when he saw Blair's cheeks flushed red from rage and his eyes were glazed with tears.
"what a muppet." Price muttered. "poor thing needed us to save her."
Gaz makes you sit up so he could still fuck you but pressed his lips your ear, whispering for only you to hear, "he doesn't deserve you, love."
that was what tipped you over.
your breath catches in your lungs as you hold onto him, his hips stuttering when your cunt squeezes him. he floods your pussy with a muffled groan against your shoulder. your heart ached when he lays you back down and slips out of you, pressing one last kiss on your lips and handing you over to the next man.
"oh, no, ye don't." you barely had the strength to shift your gaze to find Soap angling Blair's head towards you. "keep watching them do what ye couldn't do."
Ghost walks over to you, passing by Gaz, who pats his shoulder.
"go easy on her, Ghost." he says. "she's fragile."
"noted." the masked man replies before he reaches you.
you were a little scared when you noticed how broad he is up close. he slowly parts your legs, fingers dipping inside you for a moment, a small whimper leaving your throat.
"fuckin' hell." he drones hoarsely, eyes darkening at the cum dribbling out of you. "you boys did a number on 'er."
to your surprise, he flips you over and spreads your legs. he bends one of your knees on the table
"brace yourself, love." you barely had the time to hold onto the edge of the table. a squeak bursts out of you when you feel the tip slipping inside.
oh, he's big. you breathe through your nose, your forehead pressing against the table. he pushes in slowly, drawing a strained moan from you.
when he pulls back, you're allowed a moment of respite before his hips snap. a sharp cry is heard out of you as he settles inside your cunt, humming deeply as he relishes the feeling of you.
"taking me so well, love." he begins a low pace, letting you adjust to his size. his hand grips your neck and he pulls you close, your back to his chest, making sure your husband saw every detail. "did he fuck you like this, sweetheart?"
your spine prickles with heat as his thrusts continue to increase in speed. you moaned softly, his hand squeezing your neck while the other played with your breast.
you manage to shake your head, eyes rolling back as he flicked one nipple with his fingers. "no? well, that's a damn shame."
your eyes catch a glimpse of Gaz leaning back on the couch as his hand squeezes his cock while he watches. Soap palms his cock as he was standing behind Blair, whispering something in his ear that you couldn't quite catch. but the gleam in his eye when his gaze finds yours made you whimper.
you feel Ghost's lips at your ear. "if you were mine, i'd fuck you in every position ever known to man on ever piece of furniture in sight."
you whine at the idea. of being fucked like that. of being his. of being theirs.
it makes your cunt pulsate, makes you tremble in his grasp. "oh, fuck."
his hand slides down until— your eyes squeeze shut as a shaky moan leaves your parted mouth, "ah!"
the salacious noises are all you could hear besides his grunts in your ear. his fingers swirled around your clit until you squirmed and ached, clawing at the hand at your neck.
"cum on my cock, lovie." he urges softly. "make it yours."
you think you screamed when you plummeted to the abyss. you don't know. hard to hear above the ringing in your ears, but you felt it all. Ghost gently laid you down, your breasts mushed against the expensive wooden desk and turned your head just enough for Blair to take a good long look at your dazed expression.
all the while you felt Ghost's cock plunge in and out of you at a brutal pace, making you drool all over the table until his cum bursts deep inside your pussy. some part of you felt guilty for enjoying this. yet the other part enjoyed the way your husband's face crumpled at the sight of you.
not because you were being fucked by someone other than him. but because you liked knowing he was made aware of the fact that he couldn't fuck anyone to save his own life.
"saved the best for last." you heard Ghost's voice.
you panted softly as you waited. Ghost's cum leaked out of you, dripping on the desk. you didn't think you could take much more.
you thought Price was going to take you from behind like his Lieutenant did, but no. he gently flips you on your back, eyes immediately dipping to your messy cunt.
"pretty little thing, ain't she?" he muses.
"damn right, Captain." you heard Gaz's voice, his breaths a little unsteady from where he is. "feels like a fucking dream too."
"is that right?" a dark chuckle follows the rhetorical inquiry. he's then interrupted by faint struggling, eyes shifting to what you assume is your husband.
his screams are muffled this time. you crane your view just in time to see him getting smacked in the face by Soap.
"keep him quiet." Price commanded. "i want to enjoy this as much as you boys did."
your eyes widen when he lifts your leg and rests it on his shoulder, faint rustling sounds and a belt clinking. your eyes drop low to find the red tip smearing all over the mess the others left on your folds before he taps the head on your clit a few times.
your toes curled and your head softly falls back on the desk. he presses inside just a bit, causing you to wince, the stretch a little overwhelming already. "relax a bit for me, darlin'."
he pushes deeper, your hand presses against his stomach as you whined, "i can't—"
"yes, you can, love." he draws back, giving you a moment to breathe. "just one more, come on." your eyes peered open and you found his gaze. "one more and we'll have a nice bath drawn for you and then we'll put you to bed."
you don't know how you've lasted this long. you don't even know if you're still going to be alive by the time he's done with you.
he held your gaze as he dragged his cock inside, prompting a lewd moan from you. one snap of his hips and you were already clenching down on him.
"fuck, gonna cum f'me already, love?" he hums before throwing your other leg over his shoulder and bends you in half. "we're just getting started."
a broken sound comes out of you when he really starts to fuck you like he means it. the position allowed him to sink in so deep in the way that's going to haunt you for weeks.
he rocked his hips, each thrust had you gasping for air and clawing at his arms, stroking your sensitive walls like he wanted to carve himself into you forever. your weak cries didn't go unheard as you tried to shift away from the way his cock rammed into the deepest, most sensitive nerve.
"take it, darling." his hands grip your hips, his pace becoming more brutal, a white ring gathering at the hilt of him.
"please—" you mewled, but you don't know what for.
"take everything i give you. which is more than your husband ever did." he groaned when you tightened around him, reaching a hand between your bent legs to rub your clit.
heat flared all too rapidly and you felt like you imploded. your back arched as he pressed a firm hand on your stomach, groaning out loud as your pussy spasmed around his hard shaft. your mouth hung open but not a sound came out of you as his rapid thrusts dragged out your high.
you heard a hoarse shout and the sensation of his hot cum shooting into your pussy before you blacked out.
you woke up later on the softest bed in an unfamiliar room, wrapped in a fluffy pink gown. you smelled like shower gel and your skin didn't feel as sweaty and icky as you expected it to be. exhaustion had long settled into your bones, so you don't feel like getting out of bed.
someone opens the door and enters holding a tray filled with food. it's Gaz. he smiles as he puts down the tray on the dresser. "you must be hungry."
you think you might get used to this for a little while.
Tumblr media
banners by @cafekitsune
mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar
8K notes · View notes
indyluckycharlie · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
One
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU
Summary: "I loved you as Icarus loved The sun - Too close, Too much." -d.j.
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: Angst. References to parental death and foster care (I'm not sure if I mentioned this before but the reader is an orphan and was adopted by Sam's parents as a child). References to violence and death. Maybe some swearing? (there will definitely be some along the way, so may as well mention it now). Some light fluff, but laced with general trepidation.
A/N: Hey all! Thank you to those of you have shown interest so far! We are going to really start getting into the story now and the dark elements are being hinted at more. As always, heed warnings and don't progress where you don't feel comfortable and don't interact if you are not 18+. Comments and reblogs are a writer's life blood so please let me know if you like it. Thanks for reading loves ❤️ You will find the TH&TH masterlist here.
Tumblr media
"It's not too late. Joaquin could have the car here in two minutes."
You level your adoptive brother with a hard look. You're sick of this fucking conversation. You especially hate how it makes it seem like a choice, which it isn’t. And Sam knows it. 
But when you see the deep pain in his dark eyes, your expression softens, turns sad at the edges. 
"You know I can't."
Sam knows the truth of your words, but love and desperation are hard to quell, so he tries again. Sam drops his already whispered voice even lower. He doesn't even bother to glance at the men stationed by the doors, you both know they're there. 
"If this is-” he cuts off, biting his lip in his hesitation. He doesn't want to wound you- you've had plenty of that already- but he is committed to his hopeless cause straight to the end and pushes on anyway- “Bucky would understand.”
Sharp as a blade, his words slip between your ribs- just as you both knew they would- and straight into your heart. 
Tumblr media
When Paul and Darlene Wilson took you in after your parents’ death and those eight miserable months in foster care, you knew that it was a miracle. Even in the beginning when you didn’t want to believe it, when the world felt too harsh and all of your edges were too sharp and you didn’t want to let anyone in, you knew. 
Their love for you- the totality, the certainty- was a powerful thing. And a little terrifying for a child so lost and alone. But with time and their endless patience, you learned to trust it. To believe it. To feel it as so much a part of yourself that eventually you could barely even remember the place where the two halves of your heart were stitched together. 
They never wanted your gratitude, only for you to know that you were loved and that you belonged. But you were grateful anyway. In every way and in everything. There was nothing that could diminish that.  Even when you learned about the family "business" and the gray morality that governed your lives, your gratitude never waivered. 
Nor did it desert you when you learned that part of being a Wilson meant inheriting a very old and bitter rivalry. Two households and an ancient grudge. Wilson and Barnes, the warring dynasties of Brooklyn. A rivalry that you didn’t know was going to change your life forever.
The history between your families was long and storied, infamously filled with rancor and blood. But as each family had grown more powerful over the years and leadership passed into the hands of its most prolific heads in the midst of a changing world, Paul Wilson and George Barnes eventually found themselves at an impasse that their ancestors could never have understood. Left with few choices, they came to a kind of agreement. It was less a truce than a resentful stalemate, driven by the certainty of mutually assured destruction. Still, it was the closest thing to peace they'd known in a long time. 
And so, by the time you came of age, the violence had been tempered, replaced instead by a cold line that ran through the streets of the burrough. 
A line you never meant to cross it. You never meant to love one of theirs. You’d barely even known Bucky.
Despite the armistice, both families kept their respective distances and rarely mingled. The only exception being when it couldn’t be avoided. As prominent and powerful members of the community, George and Paul were often required to attend local events, where they kept up a pretense of congenial civility. Their children were expected to do the same. To set a good example as future leaders in the community, your parents reminded you. 
So while you exchanged the occasional forced pleasantries with the Barnes children, you never really got to know them. 
Bucky least of all. 
The second son to George’s heir apparent, Bucky had spent most of his formative years away at boarding school. Their father had kept his eldest successor close- he wanted to teach the boy the ways of the family first hand- but Bucky was of better use to him elsewhere. Recognizing his younger son's intelligence and social acumen, George sent him to be educated at the same institutions where the senators and corporate barons sent their sons. Both so that he would learn a "trade" useful to the family and so that he could make the right connections. George brought Bucky home only when he wanted to remind him of who his family was or to teach him the things that only a father could teach his son. 
It wasn't until after graduate school and a year abroad that he came home to Brooklyn for good. 
And that a chance encounter brought him to you. 
You were embarrassed that you did not recognize him at first. Not that you could be entirely blamed for that. The last time that you had seen him had been at least two years prior. And the first place where you met him as a real person, rather than as "one of those Barnes children", was the last place you would have expected to find him. 
It was an open house for the new multi-use studio you had acquired for the arts charity you co-ran. The local charity was a personal project of yours. Though your parents and siblings had come to support you, it was not an "official" Wilson family endeavor by any means. And given that it was absolutely not associated with the Barnes family in any way either, neither of you had any reason to expect the other to be there. 
So how he ended up there, you had no idea. At the time, he told you that he was simply reacquainting himself with the city after so many years away. Locally-based community organizations were simply a special interest of his. He hadn’t even known you were affiliated with it until he saw you there leading tours. 
You weren’t sure if you believed him, suspicion for the Barneses ran too deep. 
But you wanted to. 
Because what you did know for certain was that from the moment he stepped into the queue for your tour, he had your attention. 
Most of the event had been a blur. Between charming the visitors, directing the staff, and putting out fires, you could only focus on whatever was immediately in front of you, the work that needed to be tended to right now. Anything shy of an emergency had to wait. Everything else just faded into the background. 
Everything else, except for him. 
When you first saw him, the world went strangely still. His details were sharp and startlingly bright as the long minute stretched out. Stretched out long enough that you were embarrassed to discover you were staring and gave yourself a hard shake back to reality. 
With effort, you refocused your energy on the work at hand. But you couldn't get him out of your mind. Or out of your periphery. It was a miracle that you could even remember your well-rehearsed tour spiel with him hanging out at the edge of your vision, watching you with curious attention that you suspected had very little to do with what you were talking about. 
Something in the back of your mind told you that his face was familiar, but you didn't realize, you didn't know. If the hour hadn’t been late, if your family hadn’t already gone home for the evening, then maybe someone could have warned you. Maybe then you could have avoided everything that came after. For better or for worse. 
But by the time your brain finally connected the dots and supplied you with a name that you should never have forgotten, it was too late. If you had hoped to head off that spark of instinctive attraction before it had a chance to take hold of you, to seed and root deep inside where it couldn't be dislodged, you were well past that point.
Still- as you reminded yourself forcefully later that evening- just because you were drawn to him, just because he made you feel… something you hadn't known in a long time, maybe ever, didn't mean you had to be ruled by it. You certainly didn’t have to act on it. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't be.  
But fate, it seemed, meant to test you. She threw you into each other's paths again and again in the most unexpected of ways, until soon enough- sooner than your pride wanted to admit- attraction gave way to something even more startling: connection.
You were proud to say that when he finally asked you if perhaps he could see you on purpose sometime, that you didn't just say "yes" right away. You waited a whole twenty-four hours before you called the number he'd given you. 
Even then, you tried to be smart. To keep a wall up and protect yourself with rationality and reason. But it turned out even your most carefully constructed defenses couldn't hold against him. Your better sense was no match for your heart. You loved him before you even knew it was happening. And for a long time before you ever told anyone. 
You’d been discreet, you’d maintained at least that much wisdom, but eventually there was a wrongness about it. The secret you kept became a lie, and you knew that if you were so confident it was your truth, you had to share it. 
Your siblings were wary. Your parents disapproved. You felt guilty. You felt like you were somehow less of their daughter for loving him. But as soon as they realized you felt such, they proved to you that it wasn't true. They knew your heart was earnest. And while grudges run deep, some things run deeper. None so much as their love for their child.
So they cautiously opened the door to Bucky. Because of their love for you. But he was the one who won them over. They saw in him what they saw in you. Not a game or a childish rebellion to spite your families. His heart was as earnest as your own. And eventually they came to see in him not just a match worthy of you, but also a hope for the future. A hope that perhaps your ancestral strife could finally be brought to an end. 
Overtures had even been made between George and Paul, the likes of which had never been seen between the families before. And suddenly a dawn that had risen cold for as long as anyone could remember, began to shine with the crisp and subtle warmth of a new beginning. 
But then. 
A scandal. Bucky’s older brother and a girl. Expensive to manage and serious enough for the once heir to fall out of his father's favor. And for Bucky to be brought up in the line of succession to take his place. 
That’s when everything changed.
Tumblr media
"Don't." You can't manage anything more than a whisper but the angry ice in your voice is unmistakable. "Don't-” your words stick in your tight throat and you shake your head roughly-  “I don't need you to tell me what Bucky does or does not understand."
Sam opens his mouth to protest again, but you cut him off. You know he means well, that he comes from a place of love, but does he really think that just because it's not fair that there's some way out? That just because it was love that brought you here in the first place that love can save you now? Why doesn't he understand? 
"What do you think will happen if I run?” You ask sharply. “Do you really think that George won't follow through with his threats just because I won't be around to see the consequences of my actions? And that's assuming I even could get away. How long before he found me and dragged me back here? And punished me for it?" You shake your head slowly. "I can guess what he would do and I don't want to find out if I'm right. Especially because you know he won't punish me first. It'll be you or mama or Sarah. Maybe all of you. And everyone else I've ever loved." 
Sam drops his head in defeat, but just in case he has any lingering illusions, you add harshly. 
"He's won. The sooner we all get around to accepting that, the better."  
Prologue 2: Him (Previous)
Two
155 notes · View notes
remusslove · 1 year
Text
Imagine Regulus and James with mafia!reader getting all embarrassed and shy because your men kept staring at the hickies you left on them😩
“M-mommy” regulus whispered to you with a red blush tinted on his cheeks
“Yeah my loves?” You asked turning your attention to them
“Starin at us mama” James answered you hiding his face in your chest
You smirked turning your gaze to one of your men side eyeing their hickie filled necks
He chuckled shaking his head before turning back to the presentation
760 notes · View notes
cod-z · 12 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
| Ch. 3 | Capture the Spider
Your media consumption isn't my responsibility | TW: Slowburn, Inaccuracy, OOC(?), GN!Reader (feminine words such as 'Queen' are used (sorry if I use she/he by accident), Drugged, Guns, Blackmail, sorry if I missed any.
Pairing(s): Poly!141 x Mafia!Reader
| Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | WC: 5.7k
It’s been who knows how many weeks since you’ve banned the Task Force from your casino, the background noise of chatter travelled through one ear and out the other. The sound being familiar to you, growing up with it when your father brought you to his work when he couldn’t get a sitter, it bore you. Nothing new.
That annoying shadow in your mind, the sinister whispers that raked through your mind, trying so hard to come forward and act on impulse. A demon that you’ve been fighting with ever since you knew what your father worked as, it always constricts your throat, blinds your vision, suffocates your lungs to escape, to make you let it free.
You can feel fury, death, tyranny surrounding this being, and you can feel it within yourself. Somewhere in your own soul you can feel yourself having these thoughts—not from the shadow—festering inside you, to let go and control; every. single. soul.
You could. You can. You won’t.
Acting with such idiocy, lack of control, lack of purpose would end up you 6 ft under. Your calculated moves were endless, always thinking ahead of the competition, always above and first. Hence why you enjoy looking down upon the weak, upon the blind because they don’t know what’s coming and yet, you can sense they know the unknown is clutching their throat. The unknown of command. Your command. Each guard at your disposal, weapons at the ready lurking in shadows ready to be set off, cameras watching every movement and your own eyes cascading through the room.
A hand gently grazes your shoulder, the hand’s familiar grip of your butler makes you turn your head, glancing, at Michael. His hand lifting off your shoulder and returning to the neck of the bottle of your favourite beverage, the glass sitting on a tray on Michael’s other hand - a grin spread across your face.
“Always at the ready, aren’t you, Michael?” You grab the bottle from Michael’s grasp, his arm moving to the front of himself, accommodating the height level so you don’t struggle pouring. “Of course, you are the master of this establishment.”
Michael grabs the bottle from your hands once you reach your fill, hooking the glass in between your ring and middle finger, sloshing the liquid around. A soft hum emits from your throat as you continue to bird watch the people down below, the chatter and laughter still continued on as no one noticed your presence and if they had, they kept quiet amongst themselves.
Though an hour in your eyes sparked at the sight of a special man in the crowd, the same man who caused you your exciting event a couple of weeks ago, the man who brought the Task Force to your doorstep.
You eyed him. The man had a slicked-back, black hair with a streak of grey in the centre, wore an eyepatch on his left eye, wrinkles around his eyes probably deprivation from sleep, he was rather pale in colour, a golden tooth from when he flashed his teeth, and a cigar lit, loosely hanging from his teeth. His attire was no different from the men that gambled in your casino, a normal black suit with a red tie, no badges, no accessories, decor, no originality. A guy who looked like a douchebag. Nothing more and certainly, nothing less.
His eyes caught yours. A deep bronze, you mentally noted. Your eyes didn’t move from him as you both had a glare off, or that’s what you guessed it was till he turned away as he started talking to a bold man.
Your eyes squinted, suspicious of the conversation but lost interest soon after, it wasn’t your business.
Turning around with a drink in hand that has yet to be touched, something or someone has been caught in your peripheral vision. A shadow figure on the roof, passing your windows.
Your brows furrowed as you focused your eyes where you had seen the shadow, the rounded, circular roof had no entry as the chandelier was attached. Though the windows that held the roof were easy access, even then accessing the roof was equally as hard and paperwork would’ve been filed through to you, yet who dares to mock you of your stature?
You. You were the spider. You have the higher grounds.
Who was this person to take it from you? You suppress a growl as you snap your fingers, 5 guards rushing up the stairs to your aid. Their eyes followed your gaze at the strange man that stood in front of one the windows, full body showing but the shadows hid his features. A coward, you thought.
The guards took your silence as the command that they needed, a guard grabbing a key from his uniform before they dashed to fetch their weapon, the figure still standing unfazed by your threat. A brave or foolish mouse, waiting for the chase to begin, however you didn’t dare start the chase as you sent out your minions to do your bidding. Your eyes flicked away from the shadow figure, having reliability with your men to catch that intruder off of your rooftop.
The sound of your heels meeting the metal steps alerted the people that were near, their eyes drawing over your body that was covered by a black and white gradient dress that fall to the floor at the back, the front had a slit on the right, exposing your thigh, the leather garter with a spider emblem squeezing tightly enough to pudge it out.
Both knives are hidden by the colour of your dress and the dress in itself.
Walking down your so-called aisle, you watch as old and new people enter and leave, your eyes trained for people who look out of place. The drink is still in your hand, clutching it close to your body. You weren’t stupid. You knew this is the life that you will lead and to hell if you were going to let yourself be fooled, poisoned by the people that entered your own webs, using your home as their playground. You were too cautious, too wary of the people that you associated with, that’s why this little show of your presence has you on your toes, meeting with the people who supposingly hold the best weapons. Explosives and gunsmiths that the military doesn’t condone.
The demon within smiled deliciously at the thought, being more powerful than the government's dogs would have you at an advantage yet the rational side of you grimaced, the danger that would come along with it, your father’s sacrifice would be for nought if it caused you your demise.
You held your head up high but not high enough for the enemies that lurked to cut your throat.
Eyes were sharp, stoic, shero eyes that pierced through the strongest of men, trained to keep the vault doors of secrecy of your brain behind tight security, guarded by the demon that you grew up with daring and challenging anyone to kill it before it breaks you. Your eyes darted at every movement, noise and glances that followed your figure through the crowd, they knew they couldn’t touch you, not when they’re trapped in your own home where you could easily turn the casino into hell.
An inaudible, dry chuckle left your throat as you watched their power, hungry eyes turn away from you, your heels clacking against the red carpet, designed the ace of spades pattern. Going up the carpet, reading the numbers of the cards along the path till it reached the end, you inhaled sharply.
Number 1. Ace. Your father.
How you despised the Ace of Spades. The representation of strength and authority. What your father had and lost in all of one moment, how he picked it over you and your mother. The glass in your hand slipped onto the floor, breaking it from the impact, the drink sprawling itself onto the carpet, the colours darkening as it absorbed the beverage under your feet. The people around you didn’t dare make a sound but only stared at your form, your head lifting to look forward before walking to the bathroom. 
You splashed your face with cold water as you let out exasperated huff, your body quivering from losing your composure in front of many people, the people that you had promised to yourself to never let them see you so weak and vulnerable. A growl ruptures from your throat as you glare at yourself in the mirror, the pure anger and hatred coming upfront from the cell that you locked your emotions in. 
Fire. Bright, hot, burning. That was what was showing in your eyes. The memories of the world burning around you when those men entered your house, burning the memories that were shared in that safe place, the place you called home. 
Your hands clenching the edge on the edge of the bathroom sink as you take deep breaths in and out as you try to keep calm. Triggered so easily by just looking at the ace of spades. Pathetic, you insult yourself. Though the rage didn’t last long as the sound of the bathroom doors creaked open as another person entered, two of you, alone.
Grabbing one of the knives that hid underneath your dress, you drape your arm around your torso, the knife pressed closely to your arm but hidden, making it seem like you were clutching your stomach.
The sound of heels approaching the bathroom stalls grew closer, your eyes flickering to the stretched mirror to see who this person was with you. Your gaze met ocean waters, the bright contrasting the dark shades of blue, entrancing you as if you were swimming in the waves or you were soaring through the skies during the midnight sky. It made you feel dizzy.
"Don't worry darlin', jus' me," you gave this strange lady a perplexed look with her wording. Though the accent seems strange, almost sounding strained but you brush it off.
You give this lady a forced smile as you watch her enter one of the bathroom stalls, you were wary, that was until you heard the click sound of the latch. You turn to face the mirror as you prepare yourself again to face the public, your breathing regains control as you tuck away your knife back into its place between your legs.
You splash your face with water again to eliminate the remaining heat that coursed through your body, you sigh.
'Just meet up. See what they got and leave.'
Another sigh left your lips, pulling up the front of your dress, adjusting it to your liking, drying your face with one of the fancy towels that was preserved for you.
Once you were done, your heels clicked against the floor as you made your way to the exit, however a strong, firm grasp held you back before you could reach the door. Confused as it was only you and that lady in the bathroom, you glanced at the hand that had a hold on you, following the bulkiness and girth of it to its owner. The lady.
Your back was against the door as she shoved you against it, your figure trapped in between the thick arms of the lady, your heart palpitating - not sure if you should be afraid or aroused.
Your dilemma in your head was cut off short as the lady's voice turned deep and gruff with an accent that you remember hearing. John 'Soap' MacTavish. The sudden realisation snapped you out of your trance, your hands finally moving as you grabbed Soap's arms, trying to pry it off you but to no avail. You huffed as you glared at him, your eyes boring into his. 
"Let go of me!"
His grip only tightened around your arm, his strength never diminishing even when you had scratched at them. He only stared at you in silence till the sudden noise of static emitted from his neck.
“Lass, status?”
A new voice that you didn’t recognise echoes through the bathroom walls, your eyes focused on Soap’s neck unable to see the little mic that hid within his ruffles.
“Caught the little Spider, over.”
‘Oh that’s what they’re up to?’ you thought to yourself. They were here to capture you, how sweet of them to think of you when they were banned, plotting to capture you for the small information that they couldn’t get, honestly, you nearly felt pitiful for them. Must’ve taken them weeks for them to put this into action.
In spite of that they had no idea what was going to come. 
In quick movements your left hand grabbed one of the knives that settled on your thighs, drawing it out as you cut into Soap’s dress, slicing through the fabric down the middle of his waist, exposing a tiny cut, indented by the knife causing him to hiss at the minor pain he received. His hold on your arm leaves you openings for an attack, however you decide to run for it instead, opening the bathroom door before making a break for it till you reach the middle of the casino, away from your kidnapper.
After years of training your poker face the moment you had entered the centre, you hid your breathing, your flushed look, the beading of your sweat strolling down your face, brushing it off as the heat from the chandelier and the overcrowding. You didn’t relax as you were Eying through the crowd for Soap.
You needed to calm down. Panicking would result in your failure, a failure of perceiving your own life and identity, a mistake that you won’t allow yourself as it has allowed your father.
Taking deep breaths in, you annalise the possible situation.
John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, a sergeant that’s part of the Task Force is trying to capture you, an obvious fact, guided by a mystery figure behind comms the voice giving out that it wasn’t Laswell, it sounded to masculine to be a women’s voice.
You continue to walk through the crowd, minding your way as you watch each face pass by, waiting for anything or anyone to surprise you. Body stiffened, heart barreling, mind disquieted. You were on edge. Your hands stayed at the side of you, ready to clench onto the knives that you kept, brushing your thighs ever so often that you could feel the daggers that were there for reassurance.
They have a new comms person but why? Laswell was already doing a good job of what she does. Being behind the scene and all, researching for their next mission, being the eyes and ears over communication. 
Right.
 Assuming he’s similar to Laswell, perhaps he was reinforcement to help capture you? Then again, he could be used for extra muscle? Unlikely. They had enough muscle to capture you. Perhaps he was the brains for this operation?
Before you could answer yourself, you bumped into a dark, bearded, bald man in front of you. “Apologies.” His voice sounded familiar but with everything going on, you couldn’t seem to place a finger on it. You dismissed him as you walked away, heading back to your office, in hopes to reschedule the meeting for another day.
However your body felt heavy with each step that you took, your feet feeling like it was covered with concrete as you neared your office stairs. Your vision starts to disorientate, the casino around you changing into different colours, faces that you recognize morphed and disfigured, contorting into faces of non-beings. Shit, you were drugged. Your mind tries to remember how you let yourself lower your guard like that, then you remember that bald man. Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.
You should’ve remembered those charming, brown, chocolate eyes when he had bumped into you. Your brain finally realising that the man on the roof was Ghost, your guards were distracted, commanded by yourself to chase after him and knowing Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, your men have been captured or killed by now. You mentally growled.
They had outplayed you.
Tumblr media
Shit, shit, shit! You screamed in your head as your head turns and twists at the horrifyingly morphed faces, the casino now spinning and flashing emphasising the colours that surrounded you, making you dizzy. Whatever drug they had used on you, it was taking control very quickly and very effectively.
Grabbing onto a chair, you breathed heavily as you tried to focus on getting onto the stairs in front of you. Snarling at the fact you had let this slip past you, pissed you off, you were supposed to be ahead of the game, not three steps behind it. You sigh again as you push yourself off the chair, your figure stumbling towards the staircase, though as the crowd parts - you felt three eyes on you.
You already knew who they were, though you do give them props for being in disguises.
Soap was to your left, still in his womanly attire and the cut you made on his dress was messily stitched up. Ghost was at your right, hints of blood on his cuffs clear indication that your guards were dead or banged up. Gaz was in the centre, the glimmering sight of a small syringe in his hand, confirming that you had been drugged. You cursed underneath your breath.
Everything felt slow when they made the first step towards you, three wolves hunting their injured prey, eyes slitted and ready to pounce. If the crowd were quiet you were pretty sure you could hear them growling, satisfied that they got you where they wanted you, trapping you into a corner between life and death.
Your head throbbed as you tried to think of a way to escape this predicament but it only made it worse, your brain being tampered and unable to think under the pressure, the stress and the substance that flowed in your system. You grimaced. You were vulnerable. Searching around the casino for your guards, they were nowhere to be seen, where the fuck were they!? Scrambling through your mind for a plan as they slowly drew more steps towards you, your breathing quickly pacing. Office. Your office. It was a safe space, only you had access to but if you made a dash for it, it would surely trigger the pack that hunted you. It was your only option.
Not a moment passed before you started to book it up the stairs, your heels clicking hard against the metal, and as you suspected the three chased after your weakened form. You use your shoulder to force the door open, your body falling before you catch yourself, weakly standing up and heading towards your chair. 
Your breath hitched.
In your chair, the Captain, the leader of the wolf pack, right leg crossed over his left leg was Captain John-fucking-Price, a smug expression plastered on his face as a cigar nestled in between his lips, his blazer across the armchair and his tie undone.
“Your Majesty,” he bows his head in mockery, his hand going to his heart as the other goes behind his back. You scowled before hearing the door behind you being opened and closed, the sound of the lock clicking behind you.
“I thought I told you and your mutts, that you were banned from my casino?”
“Well love, if only you had cooperated with us, things wouldn’t have escalated.”
His eyes met yours as he relaxed back onto your chair, your eyes detumescenting at the sight. Your fist clenched against your side, your glare hardening the more the men stood in your room, exposed.
You watch this man have the audacity to snuff out his cigar on the exposed wooden part of your wooden chair, the wood turning black ever so slowly from the intense heat. You would’ve lunged at him if the drug didn’t clone him in different areas of your room or the fact that your body felt like it was about to collapse if you dared move from your spot, you were close to turning your insides out right then and there.
“Any last words, bonnie?”
Your mouth moved on its own.
“Michael.”
The silence that spread around the room soon filled with the Scottish and the dark, British man laughing out loud.
“Yer old butler?”
“Good one.”
Their laughter died down as they heard crashing before Ghost grunted in pain, his back colliding with the bookshelf before his front met the floor, the books pummeling him into submission. Their eyes widen at the sight, getting into a fighting stance, Price now standing up as he joins his team ready for the next attack.
A chuckle emits from your dizzied state still facing towards your chair as you swung back and forth, the tired yet crazed eyes that you shot, sent a shiver down their spine. Their eyes trailing to the corner’s shadow, the void that they didn’t think would be a danger since Price had scouted the room beforehand, their body remained stiff, the attack that was to come has yet to appear.
Their eyes skimmed the room and the darkness that lurks within it, the lights going out in an instant.
“What the shit?” Soap exclaims before feeling the hardened knuckles of a fist impacting his right cheek, sending him stumbling backwards and tripping on his own dress, straight into Gaz who was blindly looking around in the dark. Both men grunting as they hit the floor, toppling over one another. 
Price hadn’t taken into consideration that the butler would be a problem in their plan, clearly the elder gentlemen was a false act, a lull sense of security for the people that you had interacted with throughout the years, including themselves. Price’s brows furrow in vexation. You’ll never let them know your next moves even at your weakest point.
He huffed. Price needs you out now or they’ll never get a chance like this again, not for a long while now that you know they’re after you.
Throughout his experience in the Task Force, he has dealt with many enemies that could quieten their footsteps, never near enough to Ghost who could make his steps vanish into thin air, even then it was easier to tell when the Lieutenant was near with the shift of air that surrounded him. However this was different, this butler, Michael as he heard you call out, his steps vanish like Ghost’s but his presence felt like it was never there - like a shadow.
A grunt left Price’s lips, his eyes finally adjusting to the void, his eyes quickly landing on your figure that finally gave out near your chair, your body lay unconscious from the temazepam that they gave you, you’d be out for awhile. 
He sprints towards your anaesthetised statuette, hoping to get to you before any more issues come across his path as well avoiding your butler if he is yet to be finished with Soap and Gaz. The palm of his hand simply grazes your arm before he feels a hand take hold of his, firm and unyielding. Not even past a heart beat, John felt himself fly across the office and crash onto the coffee table, sending the vase, pens and pencils along with the mug, breaking it underneath him - the shards and pointed tips digging into his body, a wheeze escaping his body. The throbbing sensation in his head finally came to light as he fought his eyes to stay focused on one of the butlers that surrounded him, his head swirling, trying to catch up what was happening. 
Price winces as the shards dig deep into his arm as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows but feels the heavy weight of well-crafted heels of English shoes, pressing down on his chest, the weight forcing him back onto the broken pieces on the floor. His eyes trailed the leg to the owner of it, his eyes widening as he saw the gloaming eyes of the butler. A calloused hand reaches out for him, aimed for his neck, the other hand behind the butler’s back, the shadow of a handle behind peaks from his back. Shit. Price was not expecting this is how it would go down.
A blur whizzed by knocking the butler onto the floor, the body rolling before laying flat and still.
Ghost hunched over Price protectively. Relief travelled throughout Price’s body, the end was not yet to come, not now. He felt the other two’s presence surrounded him, more security.
With the helping hand of Soap and Gaz, they helped pull up Price, all four ready to complete this little op, already done with what they needed to do. However the figure that splayed on the floor slowly lifts himself, determined to keep fighting for his owner like a damned dog.
Michael moves in front of you, his body blocking the men that came here to take you away from the safety of your casino. His body wasn’t what it used to be, as time changed him but he was determined to fight by your side till his dying breath and this is what he was going to do, no matter who these bulking figures were, military or not, he’ll protect you till the end of time. That’s what your father would have wanted him to do. Protect his kin against the people who dares try and harm you or take you.
The impact of the fall had hurt his side, the fragility of his body could only take so much and fighting four military men that were at their prime and him, past his own - it wasn’t a fight that he could win on his own.
“Leave.”
In the darkness Michael could see their shoulders tense up, flexing from the sudden sound of his voice, it was raspy, gruff, deep and posh as one would say. He kept his heaving quiet.
“Or else.”
“Or else what? There’s four of us an’ one of ye,” Soap rips off the wig that was covering his mohawk, the glue no longer holding it in place.
Michael knew the Scotsman was right, you were unconscious, the guards gone missing guessing it was the Captain and Skull-face who took care of your men. His brows furrowed as the four men slowly cornered him, stepping back but being wary of your form behind him, never in his life has he been in this situation, you had always made sure you were 3-steps ahead of your enemies and allies - what had gone wrong?
Tumblr media
Tied and immobilised. The plan was a success though everything seemed a bit too easy with how things went, how you didn’t fight to stay conscious and letting your butler do the dirty work for you, they weren’t disappointed, no, they were glad the take down was easy but somewhere inside them they wished you fought harder. They questioned how weak you were to take the role as the casino owner, how you played a part in the mafia, you were so fragile, easy to take down. It seemed too off for them, you were a lamb ready for slaughter. It made them wonder what had you done to earn the fear and respect that you held against your allies and the people that work for you, how they were given that fear when they had entered your office, it was bizarre.
The four sat on your leather sofa, their bodies more relaxed after that they had secured you and your butler in the far corner of the room, bound by the ropes that they had Ghost brought with them. The squad had spreaded out on the sofa while Price had taken control of your chair, a show of power as well as comfort for his messed up back, it cradled him nicely as he watches the group talk amongst them, waiting for a good opportunity to leave the casino as the numbers of guests had doubled over the past hour, midnight seemingly to be the most active.
“Why are you still wearin’ that dress?” Gaz chuckles at the Scotsman that is still dressed as female.
“Ye got a problem with it?” Soap raised his brow at Gaz, before strutting into different poses in the attire, the dress straining against his muscles with every pose he made, surprisingly the dress didn’t rip apart at the seam. Gaz laughs at every pose that Soap throws out, the moment too good to miss even if they were on a mission, he grabs out his phone and starts taking pictures and videos of Soap. “This lass could take ye down, Garrick.”
Gaz clenches his stomach with his arm as he lets out a deflating sound erupt from his lungs while tears welled up in his eyes.
Price and Ghost were not that amused by their attics during the mission but it brought a small huff from Ghost as he contained the low chuckle down his throat while Price shook his head, fighting off to join in their silly banter. Ghost stared down through the windows to see if the amount of guests had lessened yet but alas, it hasn’t, though he sees that more guards had appeared making his brow raise in suspicion. That was odd. He had taken care of your other guards, ended them without mercy when they had chased him, the memory of their blood spilling onto his dark suit and onto the white, that’s now a dark shade of pink, cuffs.
“More have appeared,” he informs the rest, his head still facing the window, his eyes glued and counting the amount of guards that were filing into the casino. Watching their mouths move as they talk to one another, facial expressions were stoic but he knows they’re wondering where you had gone. 
“Shit. Ye think they know?” 
They had been wary of their movements, making things seem natural as they chased you not to alert the people in the casino, their costumes had made them blend in with the crowd. How could anyone possibly know?
“No, they shouldn’t,” Price was confident that they hadn’t let themselves be known, Leon and Laswell had guided them throughout the operation, they would’ve seen something or someone and inform them if they were caught, then they would’ve gotten themselves out of there. “I’m sure Laswell and Leon would’ve informed us.”
Ghost grunts not fully convinced, not with what was happening, the guards whispering to one another, trying to hide what they’re planning. His shoulders tense, an arm lifting up as he plays with the fake moustache he kept on (even picked it up when he was thrown into the shelves).
“John… ge… t… o…t…”
The room went silent. The static filling in the empty room as Laswell’s voice comes and goes from the comms as she tries to reach them. They could hear the pained rasps ever so often when the signal clears, what had happened?
No time for thinking as John stands from the chair, his breath hitching at the sound coming from the radio. Whatever had happened to Laswell and Leon, they no longer had Eyes and Ears in the casino, it was them against the unknown. This time, it wasn’t on their territory.
This battlefield was more in brains than brawn. A game of chess without a King.
They have captured the Queen, they have the bishop, the other pawns have been removed by the ghostly knight, and their towers were taken down. 
They had to play smart.
The sound of the radio’s frequency squeals throughout the room, piercing into everyone’s ears. The noise scraping and irritating almost deafening them as they cover their ears while their captives grimaced in the corner (the one who was conscious), before they heard a different voice that didn’t belong to Laswell nor Leonardo. 
The communicator chuckles into the radio. “141 a pleasure to meet you, as you may have heard, we have your ‘Eyes’ and ‘Ears’.”
Everyone in the room held their breath. Price curls his hands into a fist, the thought of putting his most trusted communicators and friends in danger had him burning at the seams, he knows they’re capable when situations like this happen but it still angered him no less. He could feel his throat dry up, the feeling of acting irrationally clawed at his mind, swallowing back a bunch of colourful words that he wishes to relish. All four of them were attentive to what the abductors had to demand.
“Now, don’t fret. We merely want what belongs to us.”
Price turned his head towards you and your butler. The intentions of the unknown caller was a mystery, you were widely known for connections from in and out of your casino, the caller could’ve been the business that you needed to attend tonight or it could’ve been an enemy that you or your father had made long ago. His team and himself needed you for said occupation but at the same time, Laswell and Leonardo were more valuable to them than you were, the moment they get the information out of you, they no longer need to step foot in this casino nor be in your presence.
“Fine.”
The voice brought back Price’s attention to his device, shit, they had taken too long to respond.
“Your troops here will be travelling with us, time is not a thing that we have a lot of. We need that pretty thing who’s with you, a liability to our success,” the crisp sound of a cigar being burned, the deep inhale could be heard through the radio. They hear a deep sigh before a low chuckle emits from the mysterious person. “4 months, 141. 4 months, I expect you to give me my victory.”
The sound of a chair creaking from being swivelled, the heavy steps impacting onto the wooden floor echoed throughout the quiet room.
“Locations will be given a week before the fourth month ends and we shall trade people.”
“If not?” another chuckle articulates through the radio. “I believe you know what comes next," Price heard multiple clicks before it stopped, followed by the cylinder being snapped into place, the hammer snapped back. 
“If not, I can always jog your memory."
The radio's static filled the room.
Tumblr media
A/N: it's fuckin' 1AM and I'm tired, lol, idek if I'll remember what I wrote - sorry if it's gibberish.
Taglist(s): @chickennn-soupp, @ghostlythots, @kaoyamamegami, @ocyeanicc, @hxnneydew, @lovifie, @cityoffallencrows, @spadekip, @missmidnight-writes, @kariiiel
Tumblr media
65 notes · View notes
cordeliawhohung · 3 months
Text
thinking about mafia!Simon wanting to help shy!Reader feel more comfortable and confident when it comes to being intimate so he buys you some high end lingerie ): if anything, all it does is make you more flustered because somehow it's worse than being bare naked.
still, he spent so much money on you (this stuff is expensive!) so you sneak off into the bathroom to try it on. wearing it makes you feel like an idiot. it took you nearly fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it on, and even then you still weren't sure if you were wearing it correctly or not. you stare at yourself in the mirror as you try and adjust the straps along your body before you eventually work up the courage to show Simon.
you had taken so long he was on his phone by the time you entered the bedroom, but the very moment he sees you he nearly tosses his phone to the side. you stand in the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest as if trying to hide yourself from him, and he can't help but grin. he stands up from the edge of the bed and his hands are quick to find your hips.
"hey there, gorgeous," he mumbles while pulling you closer.
"i feel like i look dumb," you whine while trying to avoid eye contact.
"dumb?" he repeats. his hands slowly slide along your hips to your lower back before dipping down and cupping your ass. he gives you a firm squeeze, which pulls a small squeak from your lips. "i know you just put it on, but sweetheart, i'm ready to tear the damn thing off of ya."
5K notes · View notes
angrythingstarlight · 3 months
Note
Bucky’s accountant: “sir you’re spending a lot of money on mrs and miss barnes-“
Bucky: * glare* “are you saying they don’t deserve it?”
Bucky’s accountant: “n-never mind”
Bucky enjoys it when you spend his spend money. He's made it abundantly clear that he wants you to have a soft, luxurious life. He doesn't want you to have to worry about finances. He takes care of everything. That includes you. All you have to do is let him.
Tumblr media
Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader
CW: Little bit o' fluff, Little bit o' smut.
A/N: Unbeta'd drabble for the Bumblebee series.
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Your name is on all the accounts, the deeds, his businesses (the legitimate ones anyway) and of course, it’s embossed on his black card. He loved giving you that. And he laughed when you asked about a limit. There isn’t one. He told you to get whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted.
Bucky knew from the jump that you were going to have reservations. He’s been working you through them.
So you can imagine how he felt the day his accountant knocked on his office door to inform him of a suspicious charge.
Bucky sits in his chair, staring impassively at Gregory as he lists off the recent expenses he discovered while reconciling Bucky’s accounts this morning. “...and there’s a charge for almost ten thousand at a supply shop. Some art place in Manhattan. And there’s another one at a bookstore for nearly a grand. I can have these reported—”
Bucky runs a hand down his face, revealing the beginning of a grin. The rare sight of the mobster smiling throws Gregory off kilter, causing him to trail off in disbelief.
10k on your hobbies? That’s his girl.
“I approve. In fact, I approve of everything she buys.”
“Sir. I must say that this seems excessive.”
“It’s not.” That smile is gone as quickly as it appears, and Gregory shrinks back in his chair. “I told her to spend at least ten times that this month. All her purchases are approved. No matter what she buys. My wife gets whatever she wants. Do you understand?”
His voice leaves a chill in the air and this time, when he smiles, it sends a slither of fear up the portly man’s spine.
“Yes, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He’s dismissed without a word, leaving Bucky to contemplate all the ways he’s going to reward you tonight.
Tumblr media
You crouch down, taking the small shopping bag off her shoulder and setting it next to the pile by the sofa. Straightening her light pink sleeve, you dust off the front of her dress. "Remember what we practiced."
Bee nods seriously. “I remembers Mommy.”
“When Papa asks what we bought today—”
“I say it’s our secrets,” she eagerly interrupts with a grin. “And then I run real fast.”
Bucky knocks on the open door. Once. Twice. “How’s my girls?”
“Hi, Papa!”
You glance over your shoulder to find him leaning against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other, hand in his pocket, and a curious glint in his eyes. “Hello sweet Bee. You have fun today? What’d you get me?”
She opens her mouth before shutting it when you poke her in the belly. “Our secrets.”
“Our secrets Papa.” She repeats, shrugging both shoulders. “Can’t tells you.”
“Aw, but I don’t have any.”
You know that tone even if your innocent, adorable baby doesn’t. Bee’s eyes soften and you can see her starting to cave. You have to intervene now before she tells him ‘jus’ one cause he needs it’.
A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as you defiantly gaze into the stormy depths of his piercing blue eyes.
“Don’t fall that Bumblebee. He already knows too many. Remember? You’re going to run over to your office so he doesn’t get anymore of our secrets and you’ll get two cupcakes after dinner. Ready?”
Bee takes a deep breath, gauging the distance between her and Bucky. “Weady.”
“Go!” you encourage, her giggles filling the room as she takes off. “Run Bee!”
Bucky shifts, stepping into the middle of the doorway, his six-foot-something frame filling the space. Pride blooms in his chest when she fearlessly keeps running towards him, skirting around his long legs with a mumbled ‘scuse me Papa."
You smother a laugh when she lets out a spirited cheer over making it out the room. The joy coursing through you fades to a thready hum of anticipation.
She may have made her getaway but you're very much trapped.
He waits until her giggles fade down the hallway and the sounds of Bluey filter out of her office. Then he turns all his attention to you.
“How much did you spend?” Bucky leans back against the doorframe, his eyes darkening as they skate over the bags to your pretty face.
“Enough.”
“I doubt it,” he hums under his breath. He holds up two long fingers, beckoning you closer. The seemingly innocent gesture is down right obscene because you have first-hand knowledge what those fingers are capable of. “Now it’s your turn. Let’s see if you can get past me.”
You don’t.
He lets you take about three steps before he grabs you. Kicks the door shut. Bends you over the side of the couch, knees sinking into cushions, your head hovering over the edge, near the bags you refuse to let him open. Takes you apart with his finger and tongue before splitting you open on his cock.
Praises you sweetly for spending his money while fucking you like he was punishing you for not spending more.
Which you both know he is.
He makes you work for it, makes you promise to treat yourself as good as he treats you, leaves you so desperate and on edge that you agree to everything that comes out of his mouth.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
All those little pleas drive his hips faster and deeper until they meld into an incomprehensible keen.
By the time you get there, that peak is so sharp and blinding it nearly hurts, leaving you drowning in a sea of overwhelming pleasure, your eyes rolling back, vision blurring as his hips grind into you, his thumb rubbing a perfect, rough circle around your clit.
He can’t think of a more beautiful sound than the low, frantic sob tearing from your lips.
Bucky is almost satisfied. Almost. Still, he doesn’t quite believe you. He thinks you’re going to need a little more convincing.
It’s going to take a few more rigorous sessions to make you come around. See things from his perspective. Understand that while you might be able to take him, he’ll always come out on top. That he’ll ride you over and over until you relent and let him give you what you deserve.
And he’s more than willing to do whatever it takes to get you to spend more.
Bucky places a soft kiss on your tear-streaked face, his soft lips move to your ear while his hips start moving again.
“We’re just getting started, Malyshka.”
And I—
4K notes · View notes
queers-gambit · 7 months
Text
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
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.
browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
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...
Tumblr media
"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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
requesting rules and masterlist
Marvel masterlist
Clingy Baby collection masterlist
7K notes · View notes