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buckys-little-belle · 2 years

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Mafia Au (Part One)

Origin Story

Stucky x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Mafia Au Guidebook - Here (I recommend reading this first)

Warnings - Very vague mentions of mafia dealings, someone is told “you should stop talking if you hope to keep your life” and that’s as violent as it will get, reader is technically Brock Rumlows sibling, I totally recognize we don’t all looks like him, talk like him, or are anything like him, please know there is no dictations as of “biological, half, step, or adopted” sibling, and you can easily view yourself as any type of sibling! This part of the story takes place during dinner, people eat food, food is mentioned, reader has a tough home life with Brock, but it’s not at all described in detail, talks of loneliness and feeling left out. (3100 ish words)

Notes - I hate how this came out, but at this point I have rewritten it way to many times to stat again, so I just hope it’s good enough <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and with this blog, SFW.

The dining room, to Y/n, felt too big, too extravagant, and elegant to be located in someone’s house. The room was large, the walls white with elegant moulding, the floors covered in black hardwood. In the middle of the room stood a large rectangular table, the black wood seemingly matching the floors, the chairs covered in a contrasting white fabric and each spot at the table had a white plate, gold cutlery, and a beautiful blue and gold placemat.

The owners of the house, the Odinsons, made sure to fill the room, their home, with odes to their heritage, paintings, statues, pottery, and the placemats, all artifacts from, and things based on, Asgardian culture. The small details helped make the room feel welcoming, the bare bones were modern and cold, but the details showed that the room had character.

The house that Y/n was standing in was much different to their own. The large mansion an extreme opposite to their small apartment in the Bronx, Y/n’s apartment could easily fit into the singular dining room at least one time, maybe even two. A rundown studio apartment had no upper hand on a grand home like this one, sure each had historical aspects, but the Odinsons had marble tiles, stairways, and wallpaper from eras past, all having been taken care of and in great shape. Y/n had a bathtub from the early 1900s that was falling apart, and old carpet flooring from the 70s.

The mansion could be compared to her brothers, Brock had a large, more modern, mansion just a few blocks away, the landscape just as beautiful, and the art just as expensive. Y/n knew what luxury was, they just were forbidden to live in it.

Brock kept Y/n at an arm's length, close enough to be shown off at parties, helping him show a united family front, but far enough that no one would know his secret. Brock had prided himself on his ability to run a Mafia Family of just Caregivers, not a Little in sight. He wanted to assert dominance by following past tradition, keeping Littles off to the side, out of the business aspects of this job.

But he needed to keep his sibling close, family meant everything to the other Mafia families, he couldn’t cast his sibling away without valid reasoning, his only reason being they didn’t fit his end goal, which would never been seen as reasonable. So he kept their label a secret, keeping them silent at dinners, meetings, any outing with him, making sure they lived somewhere else so no one would catch them regressing.

So Y/n was stuck in their small apartment, left alone to long for the large dining rooms, bathrooms that didn’t have leaky windows, and a ‘family’ that accepted them for who they really were. For the first few years, when Brock was still the right hand man of the Hydra Family over in California, Y/n thought that this was how all little’s were treated, only to be faced with the harsh reality that life could be so much better.

Here in New York littles were allowed in the Families ranks, they were allowed to be a part of big decisions, they were truly accepted by those around them. This group made sure littles got different meals, chicken nuggets, pasta, and more, if they wanted it, they still got to sit at the Caregiver table when little, they could thrive.

Part of Y/n wished to go back, go back to the days where they never knew that life could be better, the days where they were content with being paraded around others silently, being thrown away when they weren’t needed. Go back to the days that they didn’t long for more, but for now they would be stuck here, sat in the beautiful dining room, filled with sorrow, pushing around the weird food on their plate, longing for some pasta.

“Eat your food.” Brock seethed from beside them, a smile on his face as vile words were spat out quietly.

“What ‘s it?” Y/n whispered, the small circles a confusing dish.

“It’s Escargot.” Brock answered, taking a large sip of his drink, most likely an alcoholic one, one that would make him more irritable throughout the night. “Just eat it.”

Y/n swallowed hard, their eyes fixed on the plate, their stomach sinking at the idea of eating baby snail eggs. “I don’t think ‘m hungry.” They whispered to their brother, a pleading look on their face, silently begging for some mercy.

Brock sighed, standing up and fixing his jacket as he harshly whispered. “I’m going to the bathroom, if you don’t eat at least half of your food you’ll loose Tv privileges for a month.” His threat wasn’t empty, it was one he had acted on many times, one he dished out unfairly.

Y/n looked at the plate debating if it was worth it, the new Octonauts episodes were due to come out next week, something they didn’t want to lose, but at the same time they didn’t know if they would be able to swallow the food regardless of the impending punishment’s intensity.

Before they could scoop up a spoonful, someone interpreted them. “Y/n?” A man’s voice asked, Y/n looking up, their gaze now focused on a tall brunette, his hair pulled back in a low bun, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’m Bucky.” He said, sitting where Brock was just seated. “Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Y/n’s eyes were wide, confused as to why someone was paying attention to them. “Um.” Y/n’s eyes drifting to the entryway of the dining room, when there was no evidence that Brock was entering they answered shyly. “Sure.”

Bucky pulled out a small pad of paper from his suit jacket, words scribbled across the paper. “Do you live with your brother?” He asked, his eyes flipping from the paper to Y/n.

“No.” They answered quickly, a quick rush of fear flooding through them when they realized they answered wrong. “I, I mean yes, we live in a mansion.” Their answer was slightly choppy, too focused on making sure the words were clear and not mumbled to be focused on the flow of the sentence.

“Okay.” Bucky doubted, shaking his head slightly. “Can you tell me what colour the mansion is?” He prodded.

“Oh.” Y/n paused, trying to remember what colour Brock had talked about painting the house, but was that inside? Their mind running in circles as they tried to remember as best they could. “ ‘s it black?” They questioned, hoping they got the right answer, as if they were being tested and graded.

“You were close.” Bucky chuckled, sighing as he read the next question. “If you could have anything, anything in the world, what would you want?”

‘A canopy bed.’ They said in their head, the bed being something they’ve wanted for years. “World peace.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Bucky pressed, his eyes genuine.

“I can’t say.” Y/n said, a frown on their face, tears threatening to spill.

“Can’t? Or not allowed to?” Bucky asked.

Y/n just sat still, their hand reaching for their once discarded spoon, pushing around the food on their plate. Bucky sighed, placing the pad of paper back into his pocket and standing up, Y/n’s eyes filling with tears, disappointed in themself for making someone mad. What they didn’t know was it had nothing to do with them.

- - - - - -

Brock walked into the room, Y/n quickly wiping the tears from their face, trying to compose themself as best as they could. As Brock approached his seat they waited for his snarky comment on how much food was still on their plate, the joy he would have taking the Tv out of their apartment when they got there. “Brock Rumlow.” A voice laughed, one from the end, the head, of the table, one Y/n hadn’t heard before.

“Is something wrong Mr.Odin?” Brock asked, his voice suddenly cherie, his hands clasping together behind his back.

“We’re about to find out.” A snarky voice called out, the voice belonging to one of the Odinsons Y/n knew to be Loki, the man looking terrifying and yet terrified himself.

“Brock, what colour is your house?” Odin called out, a slight mocking tone on the edge of his voice.

“It’s light grey Sir.” Brock answered quickly.

“Yes it is.” Odin faked contemplation. “So why does your sibling think it’s black?” He questioned.

Brock chuckled lowly. “Y/n struggles with colours Sir. Can’t really trust anything they say.” He laughed, looking around the room, hoping for similar reactions, only to be met with unsatisfied stares.

“I find that hard to believe.” Odin boomed, standing up from his seat, causing the room to grow stiff. “Though, I would understand why they don’t know, seeing as you seem to store them across town.” He remarked.

“Y/n lives with me Sir, I don’t know what intel you're going off, but it’s wrong. They have a bedroom right next to mine.” Brock argued back, his attitude growing restless.

“So what is the ‘$1400’ payment to a ‘Mr.Jones each month?” The man questioned. “He owns a rundown apartment building does he not?” Odin added.

“Well, that’s.” Brock began. “Some of my men stay there.” He confidently said.

“Hm, see I might have been able to believe that if I didn’t have pictures of Y/n leaving and entering the building almost everyday.”

Y/n shrunk into their seat, not ready for the wrath that Brock would undoubtedly lash onto them, one of his rules being ‘Don’t leave the apartment under any circumstances.’. “Oh you little -“ Brock shouted, his furious gaze cast on Y/n.

“I suggest you don’t finish that sentence if you want to leave here with your life.” Odin said, two large bodyguards immediately grabbing Brock by each arm, dragging him to stand at the other head of the table, now on display for everyone to clearly see. “Y/n stops at a toy store everyday, standing outside and looking at what they have on display. I don’t think that can be easily explained, hm?” Odin added, Brock just looking back with wildly angry eyes. “And then they go to a Cafe, take out a stuffed animal, and drink a cup of hot chocolate.” Odin continued, Brock growing more restless the more the leader talked. “We have come to the conclusion to have you removed, you left a little to their own devices, lied about it, many, many times, and you treated them as if they mean nothing to you, your own sibling.” Odin scoffed, pure disappointment dripping from his words.

“I treat them the way they should be treated.” Brock seethed. “They are mine, I can do with them as I please.”

“Actually you can’t.” Loki interjected, Brock immediately taken aback in confusion. “You signed a contract, I have it here actually.” He beamed, standing up from his seat and walking to the other end of the table. “I, Brock Rumlow.” Loki mimicked the man's voice. “Declare that I will treat any little in my care with respect and human decency, I will provide them with a safe and stimulating environment, I will make sure their needs are taken care of, blah blah blah, it just goes on to list more things you didn’t do.” He noted.

“Brock your territory will be given to the Romanov Family, Y/n will be placed in the care of someone who will provide it, and you will be banned from New York.” Odin listed. “Oh and if you are to step into New York again, you will be dealt with accordingly.” He added, finally sitting back down in his seat.

“That’s unfair! You can’t do this to me! Y/n is mine! I will come back, I will!” Brock’s shouts could be heard as he was pulled from the room and dragged through the hallways, chuckles and murmured conversations heard through the dining room.

“Y/n?” Odin asked, his voice much softer now, the room coming to a silence when they heard him speak. “We have paired you with Steve and Bucky, the leaders of the Barnes-Rogers family.” He began. “They have agreed to take you in, and are eager to get to know you. Steve is actually the reason you are finally free from your brother's grasp, he started the investigation.” Odin proudly beamed, his favourite family once again proving why they are his favourite.

Y/n just sat still, unsure of what to do, sad that they may never see their apartment again, a few stuffed animals that they would love to have, but excited for what this newfound freedom may lead to. They nodded their head in agreement. “With that done, let’s get back to dinner!” Odin cheered, the room laughing and smiling in response.

Y/n’s eyes searched the room, looking for the only familiar person, Bucky, their gaze finally landing on the Barnes-Rogers Family, a few of them sitting at the end of the table, where Brock once stood on display. Two boys were already looking at Y/n, waving their hands in a ‘come over’ gesture, Y/n slowly standing up and walking over.

“Hi! I’m Peter, and this is my best friend Ned, he’s our guy in the chair. I’m ‘the spider’, you need information? I can get it, you need someone sneaky! That’s me!” Peter ranted, pointing to the boy next to him, as well as making dramatic gestures with his hands.

“I see you’ve met Peter.” An unfamiliar voice laughed, Y/n turning to see a man with blonde hair smiling, his height similar to Bucky’s and his demeanour just a serious. “Here.” He said, pulling out a chair, that sat across from Peter, for Y/n to sit in. “I’m Steve, Bucky is just getting you some food he’ll be right back.” Steve smiled, answering Y/n’s unsaid questions, them nodding their head in approval.

“So what do you do? Are you sneaky too? Or really smart? What can you bring to the team? We could be sidekicks!” Peter started.

“The Spider, The Egg and The Guy in the Chair.” Ned added, him and Peter breaking out in laughter right after. “The name could use some work.” The two of them entering their own conversation.

“Hi Dove.” Bucky called out, sitting in between Steve and Y/n, placing a plate down in front of them. “I got you a bit of everything, this way we can know which one you want for next time.” He smiled, looking to Steve with excitement. Y/n just nodding at his words.

“Manners Dove.” Steve said, some food on his fork as he looked to Y/n.

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears, nodding their head, trying to get any words out of their mouth, but failing to do so. “What’s wrong?” Bucky immediately asked, his hand settling on Y/n’s back to comfort them as best he could.

“I.” They stuttered. “I din’, I din’ know I could talk.” They cried, confused as to why they were mad that Y/n wasn’t talking, something they were told not to do, something they weren’t allowed to do. “I, please don’ be mad, ‘m so sorry.” Tears continued to flow down their cheeks.

Steve stood up angrily, throwing his napkin to the table and storming out of the room. “Steve.” Bucky called after him, his hand now rubbing circles into Y/n’s back.

“ ‘m sorry, ‘m thankful, ‘m so thankful, I love the pasta I do.” Y/n cried, trying to show how grateful they were, and how sorry they were for not using their manners.

“We know Dove.” Bucky soothed. “He isn’t mad at you, he’s just mad because it took so long for Odin to do anything about your situation.” He explained. “He just needs some fresh air.”

Y/n nodded, their hands wiping away their tears as best they could, a few new ones falling as they turned back towards their plate, picking up their fork to begin eating. “Boy’s, I think we are going to go, Ned, can you make sure Odin gets the right files please?” Bucky asked, both boys nodding in agreement immediately. “Peter, could you go grab me a container from the kitchen for this food?” Peter didn’t even answer, just springing into action.

“Did you bring anything with you that we should grab?” Bucky asked Y/n, being met with a head shake ‘no’.

Bucky put Y/n’s food into the container, standing up and saying a few goodbyes before walking back to Y/n. “Ready to go Little Dove?” He asked, his hand held out as an invitation.

“Mhm.” Y/n murmured, standing up and waving to the boys, holding onto Bucky’s hand as he led them out of the room and down and out the front entrance.

“Steve?” Bucky called, not able to see where he was standing.

“Yah.” He called back, walking out from behind a wall. “Sorry I just needed-”

“I know.” Bucky sighed, Y/n still holding his hand as the three of them waited for their car.

“ ‘m sorry Steve.” Y/n blurted out. “I shoulda said thank you.” They mumbled, squeezing Bucky’s hand slightly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Dove.” Steve responded. “I’m sorry for walking out like that.” He said, crouching down to his knees and grabbing Y/n’s other hand.

“ ‘s okay.” Y/n weakly smiled, trying to be as genuine as possible, their smile not meeting their eyes, Steve standing up, still holding onto Y/n’s hand.

The three of them stood together, waiting for the car, ready to go ‘home’, wherever that was. “A canopy bed.” Y/n said.

“A what?” Steve chuckled.

“Bucky as’d me what I would wish for, I wish for a canopy bed.” Y/n said matter of factly. Bucky and Steve both began laughing. “ ‘s that a bad answer?” Y/n asked, only to be met with soft coos.

“No, no Dove, it’s a perfect wish.” Bucky answered. “It’s just funny because we bought you a canopy bed already.” He laughed.

“It even has curtains.” Steve added enthusiastically.

“Oh.” Y/n breathed, even more excited to go ‘home’. Though they would miss their stuffed animals, a canopy bed seemed like a fair trade, they tried to reason. “ ‘m gonna miss my stuffies.” They blurted, the thought too much to keep in.

“Our friend Sam stopped by your apartment during dinner, all your stuffies are sitting on your bed, safe and sound, as we speak Dove.” Steve stated, squeezing Y/n’s hand slightly to reassure them.

Maybe everything was going to be okay, only time could tell.

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chaossmagic · 8 months

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I need stucky au from post-endgame where Steve left Bucky. There is not enough angst from the scene. Bucky had been in love with Steve since they were very young, however, Steve was naïve to notice his best friend’s feelings. After Steve left, Bucky needed to go to therapy since he was under government supervision. I love the quote from that one scene “If he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.” We do not discuss enough the passage from Bucky in Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Maybe you can add a little plot between the lines? Basically a story about Bucky’s situation after Steve left

Bucky can count on one hand the times he's outright, deliberately lied to Steve.

Once, when he was fourteen and he told Steve he'd kissed Maria Gracewski behind the grocery store one day, when it was the middle of summer and all the kids they knew were stepping out with each other. He hadn't; in fact, they'd done nothing more than hold hands and pass a bottle of ice-cold soda between them, each taking in turns to sip from the straw to quench their thirst, each feeling too awkward to make an actual move.

He wasn't sure, at the time, why he'd bothered lying; it was only later he realized it was because he had been trying to make Steve jealous, thinking about Bucky kissing someone who wasn't him.

The second time was when his draft card came and he told everyone he enlisted instead. It was easy to pretend to be the dutiful son doing the brave thing, the right thing, going where he was needed to serve his country, a true honour to his family. That's what people told his parents on the street, in the store, in the bread queue that ran around the block twice at nine in the morning. That's what he told himself when he spent the entire journey from New York to Portsmouth, England cooped up in his cabin, nauseous not with seasickness, but fear, knowing it was impossible to admit he never wanted to go to war in the first place.

The third time was after Kreichsberg, after - that. He didn't really like to think about it. Tried to actively avoid it, in fact, would be more willing to open up about plenty of other things that had happened to him in the last seventy years except where it had all started. No way was his mind ever going back there, to the cold, dank cell and the sizzling of burning hair and flesh, syringes full of substances he had no idea what they were and - screams. The screams were the worst.

I'm fine, he'd kept telling the nurses who insisted on examining him. I'm fine, he'd told Steve, after he'd suggested for the fifth time that he lie down and get some real rest. Really, I'm fine, he'd said to Dum-Dum and Morita and Falsworth and everyone else who asked him when they saw the dark circles under his eyes and the way his bones stuck out from under his uniform a little too much. He was fine. Tired, hungry, and missing home just like every other soldier. Fine.

Then, a dingy and sparse apartment in Bucharest, where the fridge only worked half the time and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, but he paid his rent each week in cash and nobody bothered him if he helped fix a few lightbulbs or carry heavy pieces of broken furniture out to the sidewalk.

Steve, standing in the middle of his damn kitchen, a photograph of his own face in his hand and one of Bucky's notebooks in the other, head-to-toe Captain America monkeysuit on but eyes wide and pleading. Looking at Bucky and wanting answers Bucky himself had been too afraid to give.

You pulled me from the river. Why?

For a fraction of a second, the real answer had been on the tip of his tongue. If he could just say it, then maybe everything would be okay. Maybe Steve could save him. Maybe Steve could help him save himself, if let him. If he stopped being so fucking afraid all the time of being dragged right back to where he'd been for the last seventy-odd years. If he didn't feel constantly sick with nerves and fear, if his entire body wasn't one screaming hunk of bone-deep pains and muscle aches and joints that didn't work properly. If he could actually fend for himself instead of living off of chocolate bars and the few types of fresh produce he could actually eat with vomiting.

Because I didn't want you to die, he'd wanted to say. Because I love you. I remembered that I love you.

But once again, he'd been too scared to tell the truth. Chickened out at the last minute. Lied, again.

I don't know, is what had actually come out of his mouth, moments before the ceiling above them exploded in the thumping feet of the SWAT team, come to make sure he didn't do anything else terrible again by shutting him up permanently.

The last time had been right before Steve left to return the Infinity Stones. He'd wanted so badly to tell him not to go, to beg if he needed to, to tell him, Stay with me. Choose me. I'm the one who's always loved you more than anyone else, and I know you love me too, so why won't you fucking STAY?

But he hadn't done that. No pleading, no begging, no last-minute confessions of love despite almost a century of it burning beneath his ribs, right where his heart was, and where he knew, if only he'd asked, the same thumping beat pounded in Steve's own chest, crying out to him. Crying out for him. He'd feel it if he put his hand there, he knew, if he'd even dared to try instead of smiling and nodding in the right places and saying all the right things that Steve wanted to hear to justify his decision to himself.

Bucky was a lot of things. He'd been called a lot of things. Charmer. Casanova. A mother's biggest dream for a son-in-law.

Asset. Winter Soldier. The Fist of Hydra.

Killer. Murderer. Monster.

Sergeant. White Wolf. Buck.

Now, though? There was one thing left that people didn't really know. Opening and closing the fridge door for a fourth, fifth, sixth bottle of beer that did absolutely nothing for him intoxication-wise and only made him want to pee, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV while a football game played that he wasn't even watching -

Simultaneously wanting to scream, cry, or throw something -

Sergeant James Barnes was a war hero, museum display and all.

The Winter Soldier was the most dangerous assassin on the face of the planet for 50 years.

But Bucky, though? Just Bucky? Plain old scared-to-death-of-his-own-shadow, walks everywhere for miles because getting on the subway makes him want to pass out and throw up at the same time, even with noise-cancelling earbuds, Bucky?

That Bucky Barnes was a fucking coward. That was the real him. And he only had himself and his messed-up, broken brain to blame.

#anon #lorna's writing #stucky #stucky fic #bucky barnes #just between us did the love affair maim you all too well #this is angsty y'all sorry #think of this as something that happened during the 6 months between endgame and the beginning of tfatws #bucky's feelings aren't unrequited steve's just an idiot #(and the endgame writers are hot garbage)#i hope you like it nonnie!

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