hollyseb

[hollyseb]

I DO (part 2)

Mob! Bucky x Reader - Forced Marriage AU

Warnings: MINORS DNI, swearing, violence, sexual content

2.2k words

Summary; Bucky, the leader of the mob, and the daughter of his enemy mob leader, find themselves entangled in a complex relationship

“We got a problem”.

Bucky sent a glance to your sleeping form, the sheets pooling around your waist, with your chest lifting rhythmically.

He ran a hand down his face and groaned, not wanting to leave you. “How bad is it?”, he asked, debating whether to throw the phone at the wall.

“Bad enough”, Steve replied grimly.

Fuck”, Bucky muttered, hastily shoving his phone into his slacks, throwing on the rest his clothes.

Finally reaching the foyer, he grabbed his keys from the table by the door and made his way outside to where his Mercedes was parked. The cool night air hit him like a slap in the face.

Dragging me away from my wife, on my wedding night. This better be fucking good.

“Steve”, Bucky said tersely, stalking into the dark warehouse, his men surrounding a table.

Bucky's gaze swept over the faces of his men, noting the glint of determination in their eyes. The room fell silent as he entered, a testament to his intimidation.

Steves eyes met his, his expression grim but determined. "Bucky, glad you could make it," he said, his voice low and steady.

"What's the situation?" Bucky demanded, his broad shoulders raising and falling in laboured movements.

"Hydra hit us hard tonight," he rasped, his jaw set with determination. "They took out one of our key operations."

Bucky's jaw clenched, “Do we know why?”

Steve faltered for a moment, before clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “They’re… not happy about the arrangement with Pierce’s daughter”.

Bucky smirked at that, “well he was quick enough to give her away to pay off his debt… fucking coward”.

“Bucky, they took out 14 of our men, brutally”.

Fuck.

Bucky's expression darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Wipe out half of their men, now”, Bucky began, his lips beginning to curl into a dangerous smirk. “Send a message that we won’t tolerate their interference”.

Steve listened intently, waiting for Bucky to continue.

An intimidating glint flashed through the mob boss’ eyes. “Let them know we will track the rest of them down, one-by-one, take them hostage, and torture them until they are begging to die”, his voice dripping with menace.

This was the mob boss that Steve knew; ruthless, determined and downright frightening.

The warehouse buzzed with anticipation as Bucky directed his men to different parts of the city. The adrenaline from the operation faded, replaced by a growing unease, a pang of guilt gnawing at him. He hated how he left you alone on your wedding night.

Steve sensed his apprehension. “Go home, I got this”, he said assertively.

Bucky hesitated, usually reluctant to relinquish control, but the thought of you waiting for him at home spurred him into action. With a nod of gratitude, he turned on his heel and headed back to his car, eager to be by your side once more.

The first light of dawn was breaking through the darkness when Bucky was speeding home.

Upon entering, he found his home eerily quiet. The faint scent of perfume lingered in the air, a reminder of your presence.

His steps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way to the bedroom, his mind racing with worry. Had you left in the middle of the night? Did you really feel no connection?

Relief flooded through his body as he pushed the bedroom door open, and saw you tangled in the sheets.

Gently, Bucky pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

After he pulled away slightly, you pounced on him, eyes flashing with anger.

You pinned him to the mattress with a knee on his hip and a hand on his wrist. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, as you took in his bewildered expression.

”Where the hell were you?”, you seethed, your voice demanding. “Leaving in the middle of the night without a word”.

He swallowed hard, opening his mouth to respond.

You interrupted him. “It’s my first night in this house, and you fucking leave?”

”I’m sorry, doll”, he murmured, “it was just…business”, his hand reaching out to brush a stray hair behind your ear.

Is he fucking patronising you?

You scoffed, shoving his hand away. “Business”, you repeated incredulously.

Bucky's jaw clenched at your tone, not accustomed to having his decisions questioned by anyone. His patience wearing thin, "yes, business," he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I had to handle something urgent”.

Your grip on him tightened. “Something urgent, huh? How about I perform a disappearing act too?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “You disappear and I’ll hunt you down”, his voice low and edged.

“Is that a threat?” you challenged, a smirk playing on your lips as you observed the way Bucky’s jaw ticked. You managed to piss him off.

“Call it what you want”, he replied evenly, his tone firm, “but you're not going anywhere without me knowing about it”.

You moved to release him, attempting to roll off of the man, but he had your hip gripped like a vice. The tension in the room thickened, each word hanging in the air like a silent challenge.

Bucky's lips curled into a predatory smile, “but trust me, I don’t need threats to keep you right where I want you”.

“Fuck you”.

Bucky’s eyes darkened with desire as he held you captive beneath him.

“Funny,” he smirked, his voice dripping with hunger, “that’s exactly what I had in mind”.

You sneered at that, but his smirk only widened in response before his lips crashed into yours. You hated his cocky attitude, but you couldn’t help succumbing to him.

Bucky grinned against your lips when he ran his fingertips from your hip to the swell of your breast, feeling goosebumps appear in his wake.

Gently, he cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple, eliciting a gasp from your mouth. Your body responded instinctively to his touch, arching as he rolled your nipple between his fingers.

His other hand slid down your spine, swiftly flipping you onto your back. He pulled away slightly, his gaze lingering on your hazy eyes, swollen lips and the way your breasts bounced as you landed.

With a hungry gleam in his eyes, he began peppering kisses along your jawline and down your neck, until he reached your breasts. He licked the sensitive skin around your nipple tentatively, maintaining unbroken eye contact with you.

You couldn't help but let out a soft whimper at his deliberate slowness, your anticipation building with each teasing touch. He lapped up the sound, a low hum vibrating against your skin as he palmed your other breast.

Your eyes flew open in shock when he started kissing down your stomach, tugging at the duvet pooled around your hips.

“Bucky?”

He hummed in response, fingers curling around the fabric covering your form. His gaze flickered to yours, “relax, doll”, he whispered, his voice a soothing balm, “I've got you”.

With a shaky exhaled you surrendered to his touch.

He pulled the duvet below your knees, and gently placed his hands on your thighs. Slowly, he spread your legs apart, eyes falling from your face to your core.

”Fuck”, he murmured to himself, taking in the sight before him. “You’re so fucking wet”, he growled, a hunger evident in his voice. He needed this.

His gaze flickered back up to meet yours, a primal intensity burning in his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head, his lips trailing a scorching path along your inner thighs.

Bucky's movements were deliberate and calculated, his tongue teasingly tracing circles along your skin. You squirmed beneath his touch, your breath hitching as he sucked a love bite into the plump skin of your thigh.

As he finally reached your core, he paused, his gaze locking with yours once more. There was a silent question in his eyes, a silent request for permission. You nodded silently.

With a devilish grin, Bucky lowered his head, licking a stripe through your folds. Your body tensed, breath getting caught in your throat. It felt so foreign, but so natural. His hands gripped your thighs, dragging you closer to his face.

With a stifled moan, you breathed his name. It was blissful, the way his tongue swept over your clit. His fingers traveled from your thighs, to spread your folds, allowing him to lick impossibly deeper.

“B-Bucky”, you stammered, a poor attempt at a warning as he teased you, bringing you to the edge, only to pull you back.

He hummed innocently in response, the vibrations going straight to your clit. You found yourself lifting your hips in an attempt to get him closer, grinding against his tongue.

You knew you were becoming delirious, losing yourself in his touch. Unable to control how your body writhed, and stringing his name between moans and whines. The knot in your stomach tightening.

He ignored your jumbled pleas, mercilessly lapping at your clit. Slowly, he sank his finger into your entrance, controlled and gentle, hardening at the way your walls clenched him.

“Bucky, please”, you whisper breathlessly. You tried to resist the urge to ride his fingers. He revealed in your submission, his gaze darkening with desire. He loved you like this, at his mercy.

”You’re making such a mess, honey”, the sound of your wetness filling the room.

Suddenly, he sucked on your clit and curved his fingers, just at the right pace. The knot released. Your legs shook around his head as your mouth fell open in ecstasy. Fuck. You forgot your own name. You’d never came so hard in your life. You were gasping for air.

He wouldn’t release you, prolonging your climax. He couldn’t get enough of the way you trembled beneath his touch.

As you came down from your high, chest heaving and skin flushed, Bucky crawled up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin.

“Still planning on that disappearing act, huh?”, Bucky said, a smug grin playing on his lips.

In a dazed haze, you managed to lazily roll your eyes. “Gonna need more than just one orgasm to make me forget about that, Buck”.

Bucky’s grin widened at your response, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “Oh sweetheart”, he purred, leaning in closer, “I can make you forget your own name”.

You arched an eyebrow, with a smirk devious enough to match his. “Careful, you might end up forgetting yours too”, you retorted, your tone teasing.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a husky whisper, his breath grazing your ear. “It’ll be hard to forget my name with the way you were moaning it”.

Bucky’s grin faltered as a sharp knock on the bedroom door shattered the tranquil atmosphere.

Quickly, you pulled the sheets up to cover yourself as Bucky padded across the room with a resigned sigh. He swung the door open, revealing the man who you had seen briefly at the wedding, Steve.

The man stepped into the room, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to Bucky. You felt exposed under his stare.

”You’re needed downstairs. Now.” Steve's voice was urgent, his eyes darting between you and Bucky with unease.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, muscles tensing with apprehension. “Has Hydra attacked?”, he questioned, his voice edged with concern.

“Bring her downstairs too”, Steve added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bucky looked at you over his shoulder. He hated the way you were gripping the bedsheets in fear. Both men fixed their eyes on you, their expressions unreadable. Silently, Bucky nodded to Steve, unease settling like a fog over the room.

“Give us a minute”, Bucky said to Steve, closing the door quietly.

There was a sense of foreboding in your chest as Bucky turned to you, his demeanor suddenly serious. You felt a shiver down your spine. You had yet to see his mob boss side in full throttle.

“Get dressed, now”, he instructed, placing a folded pair of his grey tracksuit bottoms and a plain white tee in your hands.

”Bucky?”, you whispered, alarmed by his haste, “is everything okay?”

“Get dressed”.

Without another word, you obeyed his instructions, slipping into the clothes he provided. You found yourself breathing in the scent of his cologne to calm yourself down.

Once dressed, you met Bucky’s steely gaze. His usual charm was gone. A reminder of the dangerous world he lived in.

Bucky took your hand in his, his thumb drawing circles over your hand. His touch grounded you in the midst of the chaos. together, you made your way downstairs.

As you reached the downstairs of his mansion, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Bucky’s men were gathered in tense clusters, their expressions grim.

"Stay close to me," Bucky murmured, his voice low and reassuring, as he led you through the gathering of his men.

You nodded silently, clinging to his hand tightly as you navigated through the tense atmosphere. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping up your spine.

As you approached the center of the room, Bucky's third-in-command, Sam, stepped forward, his expression grave.

“Hydra has placed a hit on your wife.”

—————————————————————————

Part 3 out soon!

Taglist!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @thealyrs @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

part 2 of I do is nearly finished!

can’t wait for you all to read it, i loveeee where it’s going. hehehehe😼😼😼😼😼

feel free to drop me asks! and let me know if u want to be tagged !!!

hol <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

I DO

Mob! Bucky x Reader - Forced Marriage AU

Warnings: swearing, violence, misogyny?, sexual content (MINORS DNI)

3.2k words

Summary; Bucky, a member of the mob, and the daughter of his enemy find themselves entangled in a complex relationship.

No fucking way.

Your throat tightened. The reflection in the mirror portrayed a stranger—pale complexion, vacant eyes.

“You look beautiful,” Nat reassured you, placing her steady hands on your bare shoulders, but you’d never felt so appalled. She was trying to comfort you but fell on deaf ears.

Your gaze dropped to the dress. It fits you perfectly, especially with your hair trailing down your back.

You wanted to rip it all off.

“Nat”, your voice meek, tears threatening to fall.

"I'll be by your side through it all, and if that mystery man dares to step out of line, well, a broken nose wouldn't hurt," she attempted a smile, but it faltered. Your best friend gave your shoulders a final squeeze.

Today is your wedding day.

As you found out yesterday. Yesterday. You seethed, manicured hands clenching.

“How could this happen to me, Nat?”, you asked through gritted teeth, the reality of the situation setting in.

Nat's gaze softened, her eyes filled with a sadness you couldn't bear to meet. "We both know why," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, the truth of her words like a knife to your heart. Your father's illicit dealings had finally caught up with you, dragging you into a web of deceit and manipulation from which there seemed to be no escape.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so naive?

And so, you became a pawn in your father’s game. An object to be bought, owned and sold off at will.

It was all a show of power. You cross me, and I’ll rob your daughter of the rest of her life. You were nothing more than collateral damage.

———————————

As Bucky adjusted his tie in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was that of a man with a steely resolve, a predator poised to strike. His jaw clenched with determination, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“One last drink before you’re hitched?” Steve smirked, pushing a whiskey into his best friend's hand.

Bucky sent him a sharp look. “Come on Steve, you act like I'm not the one calling the shots here”, the glint in his eyes portraying a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

In a swift motion, he downed the alcohol and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat burned. He lavished the feeling.

“Marrying a woman you’ve never even seen?” Steve's grin widened, his tone holding a hint of scepticism.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “All part of the game, my friend” he responded cryptically, a flicker of anticipation glimmering in his eyes.

“You never know, pal, she might be a knockout”, Steve teased, a veiled reassurance towards his friend.

”Yeah. Fat fucking chance, as long as Pierce knows I can take everything he holds dear, I’m a happy man”

With a nod of agreement, Steve raised his glass in a silent salute. "I'll drink to that," he said.

———————

Deep breaths.

You felt nauseous.

You stepped into the aisle, honing your vision on the figure standing by the altar. He had his back to you but, he was tall, broad and masculine.

Ripping your eyes from the man and planting them on your feet. Just make it down the aisle without tipping over.

Bucky turned to face you. Holy shit. His surprise was palpable. He wasn’t expecting this. You knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked beautiful. Your dress moulded perfectly to your body, skin glowing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You felt a cool hand press against the small of your back.

“Hey”, a deep voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

A response far too casual for the situation at hand.

His hand moved to your waist, guiding you to face him and look at him. Fuck him. You knew this was a stupid, stubborn attempt to maintain some form of control, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

That was until he placed a finger under your chin, his touch surprisingly gentle. Oh. He is gorgeous. Sculpted face, baby blue eyes, pink lips. His touch was far too gentle for someone so evil.

“H-hi”, you stammered, your voice portraying the nervousness you felt.

Bucky’s smirk only widened at your response, as if he found amusement in your discomfort. It was infuriating. He was drinking in your wide eyes and aloof expression. You were so innocent. He almost felt bad for inviting you into his world. Almost.

He wanted to devour you.

”Well…aren’t you a sweet little thing”, his finger tilted your head back as he unashamedly raked his eyes over your features, with an almost predatory hunger.

You forced a sweet smile, concealing the disgust you felt at his patronising comment, “get your fucking hands off of me”, you retorted sharply.

Bucky’s smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before being replaced by amusement again. “Such a filthy mouth for a pretty girl… I’ll sort that out for you”, he replied, his grip on your chin tightening.

You snarled at him, resisting the urge to clock him in his cocky face.

It was almost humorous, the way the interaction looked like a loving husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

The vows went by in a blur, all words sounding muted and unreal, until the time came to kiss the man you met half an hour ago.

Bucky couldn’t look anymore gleeful, revelling in your discomfort.

“Come on honey, I promise I’m a fantastic kisser”, he taunted, arrogance in his smirk.

You opened your mouth for a retort, but his lips landed on yours before you could protest. You hated how he was so gentle, caressing your cheek while his tongue ran across your bottom lip.

Damn it, he is a fantastic kisser.

Pulling away, you forced yourself to compose, concealing the turmoil within. He was so gentle, as if he was afraid you’d break in two at his kiss. Bucky’s touch held a power over you. You despised it, but it was overwhelming.

The reception blurred into a whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and forced smiles. Every glance from Bucky sent shivers down your spine. He was everywhere. A hand on the small of your back, an arm draped across your waist.

As the night wore on, you found yourself cornered by Bucky, his presence suffocating. His whispered promises of a future together sounded more like threats, each word tightening the knot of discomfort in your stomach.

“Is it time for that broken nose yet?” Nat whispered into your ear as you snorted at her comment, your first genuine smile all day.

“I’m ready whenever you are”, you replied, before taking her into an embrace. Her presence was a lifeline in the chaos of this ceremony.

Even after your moment of solace with Nat, Bucky's presence loomed like a dark cloud. His eyes followed your every move, logging everybody you spoke to, as he watched with an adverse gaze.

Unable to bear his suffocating presence any longer, you slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the quiet solitude of the garden.

The cool night air enveloped you, offering a brief respite from the whirlwind wedding. Sitting on the wooden bench, you closed your eyes, simply focusing on breathing, before being unsurprisingly interrupted.

With a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, Bucky leaned against the stone wall, the faint glow of a cigarette illuminating his features in the darkness.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with a hint of his streetwise charm.

"Yeah? Well, I’m fine," you replied curtly, refusing to show any vulnerability in his presence.

Bucky's smirk widened, the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sure you are," he said, his tone teasing. "But just in case you need a hand getting rid of any unwanted guests, you know what to say."

“Nobody’s watching here, you know? You don’t need to keep up this facade”, you replied, more angrily than you’d expected.

Bucky’s expression darkened at your accusation, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “Facade? Come on, darlin’ you know me better than that”

”Do I?”, your voice echoed, not ready to submit to him.

He took a step closer, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Yeah, you do," he replied, his tone edgier now, devoid of its earlier teasing edge. "You think I’m doing this all for me?"

You found yourself unable to make eye contact with the mobster, “I think this is a game… where I’m being used as a pawn”, you confessed, a sadness in your voice.

Bucky was taken aback by your raw vulnerability. He lifted your chin with his forefinger, as he did in the ceremony, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were a cocktail of remorse and sincerity.

“A game? I won’t lie, doll, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of”, he swallowed hard, grappling with the actions that had led to this moment, “but I wouldn’t drag you into this twisted world simply to be a pawn”.

You fought internally, unsure of what to believe.

Bucky stepped back slightly, his eyes raking over your features as his finger drew an arc over your jaw. "I know this ain't the ideal situation for either of us," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of regret. "But we're in this together now."

Your features softened and you let yourself relax into his gentle touch. The voice in your head stressing about how dangerous this man was began to quieten. You needed this comfort.

"I want you to know," Bucky continued, his words measured yet genuine, "that I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you. Not while I'm around."

"Thank you," you murmured, the weight of the day's events finally beginning to lift from your shoulders. "I appreciate that."

Bucky offered you a small, understanding smile before gesturing toward the door leading back to the reception hall. "Come on," he said gently, "let's get back inside.”

Bucky flicked his cigarette into the darkness, the ember glowing brightly before fading into nothingness.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion of the day's events began to weigh heavily on you.

“You ready to call it a night?” Bucky asked, sweeping a stray hair behind your ear.

His eyes were fixated on yours until you replied with a simple nod.

You began saying your farewells to the guests, making sure to hug Nat especially hard. You eyed Bucky as he seemed to be having an enthralling conversation with a man you recalled being introduced to as Steve. You made a mental note to ask him about his friend.

You let Bucky guide you into his mansion, down the large halls, to the bridal suite. Everything was gorgeous, sophisticated and modern.

You hadn’t let your mind trail to what your wedding night would bring, you found yourself wondering whether he’d even stay in the same wing as you.

As you and Bucky stepped into the dimly lit room, the air was hot with anticipation, charged with the unspoken tension between you.

As you turned to face him, ready to bid him goodnight and retreat to your separate quarters, Bucky's gaze met yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that took you by surprise.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" His voice was low, almost hesitant, betraying the confident facade he often wore. There was a hint of uncertainty in his words, a vulnerability that made your heartache.

It was a bold move, really, you both knew it. For a request you were so sure you would’ve declined earlier in the day, you found yourself taken aback.

“Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "Yes, you can stay."

As the door clicked shut behind Bucky, you felt anticipation in the air. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the contours of your figure with a certain hunger.

“Let me take off that wedding dress," he murmured, his words laced with desire. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to resist him, daring you to deny the attraction that pulsed between you.

Your head was spinning, the way he bounced between sincerity and domination.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, the thought of shedding the symbol of your forced marriage felt like an admission of defeat, surrendering to the forces that had brought you to this moment.

The primal hunger in Bucky’s eyes convinced you, with a hesitant nod, you faced your back to him and pulled your hair over your shoulder.

Bucky’s fingers delicately worked the fastens on your dress, his gaze transfixed on your back. You felt yourself becoming conscious, truly realising for the first time that this man was going to see you at your most vulnerable.

Sensing your apprehension, the air shifted, “you’re doing great, sweetheart”, he murmured, “Tonight, it’s just you and me”.

You eased at his words, as the fabric pooled at your feet in a cascade of silk and lace.

With a tender smile, Bucky reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a feather-light touch. “God, you’re beautiful”, he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His words warmed you from the inside out. There was something more than desire in his gaze. It ignited a fire in you that threatened to consume everything in its path.

In the dim light of the room, you could see the raw hunger in Bucky's eyes, the longing that burned like a fire deep within his soul. But beneath the hardened exterior, there was a vulnerability—a longing for connection, for intimacy.

You doubted he was some sort of blushing virgin, especially with the stunt he pulled at the altar, but it was hard to believe he looked at other women like this.

“W-will you… are you going to…”, you faltered, not quite knowing how to ask him the question.

”Going to what, doll?”

“You know… it’s an arranged marriage. Are you planning to…see other women?”, you ventured, your voice hesitant, uncertain of how to broach the topic.

Bucky's gaze softened as he sensed the gravity of your words, his expression shifting from one of intensity to one of attentiveness. He reached out, gently grasping your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

“I understand why you might have doubts, especially given the circumstances," he began, his voice calm and reassuring. "But I want you to know that I take this marriage seriously. This isn’t a game to me. You’re my wife".

His words carried a weight of sincerity that eased some of the tension in your chest. "I won't deny that my past may have been... adventurous," he continued with a wry smile, "but when it comes to you, I'm all in. I won't be seeing other women. You have my word."

“O-okay”, a small smile playing on your lips.

“And just so we’re clear”, he added, a playful glint in his eye, “you’re not allowed to see other men either”.

You rolled your eyes at that, your smile widening.

Bucky's eyes softened as they landed on your lips, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his own. "You've got a beautiful smile, you know," he remarked, his tone unexpectedly sincere.

As you met his gaze once more, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with a warmth that mirrored your own.

“Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling the electricity between you intensify with each passing moment. The hunger in his eyes mirrored your own.

With a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you reach out to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you draw him closer. The air crackles with tension as your lips meet in a searing kiss, passion and need colliding in a heady rush of sensation.

His hands pulled on your hips, desperate to get you impossibly closer. Your head was spinning.

Bucky gently walked you to the bed, falling onto the sheets when your calves knocked the frame. He ate up the gasp that escaped from your lips hungrily.

“Fuck. I want to devour you”, he murmured against your lips, before taking your bottom one between his teeth. You could only gasp in response as he rolled it.

Bucky’s hands grabbed your wrists, gently placing them above your head. A stark contrast between his gentleness and dominance. His lips trailed down the curve of your neck, nipping and tucking, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You arched against him, a soft “B-Bucky” escaping your lips.

Bucky released a guttural moan as you bucked your hips into the muscular thigh positioned between your legs.

”Easy, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “I don’t want to overwhelm you”.

Bucky's hands trembled slightly as he fought to restrain his desire, the urge to lose himself in the moment almost overwhelming. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to control the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

His hands, which had been so commanding just moments before, now moved with a feather-light touch.

"I need to slow down," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with effort.

You placed a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch, “we can slow down, Bucky”, you whispered reassuringly, your eyes filled with concern.

Bucky's struggle was like a battle raging within him, the conflicting desires tearing at his very core. He was used to being in control, but with you, he felt a primal urge to let go, to surrender to the passion that threatened to consume him.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Not with you.

He looked into your eyes, his own filled with gratitude and longing. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice tinged with relief. "I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far, too fast."

He’d never cared for the women he’d taken to bed in the past. There was something about you, an innocence he wanted to preserve, but simultaneously fuck out of you, make it his own.

“I’m okay, I promise”, you reassured him.

“No…it’s me. I want to lose myself in you but… I won’t be able to control myself. I want to do this right”, he admitted.

You caressed his face with your hand, letting a silence fall over you and your husband. He traced circles on your bare skin with his fingertips.

Bucky's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Feeling the weight of the day finally catching up with you, you nestled into Bucky's embrace, allowing the rhythm of his steady breathing to lull you into a peaceful slumber.

Bucky drifted into a calm sleep, the calmest he’d had in months, until the shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence. Groaning, he fumbled for the source of the disturbance, his hand eventually finding the cold metal of his cell phone on the nightstand.

"Steve?" Bucky muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the call, his mind struggling to shake off the fog of slumber.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve's urgent voice crackled through the line, cutting through Bucky's drowsiness like a knife. "We got a problem”.

Bucky sent a glance to your sleeping form, the sheets pooling around your waist, with your chest lifting rhythmically.

He ran a hand down his face and groaned, not wanting to leave you. “How bad is it?”, he asked, debating whether to throw the phone at the wall.

“Bad enough”, Steve replied grimly.

——————————

Taglist!

@casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @writingpastmybedtime @thealyrs @kandis-mom @blackhawkfanatic @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90 @melsunshine

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

Got a mob! Bucky AU coming out soon about a forced marriage. 😼😼😼

So excited for you guys to read pls let me know if you want to be tagged!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

1000 likes I literally can’t believe it!! Thank you so much for all the love !!

Posting soon xxx

YOU’RE NOT OKAY, YOU’RE SHAKING - oneshot

CEO!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: swearing, violence

just a short one for this week bc I’m in the middle of exams !! as always, please let me know what you thing :)

You’d been working as Bucky's assistant for a couple of weeks. You settled in fairly well, although you had to admit you found him a little intimidating.

You tried your best to stay out of his hair, planting his schedule on his desk before he got into the office, and scurrying out when the clock hit 5. When you did face each other, it often involved you sending him a squeaky “hi” with a small smile, and him shooting you a curt nod.

That’s why when one of Bucky’s clients was rude to you, no… downright nasty, you chose to keep your mouth shut.

Rumlow.

God, you dreaded every time you saw him on Bucky’s meeting schedule.

It started with exaggerated sighs, then emphasised head shaking whenever he laid his eyes on you. It was almost comical, really. You’d snort at his behavior if he didn’t make you feel so conscious. You could feel the dislike roiling from him.

It wasn’t until today though, that he finally let his discontempt be known.

You were acutely aware of your controversial presence at the office. You were much younger than everyone else, pretty too. So when you strolled in with your baby pink sweaters, and the fresh bouquet of flowers on your desk, you knew people were judging you.

You walked out of your office, hands clutching disordered papers, and unfortunately, you weren’t watching where you were going.

You rounded the corner and immediately collided with a wall of muscle. You were opening your mouth to spew out a hastened apology, heat rising in your cheeks, when you were cut off.

“Stupid bitch”, the man muttered, shouldering past you.

You were frozen in place, paralysed by embarrassment, unable to breathe. Your feet carried you back to your office, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You sat down in your office chair, brushing your hair behind your ears when your office door opened gently.

God no. Your boss had seen the encounter. No, no, no. You were embarrassed enough. You didn’t need Bucky to see you cry. You kept your eyes locked on the floor as he approached you.

“Hey”, his voice much more gentle than you had ever heard it before, “are you okay?” He kneeled at your chair.

“Y-yes, I’m fine really, Bucky”, you shrugged him off, avoiding his eyes. Suddenly feeling conscious at the way he had positioned himself before you.

“Look at me”, he almost sounded like he was pleading with you. He placed a hand on your knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

You looked at him through blurry vision, afraid that the waterworks would burst if he paid you any more attention. You wanted to shove him away, to tell him to let you gather yourself, like a professional would. He continued, “you’re not okay, you’re shaking”.

“I just-”, you sighed shakily, “he’s always been like this, y’know just rude…”, Bucky listened intently as you rambled on, his eyes soft and sympathetic. He really listened to you.

When you finished your venting session, you felt undeniably lighter. Bucky’s hand still sitting on your knee. His other hand rose to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. You felt heat rise in your cheeks. You’d never seen this side to Bucky, he was… almost charming.

He cut your thoughts short, “come on, let me drive you home”.

You immediately shook your head, “no, no, I can’t let you do that Bucky, and plus, you’ve got a client waiting”, hinting at Rumlows presence.

“Him?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow at you sarcastically, “he was let go the second he called you stupid”.

You gaped at that, not expecting Bucky to fire one of his most frequent clients. You tried to start reasoning with him, about how one small issue couldn’t interfere with his business.

He interrupted your rambling, “you should’ve told me sooner, really”. He was guiding you up from your chair, placing a hand on your lower back and grabbing your bag for you.

Bucky drove you home, slowly and with care, keeping one hand on your knee the whole time.

When you pulled up to your apartment, your boss got out and opened the passenger door for you. A gentleman, as always. You smiled at that. Maybe your intimidating boss has a soft spot for you.

He ran a hand down your arm, “nobody will ever speak to you like that again. I’ll make sure of it.” His calm demeanor contrasting the grit in his voice. You could tell he would keep his promise.

You didn’t need to know how Bucky sped back to his office and beat Rumlow so hard his jaw broke. More importantly, you didn’t need to know the way Bucky reveled in it. The feeling of protecting you, avenging you. He was drunk on it.

Later that night, you received a bouquet of flowers, and a takeout from your favourite place. A smirk rising on your face… Bucky.

TAGLIST

@kandis-mom

[hollyseb]

License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.

Sequel to Wedded Bliss

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.

“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.

Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.

Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.

Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.

If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.

At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.

“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.

You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.

You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.

And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.

For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.

But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.

Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.

The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.

That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.

The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.

As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.

You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.

Bucky’s mom and dad.

As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut

(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)

[hollyseb]

Fight for me absolutely needs a part two!!!!!!

so glad u enjoyed!

hehehehe we will see !!! not too sure where to take it though ! :(

ill try n brainstorm tonight :)))

[hollyseb]

FIGHT FOR ME - oneshot

Avenger!Bucky x reader

MINORS DNI, dont copy or translate my work :)

Warnings; violence, sexual language

just a quick one as i’m in the middle of my exams. let me know what you think :)) requests are open!

You’d assimilated fairly well, working alongside the avengers. Being a PR agent meant you could do influential work, while remaining on the sidelines, just as you liked.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that you realised how dangerous positioning yourself next to the avengers would be. You became a target.

You very slyly missed an attack on your way home, a member of hydra waiting on your backseat with a knife and a plan to hold you hostage. It was only when Nat caught wind of the man on the tower cameras that she dragged him out and almost ate him alive.

The air had changed in your workplace since the threat. You felt paranoid, constantly looking over your shoulder. Steve was sending you pitying looks, his eyes raking your features for signs of fear. Nat hovered over you, making far-too-frequent visits to your office.

You didn’t like the extra attention. It was nice that they cared, really, but you didn’t know how much longer you could stand it. So when Bucky stalked to your office, advising you to take some self defense lessons, you saw a way you could get everybody off your back.

You and Bucky had a… strained relationship.

His natural distaste towards PR, and your overly positive attitude. He didn’t quite know what to make of you. Too many tense smiles, drawn eyebrows and whispered curses to count.

You couldn’t deny, you found the soldier sickeningly attractive. Broad shoulders, sculpted face, gruff voice. You swallowed those thoughts whenever he neared you. No. You didn’t need this messing with your head.

He was angsty, sarcastic, and only close to those he really trusted. Exactly your type.

He found you attractive too. Breath catching when you wore a slightly-too-short skirt, jaw clenching when he saw that you’d scheduled a meeting with him.

He felt bile rise in his throat when he heard about the attempted attack. His chest tightening with panic and anger. So, it was only natural for him to want to give you some self defense lessons, to be your sparring partner.

He knew he was crossing the line of professionality. He didn’t care. His top priority was making sure you could handle yourself in a fight long enough to stay alive.

So when the moment came, for you to tentatively step into the shared gym, you were nervous.

”H-hi James”, your voice quieter than you would have liked.

He nodded curtly in response, as you scoped out the room. Weights upon weights lined the wall, with a boxing ring in the middle. You let out a shaky sigh.

You followed him to the ring, eyes drinking in his tight Lycra shirt and gym shorts. You liked seeing him like this, casual. You couldn’t help the way your eyes fell to his defined back muscles.

He positioned himself opposite from you in the ring, his eyes trailing up your sport leggings and tight tee. You had your hair pulled into a ponytail. He licked his lips, keeping a large distance from you.

“What would you have done if Nat hadn’t of spotted that man?” Bucky asked you, his voice gruff.

”W-what?” Confusion gripping your features.

”Knife pressed to your throat. Locked in a car with your captor. What’s your next move?”

You started to feel panicked, not only at the mental image of the scenario, but at the way Bucky was intimidating you.

“Bucky, st-“

“You would’ve died”, his breathing ragged, his shoulders tense, “all because you didn’t lock your fucking car”.

You wanted to sputter out an apology, your colleague making you feel stupid for your mistake. He is correct though. It could’ve cost you your life.

Bucky sensed your animosity. He reached out and touched your shoulder, breaking you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“I want to make sure that nothing like that'll ever happen again, okay?” His voice gentle, his eyes soft.

You nodded in response, smiling tentatively towards him.

”Okay so, you need to understand that when someone wants to take you down, they will use whatever tactics they need to. You need to be ready for anything. Lift your arms and block your face.”

You followed his instructions obediently, hanging from his every word.

He circled you, before effortlessly grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know you weren’t alert properly. He had trapped your arm between your bodies as he pressed himself against your back.

“C’mon, you don’t want to make it easy for them”, his mouth near your ear, his stubble pricking your neck.

You could feel yourself becoming irritated with his condescending tone, and the way he so easily overpowered you.

You leaned forward slightly, before picking up your leg and driving your foot into his knee, kicking him back. You twisted around fast, smirking at the way his mouth fell open in shock.

He quickly recovered, sending an open hand towards your wrist in an attempt to grab you. You ripped your hand away as he stalked towards you. You stepped back, your movements fuelled by adrenaline. Unfortunately, Bucky had placed a foot behind yours, causing you to tumble backwards. You grabbed his shirt, arms flailing to prevent you from hitting the ground. He landed on top of you.

You tried to shove him off, believing you could roll him onto his back and pin him down, but he had your arms pinned above your head within an instant.

You were frustrated, desperately trying to free yourself from his grip.

He was enamoured. Staring at the way your baby hairs were clinging to your hairline, the bead of sweat running down your neck, the way your chest was rising and falling rapidly, how your mouth hung open in concentration. Fuck. He could feel himself becoming hard at the vision of you.

It was fun for him, seeing you like this. Not in your office clothes, not stressed out with your workload.

He wanted you like this in his bed, messy hair and swollen lips.

In his distraction, you managed to wrap your leg around his neck, rolling him over. Within an instant, he had you ripped from his body. Disorientating you. Flipped over onto your stomach, your hands pinned behind your back.

He lifted your head by tugging on your ponytail.

“Don’t make it this easy for them, doll” His accent drawled with cockiness.

Why were you enjoying the way he was pushing you around, teased you? The way he could control you with a singular movement.

“You know…”, you managed to grunt out, “I could assume that you like to see me like this”. You smirked at that, feeling the way his grip loosened in shock.

“Yeah doll, whatever makes you feel better about your subpar self defense skills”, he recovered, changing the subject from your confrontation.

He hadn’t seen you like this before, teasing… unprofessional.

Fuck… you were only making him harder.

You bucked your hips gently, ever so slightly breezing across his cock. Yep, you thought, feeling the hardness. God, he was so big. You could hear Bucky take a sharp intake of breath.

He leaned back over your body, teeth grazing the side of your neck. He could barely restrain himself from tearing you apart.

Instead, he ripped himself away from you, exiting the ring and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder as his chest fell and rose dramatically.

Not like this, he thought. He might be a modern man but deep down, he was still from the 40s. You deserved better than this.

Fuck, you thought, had you read the signals wrong? No, no, no. A PR worker making a move onto an avenger. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hastily, you collected your things, regretting your bold decision. As you opened your phone to book an Uber home, you read a text from an unknown number.

Same time tomorrow, doll. Bring a spare change of clothes, I want to take you out after.

TAGLIST

@scott-loki-barnes @kandis-mom

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

YOU’RE NOT OKAY, YOU’RE SHAKING - oneshot

CEO!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: swearing, violence

just a short one for this week bc I’m in the middle of exams !! as always, please let me know what you thing :)

You’d been working as Bucky's assistant for a couple of weeks. You settled in fairly well, although you had to admit you found him a little intimidating.

You tried your best to stay out of his hair, planting his schedule on his desk before he got into the office, and scurrying out when the clock hit 5. When you did face each other, it often involved you sending him a squeaky “hi” with a small smile, and him shooting you a curt nod.

That’s why when one of Bucky’s clients was rude to you, no… downright nasty, you chose to keep your mouth shut.

Rumlow.

God, you dreaded every time you saw him on Bucky’s meeting schedule.

It started with exaggerated sighs, then emphasised head shaking whenever he laid his eyes on you. It was almost comical, really. You’d snort at his behavior if he didn’t make you feel so conscious. You could feel the dislike roiling from him.

It wasn’t until today though, that he finally let his discontempt be known.

You were acutely aware of your controversial presence at the office. You were much younger than everyone else, pretty too. So when you strolled in with your baby pink sweaters, and the fresh bouquet of flowers on your desk, you knew people were judging you.

You walked out of your office, hands clutching disordered papers, and unfortunately, you weren’t watching where you were going.

You rounded the corner and immediately collided with a wall of muscle. You were opening your mouth to spew out a hastened apology, heat rising in your cheeks, when you were cut off.

“Stupid bitch”, the man muttered, shouldering past you.

You were frozen in place, paralysed by embarrassment, unable to breathe. Your feet carried you back to your office, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You sat down in your office chair, brushing your hair behind your ears when your office door opened gently.

God no. Your boss had seen the encounter. No, no, no. You were embarrassed enough. You didn’t need Bucky to see you cry. You kept your eyes locked on the floor as he approached you.

“Hey”, his voice much more gentle than you had ever heard it before, “are you okay?” He kneeled at your chair.

“Y-yes, I’m fine really, Bucky”, you shrugged him off, avoiding his eyes. Suddenly feeling conscious at the way he had positioned himself before you.

“Look at me”, he almost sounded like he was pleading with you. He placed a hand on your knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

You looked at him through blurry vision, afraid that the waterworks would burst if he paid you any more attention. You wanted to shove him away, to tell him to let you gather yourself, like a professional would. He continued, “you’re not okay, you’re shaking”.

“I just-”, you sighed shakily, “he’s always been like this, y’know just rude…”, Bucky listened intently as you rambled on, his eyes soft and sympathetic. He really listened to you.

When you finished your venting session, you felt undeniably lighter. Bucky’s hand still sitting on your knee. His other hand rose to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. You felt heat rise in your cheeks. You’d never seen this side to Bucky, he was… almost charming.

He cut your thoughts short, “come on, let me drive you home”.

You immediately shook your head, “no, no, I can’t let you do that Bucky, and plus, you’ve got a client waiting”, hinting at Rumlows presence.

“Him?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow at you sarcastically, “he was let go the second he called you stupid”.

You gaped at that, not expecting Bucky to fire one of his most frequent clients. You tried to start reasoning with him, about how one small issue couldn’t interfere with his business.

He interrupted your rambling, “you should’ve told me sooner, really”. He was guiding you up from your chair, placing a hand on your lower back and grabbing your bag for you.

Bucky drove you home, slowly and with care, keeping one hand on your knee the whole time.

When you pulled up to your apartment, your boss got out and opened the passenger door for you. A gentleman, as always. You smiled at that. Maybe your intimidating boss has a soft spot for you.

He ran a hand down your arm, “nobody will ever speak to you like that again. I’ll make sure of it.” His calm demeanor contrasting the grit in his voice. You could tell he would keep his promise.

You didn’t need to know how Bucky sped back to his office and beat Rumlow so hard his jaw broke. More importantly, you didn’t need to know the way Bucky reveled in it. The feeling of protecting you, avenging you. He was drunk on it.

Later that night, you received a bouquet of flowers, and a takeout from your favourite place. A smirk rising on your face… Bucky.

TAGLIST

@kandis-mom

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #ceo!bucky barnes #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

CLEAN THIS UP - oneshot

Dark Steve Rogers x employee

Warnings; dark Steve rogers, slightly non-con, smut, pls read w discretion. MINORS DNI

AN; My first one shot! I hope you enjoy and all feedback is appreciated :)

You were aware of how people looked down on your job. The pitying looks they sent your way, the quick glances they’d send to others upon your admittance. Yes, you were a cleaner. Despite these interactions, you still took pride in your job. It paid the bills and put food on the table.

You’d worked at the Stark Tower for a few weeks, settling in easily enough. The work itself was doable, and it paid considerably well compared to other similar positions.

The only thing that really bothered you was the dress code. Yes, the job might not be the poshest gig ever, but you still liked to look good. People expected you to wear joggers, hoodies, rags. That wasn’t you. You took pride in your appearance. Every morning you pulled on a combination of a short skirt and a loose fitting sweater.

Even if your job wasn’t the most respectable, you would look the part. This was how you began to butt heads with Steve Rogers.

You made him sick. Really.

You’d see eachother every now and again, accidentally stumbling into a meeting room you had believed to be empty, rounding the corner to see him exiting the gym.

You were convinced he despised you. The way his jaw clenched as he strolled past you. The annoyed sigh he’d let out while you profusely apologised for interrupting his work.

It wasn’t until this morning, when you threw on a patterned mini skirt, and a skin tight shirt that Steve finally blew his temper.

You were mopping his vacant office, bending over to move a plant pot, when he pushed the door open. Shock gripped him. You were on your knees, leaning over, your skirt riding up slightly. It was perverted, the way he started salivating. He knew he should’ve left. But this… was too good to leave.

He slowly closed the door, the lock clicking. You, still peacefully oblivious to the man above you and his hardening cock.

“Do you dress like a whore to get my attention, or do you genuinely think it’s a good look on you?”

You jumped up, your hand landing on your chest as your breathing heaved.

“Oh my-. You scared me Stev-”

“Captain. You will address me as captain.” He cut you off, glowering in the way he had frightened you. He towered over you. Drinking in your shocked face, body still arranged on the floor.

You scrambled. Hands reaching for your mop bucket as you rose to your feet. You were opening your mouth, to spit out an apology, and explain how you’ll get out from under his feet right away.

You attempted to step around him, his huge body acting as a brick wall. But he grabbed your arm. His big hand wrapping around your bicep. He loved the way your breathing shallowed, and the way his fingers wrapped around your entire arm. You were so small. No match for him.

“I asked you a question. Or have you only got enough room in that dumb little brain of yours to plan these slutty outfits?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Captain America. The country’s golden boy, talking to you like this?

“W-what?” You whispered. The grip on your arm got tighter. Painfully so. “They’re just clothes, Steve”

His hand released your arm and snatched your jaw. It was demeaning, humiliating. His face neared yours, you took in his blacked out pupils as you fruitlessly tried to pull away.

“Call me Steve again, I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you’ll never speak again”

He released your cheeks enough for you to reply, drinking in the red marks his fingers had left.

“Y-yes, Captain”, your voice came out in a whisper.

He released you, pushing you into the middle of the room. What was he doing?

Steve started circling you. His eyes raking over your body. The way your breasts were pressing against your top, constricted with your panicked breathing. The swell of your ass against your skirt. The flush growing in your cheeks.

Was a slut like you really innocent? He thought.

Like a vulture and its prey. He reached out and touched you lightly, fingers tracing the swell of your breasts, trailing down to your waist. It was dizzying. You never knew where he was going to grab next.

His touches oddly soft for the scenario.

He positioned himself behind you. One hand fisting your hair at the base, and the other one rising to wrap around your throat. He yanked you back into him. Your body plush against his.

“Feel what you do to me”, he growled into your ear, his grip on your throat getting tighter. He was referencing the boner that was pressing into your back. You could practically feel it throbbing. His grip tightened.

“C-captain”, you gasped out, your fingernails scratching at the hand wrapped around your neck.

“What is it, baby?” He cooed sarcastically, his hand releasing from your scalp to brush a few stray pieces of hair from your face.

Your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the lack of oxygen. Just as you were about to pass out, he finally loosened his grip. “Are you ready to apologise for dressing like such a fucking slut?”

With both hands of your waist he whipped you around, so you were facing him. Your head dizzy from both the spinning and the choking. You had to crane your head to look at him.

“I-sorry Captain”, your eyes like saucers, an attempt to plead with him. The humiliation causing tears to prickle your eyes.

He let out a guttural laugh, a snarl taking over his face. “It’s just not good enough, honey. Is it?”

You opened your mouth to reply, to defend your case, but he spoke over you, “if you’re really sorry, you’ll walk your ass over to my desk and bend yourself over it”.

Your mouth went dry. Opening and closing in a comic manner. His hand dropped to your ass, giving it a light tap, directing you to his desk. He was so authoritarian.

Ashamedly, you tip-toed to his desk, constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for Steve to tell you he was joking, but the punchline was never coming. You leaned over his desk, your breath hitching when you realised he was no longer in sight,

A carnal groan sounded from your superiors throat. He was kneeling between your legs, gently pushing your skirt up, above your hips. Sighing in contemptment when his eyes landed on your little, white, cotton panties. You mentally cursed yourself.

With no warning, he pressed his thumb on your panties, hovering over your hole. You gasped, your body rising up the table, desperate to get away from him. His hands instantly landed on your hips, dragging you back down.

“You’re fucking dripping. Aren’t you embarrassed, honey?” His free hand came down on your ass cheek with an open palm. Hard. You yelped. The sound went straight to his cock.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your spread legs.

“Oh fuck”, he murmured to himself. A string of slick was connecting your cunt to your panties.

Why am I so fucking wet?

He kneaded your ass cheeks, his hands closing in on your inner thighs. He spread your legs further, eyeing up the way your folds spread. “Most perfect fucking pussy I’ve ever seen”.

He began his vicious attack. His forefinger pushing into your weeping pussy speedily. Your back arched off the table, as his free hand anchored down your lower body.

“How are you so fucking tight?” He spoke to himself. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed he was agitated, but looking at his face, and the way his eyes couldn’t leave your pussy, you knew he was enamored.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan, but when his tongue hit your clit, you couldn’t help the breathy noise that left your mouth. It only spurred him on more. Sucking your clit harshly, letting his teeth graze over the bud.

It was too much, too rough. You were teetering on the edge, desperate for release.

“C-cap…please, ple-”, you were incredulously repeating his name as your back arched from the desk, your hands gripping the edge. You knew you weren’t making sense. It was almost embarrassing, the way you melted under his touch.

Steve groaned as he felt you clench around his fingers. So fucking tight, he thought. You creamed around his fingers, Steve lapping it all up. Your mind in a haze as you come down from your orgasm.

In an instant, you were dragged from your relaxed state, a hand planted on the back of your head, pulling you to your feet by your hair once again. You winced at the pain, feeling a few strands snap.

“Was that too much for you, poor baby?” He soothed you disingenuously, whispering the question in your ear. You didn’t know whether to nod or shake your head, simply whimpering in response, barely able to stand with your weak knees. You could feel a grin grow on his face, “of course not, you’ll take everything I fucking give you.”

He toyed with the hem of your shirt before ripping it over your head. He spun you around again, his eyes instantly falling to your bare tits. He palmed them, toying with the hardening nipples.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Steve asked, his fingers twisting your nipples almost painfully, “your captain throwing you around, doing whatever he wants to you. What if your captain wanted to fuck you, hm? The captain fucking the needy, little cleaner”

Your mouth fell open, unable to form words when he slapped your breast. “Captain, I-”

He took your face within his hands, gently, almost lovingly. His face neared yours, his nose nuzzling yours.

He spoke softly, “a little slut like you couldn’t say no to that”. Fuck. His words are so brazen but his actions are so soft. Your fingers gripped the edge of your desk in an attempt to ground yourself, aware of how bare you were in front of the fully clothed man.

He pushed you back onto the desk before unbuckling his belt. The clanking sound grabbing your attention. He let his trousers fall to his ankles, you could feel yourself salivating. He pulled his briefs down, his cock slapping against his abs.

Releasing a gritty exhale, he lined himself up against you, sliding in with no warning.

“F-fuck”, you cried out. Placing a hand on your captain's chest, attempting to get him to slow down. He could feel the tension, the way your walls were reluctant to let him in. He didn’t care.

Steve's hand landed on your throat, pushing you flat onto the desk. “Don’t fucking swear”, he gritted deeply. He hated how he already felt close to cumming, your cunt gripping him like a vice. You could feel bruises starting to form on your hips.

Your head lolled back as he started thrusting with rhythm. Steve watched as your mouth fell agape, breasts bouncing with each thrust.

I’ve barely started and I’ve fucked this slut stupid, he thought.

His hand gripped your left thigh, lifting you up from the desk slightly, hitting your g-spot from a different angle. Fuck. Your hands flailing as your back arches from the desk. You’d never been fucked so good in all your life.

You opened your eyes to look at him. His hair falling in front of his face. But when you made eye contact, something shifted. He looked into your fucked out eyes, tear-stained cheeks. He leaned down and kissed you. Gently, sensually. His tongue sliding over your swollen lips. He’d never done this before. He’d never kissed one of his conquests.

Not only that, he’d never kissed one with such care. His hand rose to the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone. You sighed into his open mouth, feeling a small smile grow on your mouth.

His hand fell to the nape of your neck, tugging your head back. “C-captain”, you sighed, sickeningly sweet.

“Shut the fuck up”, Steve grunted, “just…keep kissing me”. His hand raising your head up, forcing your lips against his.

His kissing was such a stark contrast to the way he was fucking you. Your head was spinning, but not as much as his. He couldn’t get enough of your lips, your tongue. You were addictive. He couldn’t stop, barely parting to breathe.

When you started clenching down on his cock, struggling to kiss him back when you felt yourself climax, he felt his balls tighten.

He murmured a string of curse words against your lips. “So fucking good. Fuc-”.

You felt his warm release cover your walls.

He pulled away from you immediately, you felt cold without his contact. You sat up on the desk silently, watching him put his trousers back on.

Steve was conflicted. He couldn’t look at you. He was afraid he’d kiss you again. This wasn't him. He couldn't do this. Fuck.

“Captain-“, bravely you reached out, your fingers brushing his shoulder.

His mouth fell agape, similarly to how yours did earlier. “Don’t wear one of those slutty outfits again, okay?”

He wasn’t as assertive as before. His eyes darting over your face, trying not to land on your lips.

His hand touched the door knob as he looked over his shoulder, “and clean this up”, referring to the cum dripping from your legs. He exited the office, slamming the door, leaving you bare on the desk.

Little did he know, you were planning to find your shortest skirt, tightest top, and highest heels to wear tomorrow. You’d be waiting in his office for him. This wasn’t over. You grinned to yourself.

Pls let me know if you want to be on my permanent tag list!

#marvel #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER - SERIES MASTERLIST - completed!

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

You pick up a little bartending job. Little did you know you stumbled into the lair of James Buchanan Barnes.

Pairing; mob! Bucky x reader

Warnings; violence, blood, smut, swearing. MINORS DNI.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Follow up + one shots maybe coming depending on interest! Submissions are open!

#mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #marvel

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (FINAL PART)

Warnings; violence, blood, smut. MINORS DNI. I am not responsible for your media consumption

No permission to copy my work.

AN: I hope you enjoy the finale :)

Meanwhile, Bucky made his way to Rumlow’s warehouse. Blood thumping in his ears as he hugged his gun closely to his body. He was going to kill Rumlow, rip his organs from his body. Make it slow and painful.

He organised Sam and Steve, directing them to take different entrances as he took the main one. He could barely see as it was thumping down with rain.

Bucky pushed the rusty door open, expecting to see Rumlow and his cronies in the middle of the room, only to see nobody there. Fuck. No, no, no. It was a trap. He saw Sam and Steve begin to step into the room, shock clear on both their faces too. This stupid mob was usually so predictable.

And now you were at home, nobody present, completely vulnerable. God, how could I be so fucking stupid? He thought. He wanted to rip his hair out.

“Buck, she’ll be fine at the house, really, just relax”, Steve said, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s shoulders were raising and falling drastrically. Fear was gripping his lungs. What if they had got you? God knows what they were doing. This was the first time in years he had let himself grow close to someone, develop feelings, and of course it was taken advantage of. It was arrogant really, to think that he could live any resemblance of a normal life.

The fear was replaced by anger. How dare they? He was shaking, clenching his fists and grinding his jaw. He ripped the car door open and slammed it shut after he got in. He started speeding back to his house, back to you. He didn’t care about anything as long as you were safe.

His car skidded into his driveway, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he saw a smashed window. Fuck. I’m going to skin him alive.

Bucky jumped out the SUV before it had even come to a stop, kicking his front door in. There were male footprints cased into the floor. They were here.

Steve and Sam followed suit, scoping out the foyer, pointing their guns into each corner.

Bucky felt the air get knocked from his lungs when he saw the trail of blood leading from the stairs to the dining room. Signalling to eachother, Bucky pushed the door open as Sam and Steve looked through their guns.

Stepping into the room, the trail of blood stopped. You were sat in the middle of the room. Ankles and wrists tied to one of the dining room chairs you were sitting in earlier. Your head lolling onto your chest.

Bucky could hardly breathe. Blood thumping in his ears. He gripped his gun closer, approaching you.

His hand reached out, forefinger and thumb reaching out to your chin, lifting your face up. You were out, cold. But… you weren’t hurt too badly. A split chin, and a bruise blossoming on your temple. He was finally able to release a sigh of relief.

A figure emerged from the dark corner of the room. Rumlow. Bucky immediately lifted his gun, Rumlow snorted.

“Such a sweet little thing, really”, motioning to you, “you know she was gasping your name while I suffocated her”

Holy fuck. Bucky could only see red. He wasn’t like this normally. He was calm, controlled, calculated. But with you, he had something to lose. He was irrational, angry and impulsive.

Rumlow continued his taunting, “she is… not what I expected from you, really. Is she a good fuck or something?”

“Shut the fuck up”, Bucky gritted, stalking closer to Rumlow. He was standing behind the chair you were sitting in, caressing your shoulders. It was sickening. He was practically using you as a human shield.

Rumlows hand carried on down your chest, landing on top of your breasts, “I mean, I could let you know if she is. Then you can go back to the whores you like so much, and I can have this sweet, innocent thing to myself”

He put his dirty lips against your neck, licking up from the base to your ear lobe. It was filthy. Bucky’s chest got tight at the sight, the violation and the way Rumlow acted as though you were his. He knew he was practically dead.

Bucky lunged at Rumlow, but within an instant he had pulled a pocket knife from his jacket. He had your hair fisted in his hand, and the knife in the other. Guiding it from your bruised temple, down vein running through the side of your throat.

Bucky stopped in his path.

“James…I will take everything you hold dear, until you are simply a shell of a man. I saw the way you looked at this bitch. I hadn’t seen that fire in your eyes for a long time”

It was all a show, to rile Bucky up. It worked. With a bang, Bucky threw his gun on the floor, the bullets clattering and rolling. He lunged for Rumlow and dragged him by his hair to the floor.

He landed punch, after punch, after punch. He didn’t stop when he heard Rumlows head crack against the tile. He didn’t stop when Rumlow passed out. He was ruthless, it was sickening. Steve had to drag Rumlow from Bucky's grip while Sam untied the restraints holding your limbs.

Bucky turned to face you, and caught your body as it began to slip down the chair from the lack of constraints. He was a state. Dark, hollowed eyes, bloodied fists. A sharp contrast to how he was acting with you. His hand gently rubbing your temple, hoping he could simply erase the bruising. His thumb caresses your split jaw, wiping away the wet blood.

He was murmuring your name beneath his breath, begging you to come back around.

Slowly but surely, your eyes opened, blurrily landing on the man holding you.

“B-Bucky?” Your voice was quiet, broken, and confused. The words barely scraping out your throat.

He pounced on you, one hand wrapping around the back of your head and the other gripping your waist. You stayed like that for a long time. Sitting across his lap in his bloodied kitchen.

You spoke into his chest, “that man… Bucky I was so scared”.

He picked you up in one swift motion, muttering “I know honey, you did so, so well. I’ve got you now though, and I won’t leave you again”. He was carrying you to his bedroom.

He instructed you to get changed, your clothes splattered in your own blood. He went to leave, as he did earlier,

“N-no. Stay”, your hands reaching out to his turned back. He simply sent you a curt nod, not sure how to feel. He went and sat on the bed, trying not to burn a hole through your bare back as you changed your sweater and reached for one of his shirts.

You joined him on the bed, suddenly aware of how intimate the scenario was. You were sitting almost on top of him, in his shirt, as he wiped the dried blood from your lip with damp gauze, and drew soft circles into your back to soothe you. You noticed the way he grimaced when his eyes drifted to your bruised temple. They’d never fucking touch you again.

He couldn’t help the emotions that drifted over him. Possession. It was sickening. Obsessive. His brain pushing images of how you would’ve been attacked. His stomach turning. He was trying to shove the thoughts away. The way he wanted to know where you were all the time, who you were with. This never would’ve happened if he protected you.

You couldn't help it. You leaned over and took his face in your hands, wanting to wipe away the concern and anger.

You turned your head and let your lips land on his. You could tell he was surprised at first, feeling a gasp across your lower lip, but he quickly eased into it. His hand falling to your lower back.

You were dominating at first, but not for long. Soon enough he had a hand on the back of your head, leaning you back to give himself more access for his tongue to dominate yours. You’d given his permission to act on his primal instincts. To mark you in the way that Rumlow had threatened to.

He leaned back, and pulled you onto his lap as he rested against the headboard. God, you could do this forever. The kiss went from gentle to rough, as his hand started pressing into your lower back, arching you down onto him.

You gasped into his mouth, he ate it up, biting down on your lower lip, avoiding the cut.

His hands travelled down to your ass, slowly groping, and gently running his hands over it. You exhaled gently into his mouth. You needed this. The catharsis. The sweet release.

You could feel his hardening cock below your core, his jaw clenched when you slowly, slowly allowed yourself to start moving along it. Your hips dancing back and forth.

Fuck. He felt like he was about to cum in his pants.

He’d fucked plenty of women before. But this… was different. He wanted to take his time with you, show you how much he cared, make you feel better than you ever have. He wanted to ruin all other men for you. Make you his, and only his.

“I can’t-”, Bucky pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours while using his big hands to still your hips, “I can’t control myself around you”. A warning.

You softly smiled against his lips, “shut up”, you teased. He grinned against you, guiding your hips over his cock again. You were truly something else, he thought, telling a mob boss to shut up. His cock got even harder.

His hands toyed with the hem of your shirt, asking for permission to rip it off. He peeled it over your head, his eyes raking over your bare body. Teeth digging into his lower lip when your hair landed softly upon your body.

Toned shoulders and molded collarbones. Leading to your round breasts and soft stomach. His hands cupped your tits, tweaking your nipples, you felt a shiver down your spine.

He disconnected from your lips to stare at your breasts, “best pair of tits I’ve ever fuckin’ seen”, he murmured to himself, taking a nipple into his mouth and gently sucking on it.

Your back arched into him, wanting to be ever closer. Gasping when he released it with a pop and blew cool air onto it, causing it to harden.

“F-fuck”, you moaned as he took the other one in his mouth, biting down ever so slightly. It was cruel, the way he was teasing you, had you tethering on the edge. One hand kneading your breast, and the other squeezing your ass.

You yelped when he bit down on your nipple and smacked your ass at the same time. You looked down, to see him grinning as he looked up at you. Devil, you thought.

Within an instant, he had you flipped over. One hand supporting his weight, and the other trailing down your body.

“You’re fucking perfect” Bucky whispered, as he pressed his lips to your neck. You were exactly how he envisioned. Perfect, angelic… and all his.

His lips travelled down your body, nipping and tucking. Landing on your collarbone and leaving a hefty hickey. He kissed down, down until he was kneeled between your legs.

He gently spread your legs, holding them open with a hand on your knees. He kissed down your thighs, sucking slightly, his other hand teasing you, so close but so far from where you needed him.

He looked up at you, stripping you of your shorts. He hooked his fingers around the waistline of your panties, tugging them down, his eyes remained on yours. Instinctively, you raised your hands to your face, suddenly feeling too bare.

“Ah-ah-ah”, the man between your legs tsked, grabbing your wrists. “You think you can hide from me, honey?”, a devilish grin appearing on his face, you had no clue how true those words rang.

He spread your legs once more, before eyeing your glistening cunt. Fuck, he thought. You were perfect.

His finger ran from the hole to your throbbing clit, spreading the wetness, before using his thumb and forefinger to spread your folds.

“I think you want this more than I do, honey”, Bucky sighed, his cock painfully hard, “you’re fucking dripping”.

You felt your face flush.

“Tell me…”, he slapped your thigh gently, demanding your eye contact, “tell me how badly you want me to eat this pussy out”

You blushed deeper, shocked at his brashness. He loved it. You were too good of a girl for this. He was corrupting you. He wanted to fuck the good girl right out of you. Make you just like him.

He smirked at your silence. Grinning at your sharp inhale when he got close to your clit, exhaling on it, and then pulling away. He was teasing you. Fuck. You writhed under him and he had barely touched you.

“P-please Bucky”, you begged.

His grip on your thigh got painful, “you know what I want to hear”, he smirked up at you, arrogantly.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, before whispering “I want you to eat this pussy so badly”. God, the power this man holds over you is insane. You felt naughty, like you'd said a swear word.

All thoughts flew out of your head when his tongue made contact with your cunt. Flatly licking from your hole to your clit. You were tensing around nothing. He was so gentle yet so hard, his fingers spreading your folds.

He was drunk on the way your head fell back onto the pillow, the pleasure consuming you. He held your legs down with his big forearms, pinning you to the bed. He was a man possessed, his only mission making you orgasm. Your hips were lifting from the bed.

“Stop fucking moving”, he murmured against you. The vibrations only spur you further.

His licks got faster, as did your moans. The coil in your stomach was tightening, your thighs gripping his head.

“G-gonna cum, Buck-” you stammered, as your legs locked around his head, your hips rising from the bed. You were practically riding his face, chasing your pleasure.

Bucky had to grind his cock against the mattress to feel some relief.

Bucky lifted his head, drinking in the way you were laying. Messy hair, puffy lips, your chest rising and falling steadily.

He climbed up your body, nudging your lips with his nose. Your lips met, you could taste yourself on him. It was filthy. So, so hot. His hands met your thighs again, fingers gently strumming your clit.

“B-Buck…too much”, your eyes rolling into your head.

“Shhh. I’m not done yet honey”, he whispered against your lips, ignoring your protests, rubbing tight circles onto your clit.

Your body tensed when his index finger teased your tight hole.

“Is this okay?” Bucky questioned when you inhaled sharply at his intrusion.

“Y-yeah. I just…”, you cringed when you looked at him.

“Has nobody ever done this before, baby?” He looked at you sympathetically, but his eyes screamed possession. He thought his cock might explode. Fuck.

Of course you’d had sex before, but nobody had really taken the time to melt you down, rip you apart.

He tutted condescendingly, “don’t worry honey, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel so good”, he kissed you gently.

His finger gently pushing into you, the stretch was delicious. You gasped when you’d finally taken it all, and then when he started moving in and out slowly. You were so tight. He didn’t know whether to pull out, or to continue his intrusion. You were embarrassed by the squelching noises, your arousal painfully obvious.

“Take everything I fucking give you”, Bucky murmured to himself before his mouth latched onto your tit. He wanted to overwhelm you, to invade all your senses. He wanted you weak, docile.

He curled his fingers, hitting your g-spot. When his thumb gently pressed against your clit, you couldn't even tell Bucky you were going to cum, it just came over you. Your body tensing, your head lolling across your shoulders. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at you. Fuck.

Yeah, you had ruined all other women for him.

He gently kissed you through your orgasm. Tonguing away the tears that had seeped from your eyes.

You were overwhelmed, clutching Bucky’s arms, trying to ground yourself. Bucky pulled you on top of him, hands running up and down your bare spine. It was intimate. Matching your breathing to his, you were calmed.

You sat up, your hands pressing against his chest. He was surprised at that. He thought you would’ve been utterly fucked out. You sent him a dozy smile, as you pushed your weight down, applying pressure to his throbbing cock.

He exhaled at that, grateful for the relief, his hands fisting your hips. Before resuming his dominant demeanor, he sat up, gently tugging on the ends of your hair, forcing your head back.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. His grip on your hair got tighter when you didn’t answer.

“I want you to fuck me so badly”, you whispered, echoing what he had taught you earlier. You just wanted to please him. He smirked at that, but you could tell he was surprised, his eyebrows lifting. You were his filthy girl.

He pulled away within an instant, tugging off his shirt and trousers. His body was insane. Broad shoulders, small waist, big arms. You watched, almost obsessively, when he removed his briefs. He was grinning at your reaction. His long cock slapping against his abs, the tip leaking.

Fuck, he is massive.

Your mouth fell open, you were practically drooling. He smirked, tweaking your nipple again. His thumb ran over his tip, collecting the precum, he raised his coated thumb to your lips, guiding it into your mouth. He tasted delicious. You wrapped your lips around him, and sucked his thumb gently. It was dirty.

His other hand pushed you down onto the bed. His cock in his hand, approaching you. You gasped when he ran his cock through them, tapping the tip against your clit.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you”, he whispered to himself, against your neck as he slowly pushed himself inside of you.

Your entire body tensed at first, but slowly relaxed as he ran a hand down your thigh, telling you to take deep breaths, and reminded you how good you were being.

You let your eyes fall shut when he eventually bottomed out, taking deep breaths to accommodate his huge size. He knew he was big, but after he was an inch inside of you, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

He stilled, his finger gripping your jaw. “Open your fucking eyes”, sending you a sweet smile when you complied. God, he makes your head spin. How his words and actions conflict each other. “That’s a good girl.”

He began rocking into you, pulling his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in. He was obsessed with the way your eyes rolled back and your jaw fell slack when his cock touched that spongy spot.

His eyes flicking between your fucked-out face, your bouncing tits, and the slick coating his cock where you two met.

“I’m. Fucking. Obsessed. With. You”, his thrusts punctuating each word, “my good girl, all fucking mine”. He brushed the hair that was stuck to your forehead with sweat from your face.

You were making unintelligible sounds. He was everywhere. Licking up your throat, biting your lip, squeezing your tits. You were so tight, sucking him in. The headboard rhymically slamming against the wall.

You whined his name. He could feel you pulsating, gripping him like a vice. You were cumming again, your head clouding. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

He was drinking you in, staring at your creased face, mouth agape. You were beautiful. He loved you like this. After the fear of having lost you, he just wanted to know where you were all the time. You were safe if you were under him.

He wanted this to last forever, but he felt his orgasm rising. You watched him as he leaned back, his abs tensing. You clenched teasingly, watching him chase his finish.

He stared at you as you smirked at him. You had all the power now. His head fell back as his thrusts became sloppier. He was moaning your name repeatedly.

“Going to cum inside of you, honey. Make you all mine. All fucking mine”. It was carnal, his need to release his load inside of you.

Your eyes widened. You hadn’t seen him so possessive before. “Y-yes. Cum inside of me, p-please”, you muttered, fingernails raking down his abs.

You could feel his release soak your walls, slowly leaking out of you. His body collapsed onto yours, gripping your shoulders, taking shallow breaths.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pressing coy kisses to his face.

He rolled over and pulled you on top of him, still inside of you.

“You know, I’m never going to let you go now”, Bucky whispered in your ear, hands running down your back.

“You think I was going to let you?”

You said it teasingly, unaware of the deep rooted truth behind his statement. You were his. Obsessively, thoroughly, whole-heartedly. He would slaughter anyone who dared to cross his relationship with you.

His sweet, little bartender.

AN: thank you guys so much for all the love! My requests are open, so feel free to drop any ideas you have and I’ll do my best!

TAGLIST;

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @mrsevans90 @kandis-mom @blairbibi @pattiemac1 @urmom222 @km-ffluv @casa-boiardi @vicmc624 @stinkerbelle007 @londonalozzy @blackhawkfanatic @urfavnoirette

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes x reader

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (PART 4)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Warnings; violence, blood, swearing

No permission to copy my work

AN; thank you for all the love. And the story will get saucier i promise!!!! Also, happy new year :)))

Part 3 here: https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/738091620032987136/bartender-part-3

“There’s been a hit placed on your girl. $10,000. Dead or alive.”

Fuck.

The mobsters from the other night, the ones he beat, must’ve seen him shield you from their attack. Fuck.

The blood in Bucky’s ears was thumping. He could no longer hear Steve. They were going to kill you.

Bucky pushed past Steve, shouldering him out the way, running to the lift. He was disgruntled, fearful, his hair sticking to his forehead, before turning around to Steve.

“Steve, I need you and Sam to organise a watch schedule. She will be surveilled 24/7, and then I need you to contact Rumlow. I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”

Bucky couldn’t get out of his office fast enough, rushing into the underground garage and into his blacked out Mercedes. He tried to ignore the way his hands were shaking as they locked onto the steering wheel, speeding towards your apartment block.

You had just gotten home, unashamedly lightly touching your lips. He’d kissed you. That was the best kiss you’d ever had. You’d just sat down on your sofa, reaching for your phone to message Nat about the encounter. Your front door was kicked down with a bang.

What the fuck? Your head whipped around to the door, practically jumping out of your skin at the commotion.

It was Bucky. You could tell he was distraught, “you know you could’ve just knocked, right?”

“Honey, you need to come with me right now”, he rushed over to you, cradling your face in his hands. Relief was pouring from his body, his eyes raking over you for damage.

“W-what? Bucky, I’m fine? What’s going on?” Your eyebrows furrowing at his panic.

He was lifting you from your sofa, “go and pack a bag, you need to stay with me for a little bit”.

You pulled your hands out of his, “Bucky, what is this? You can’t just bust into my apartment and-”

“Go and pack a bag. And come with me. Now.”

What the fuck? You didn’t like this. The way he was pushing you. But he had a desperation you hadn’t seen in his eyes before. Was he… scared? You just nodded, grabbing a duffel bag and packing your clothes.

Bucky was scoping your apartment, checking outside the window, his hand on his left trouser pocket. He was erratic.

You emerged from your bedroom, Bucky grabbed the duffel bag from your shoulder, his hand wrapped around your waist as he guided you out of your apartment, he was holding you plush to him. You were finding it difficult to walk. He couldn’t take his hands from you.

He placed you in the passenger seat, buckling the seatbelt for you. He rounded his car, before speeding off.

“Bucky, I want to know what’s going on.”

“Just… just wait okay. We’re going to my house. I’ll tell you everything when we get there, okay? The most important thing is that you’re safe”, he reached across and gently laid a hand on your knee. A sharp, calm contrast to how he was acting.

He was just so relieved he had managed to get to you.

The drive to his house was quiet, other than his mobile ringing off the hook.

He pulled up to this house, you couldn’t see it at first. It was completely gated, and the garden fenced with tall trees. The driveway was long, and you couldnt help the gasp that escaped your lips when his house came into view.

It was huge. Gorgeous. Simple but eloquent. The garage opened automatically and again, he helped you out of the car. You tried to stop yourself from ogling his other cars. God, how rich was this man?

He guided you into the foyer, a high ceiling with a huge chandelier. Sam and Steve were standing in the centre of the room, around a table, pieces of papers scattered everywhere, both completely enthralled in what was in front of them, lifting their heads to give a stern nod to Bucky when they saw you.

They were looking at maps, blue prints, criminal records, identifiers. You’d never seen them so serious. You knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong. You were itching for Bucky to tell you.

Bucky guided you up the stairs, into the master bedroom. It was simple, but cozy. Grey hues, with books scattered around. A huge wardrobe with you assumed held all of his suits.

“Please sit, and I don’t want you to panic”, you could only nod in response as you sat on the edge of his bed.

He kneeled between your legs, rubbing circles into your knees, “Honey, those men from the other night. They have… they want to … take you.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“They have placed a hit on you. They saw you with me, and they are using that as leverage”, the words barely sounded in your ears, he could see the panic rising in your face, “but look, you’re here, I’ve got you. You’re safe, as long as you’re with me”

Bucky explained the security system in his home, the bodyguards, the cameras, the protection. You were overwhelmed. And scared. What would they do if they got their hands on you?

You couldn’t help the fearful tears that threatened to fall.

“No, no, no honey, don’t cry”, Bucky stood up, still crouching to meet your eyes. His hands rising to cradle your face, and wipe your tears with his thumbs.

“I’m just scared Bucky”, your hands shaking.

“Shhh”, he pressed sweet kisses into your hairline and he wrapped his arms around you. He hated how scared you were.

Bucky whispered, about how he was going to protect you, how Sam and Steve were tracking down the assailants to take them out. He instructed you to get changed, still sitting in the skirt and sweater you wore to meet him earlier. That felt like a lifetime ago.

You tugged your clothes out your bag, a cozy set to try and smooth yourself.

Bucky left the room so you could change. You didn’t want to admit it but you felt a little less safe with him just standing outside the door.

Despite the weight of the topic at hand, he couldn’t help the stiffening of his cock at the sight of you sitting on the edge of his bed. So innocent, so small. He wanted to devour you. He could see your nervousness, the way you lightly perched in the corner. God, he wanted you in the middle of the bed, spread, your hair falling around you like an angel.

When he knocked on the door, you were tugging your hair from your sweater. He thought you looked beautiful.

You followed him downstairs, back to the room where Sam and Steve were scheming.

“How you holding up, bartender?” Steve said, a soft, supportive smile on his teasing face.

You couldn’t help but smile, “I’m fine, really. I think it’s this guy that you need to be worried about”, you motioned to Bucky, standing in the kitchen, shoulders drawn with tension and jaw constantly twitching.

He looked over his shoulder and sent you a small smile while Steve smirked. He had never seen Bucky so stressed.

He walked over and pulled out a chair and motioned for you to sit down, returning with a hot cup of tea in his hands and placing it beside you with a hand on your shoulder. He rounded the table to sit with Sam and Steve.

It was magnetising, really, the way he was so involved in his work. Instructing Steve to produce blueprints of the warehouse they assumed the opposing mob was inhabiting, and the way he instructed Sam to devise a discreet plan of entry. He was so… dominant. Leading. It was… hot. I wonder if he’s like this in the bedroom.

You tried to shake the thoughts, and the way you couldn't take your eyes off of him, reminding yourself the reason you were here. You turned your focus to the tea.

Bucky was constantly looking towards you, checking you were okay. He smiled when he noticed your eyes becoming droopy. You were tired. You felt safe enough with him to let yourself drop off. He adored it. It was… unexpectantly domestic.

He nudged you, “come on honey, let’s get you to bed.”

You nodded into his chest as he guided you back to his bedroom, peeling the covers back for you and helping you step in, “I’ll be downstairs, come down if you need anything, okay?”

You could only nod, your eyes heavy with sleep. You were exhausted, overwhelmed… and very comfortable. The sheets smelt like his cologne, as if he had his arms around you.

Meanwhile, Bucky, Steve and Sam were downstairs, quietly discussing and scheming how they were going to take down this mob once and for all. He knew they would never stop coming for you after they had seen how much he cared.

Tonight. It had to be tonight. Before more people recieved wind of the hit, and to show others what happened when they messed with Bucky.

They stacked up their guns, loading them into the back of the matte black SUV. Sam and Steve were built for these moments.

You softly drifted off to sleep, until you heard the floor creak open. You barely opened your eyes, assuming it was Bucky back from the warehouse. You expected to feel a kind hand rub your shoulder, or maybe a kiss pressed into your hairline. When a hand was placed over your mouth and nose, your body instantly kicked into overdrive, gasping for air and flailing under the hand.

Your legs kicked out at the tall man, as his other hand worked to grab your wrists.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitc-“, the gritty voice seethed.

You could feel yourself becoming light headed at the lack of oxygen. No, no, no, no. You began to pass out. Where the fuck was Bucky?

AN; next chapter is ahhh!!!!

TAGLIST

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @mrsevans90 @kandis-mom @blairbibi @pattiemac1 @urmom222 @km-ffluv @casa-boiardi

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (PART 3)

Warnings; blood, mild violence, swearing, MINORS DNI,

No permission to copy my work :)

Part 2 here! https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737991483216494592/bartender-part-2

AN; thank you SO much for all the love. This is the first time i have ever written a fanfic and im so glad you all like it

Mob! Bucky x reader

Bucky pummeled the men in the basement of his club. Repeatedly. Brutally. He allowed himself to let go of everything, his mind only focusing on the scene unfolding in front of him. It was psychotic, really, the way his eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring. He licked his lips at the sight of Rumlows split jaw. He was enjoying this.

They were so close. So close. To hurting you. He would make sure that they would never get the chance to again.

Typically, Bucky was controlled, each punch having a meaning, a perfect place to land with an intended goal. But tonight, he was an animal. Sam and Steve found one another sending concerned looks, through furrowed eyebrows and folded arms. They knew something was different. That Bucky was truly furious.

When he was finally satisfied with the beating, he walked out of the club, thoughts trailing back to you. What would you have thought if you had seen him like that? He shook the thoughts from his head, deciding not to answer them.

On the other hand, you had spent the night curled up in bed. Stripping off your clothes and grabbing your phone, you rang Nat. When she picked up, you felt a weight lift from your thoughts. She’s okay.

“Nat, can I ask you something?” You mused, avoiding her eyes over the video call. She hummed in response, you continued, “why did those men attack the club?”

You weren’t stupid. They didn’t reach for the cash register. They didn’t take anyone. They were there for Bucky and his associates. Why? He owned a club, maybe even multiple clubs, and an office building. Who is this man and what does he do?

You weren’t expecting Nat to act so uncomfortable, her eyes shifting around her room, “listen okay… I don’t know exactly what Bucky does, or his friends, but they’re powerful, okay? They have the police force wrapped around their fingers. They practically own the city”, she was speaking in rushed whispers, as if sharing this information could damage her.

Your eyes widened as she continued, “Why do you think the club pays so well? You don’t get that rich and powerful without stepping on people, making a few enemies”

You were hanging on every word she was saying, desperate to find out more. How rich? What enemies? Doing what?

You exhaled, realising Nat had explained all she knew. You were conflicted. Bucky seemed to like you, protect you and the job had given you the ability to pay your bills without working your entire life away. But Bucky, was he dangerous? Vindictive? What if you did something that he didn’t approve of?

Your thoughts were racing, Nat caught you in the process of reeling, “but, I think he has taken a shining to you, really. When the bar was attacked, the only thing he was looking for was you”

What did this big, powerful man want to do with you?

You tried to deny the way your heart flipped when you told Nat about your meeting tomorrow. You were nervous, but god you were thrilled. Nobody like this has ever taken a liking to you before. You’d never been pursued in such a way. He was frightening, nerve-inducing, dangerous even, but he wasn’t that way with you. The way he held your face in your bathroom, dabbing gauze onto your chin, the way he shielded your body from the attackers, whispering that you’ll be okay. Even the way he looked at you when you served him, like you’d knocked the breath out of his lungs.

You told Nat about what Bucky had suggested to you, the way he desperately wanted you to visit his office. You told her how nervous you were, and that you were ashamed you also couldn't wait. The comfort he offered you after the attack, the softness of his hands on your face. He was addicting.

“Go to sleep, your emotions are heightened”, you snorted when Nat said that, rolling your eyes, “oh shush, plus you’ll want to be on top form tomorrow, seeing him in daylight and all”

“Damn it.” You hadn’t thought of that.

You told Nat to pick an outfit for you, your only intention now was to roll over and go to sleep, with thoughts of a certain boss cradling your face.

You woke up the next day, disgruntled, the gauze on your chin half falling off. You had an ache in your shoulder, from where you had been knocked to the ground. You picked your phone up from your bedside table and finding a text from Nat telling you what to wear.

You got yourself reading, pulling on a simple satin pink maxi skirt, and a knitted white turtleneck jumper over the top. Is this too much? Or is it sophisticated. God, he’s only ever seen me in skimpy dresses. You decided that this was fine. Smart, but cute.-

Rushing out the door and exiting your apartment block, there was already a car waiting outside for you. White and sleek, a Mercedes. It was funny, really, how used you were becoming to being chaperoned around.

Bucky was pacing his office, anticipating your arrival. His receptionist had informed in of your arrival to the office.

You were nervous, arriving at his office with the receptionist sending you in the direction of the lift, telling you to go to the top floor. Okay, just breathe. It felt like the elevator was taking forever. You looked in the mirror, smoothing down your skirt. It felt like you were meeting him for the first time. This was unchartered territory.

The lift opened, directly into his office. Lavish, exquisite, overindulgent. His office was huge, high ceilings, surrounded by windows revealing the skyline of the city.

Bucky stood from his chair and made his way over to you as you stepped out the lift. He found it adorable, the way you were amazed by his office. He could see the awe on your face.

Your eyes met his, god he looked amazing. Hair slicked back, black tailored suit, perfectly molded to his body. An earnest smile took over his face, you spoke first.

“Hi”, you smiled innocently, your cheeks heating, matching the colour of your skirt.

“Hi honey. You look beautiful”, Bucky stalked towards you, “how’s your chin?” He raised your face, his forefinger on your jaw.

Your blush deepend. He could hear your breath become quicker. “It’s fine, thank you Bucky… and thank you for looking after me last night”

He smiled at your gratitude, running his thumb over your jaw. You’re practically putty in his hands. He loved it. He wanted to swallow you whole. He reminded himself that you were gentle, small, innocent. You’d run in the other direction if he let himself act on his impulses.

You could tell he was hungry. You interrupted the silence that had fallen between the two of you, “B-Bucky I wanted to ask you abou-“

“About the club, I know honey”, Bucky continued for you, releasing your face. He walked you to the chair opposite to his desk with a hand on the small of your back. He let his eyes travel down your back, to your long legs. He was itching to run his fingers over your ass. He restrained. You felt a shiver run up your spine. You wanted to lean into his touch. What was this man doing to you?

He sat in the large desk chair, his body dwarfing the desk. He is just so big. He clasped his hands in front of him, and suddenly you were aware of how big he was. You shied back a little.

He informed you that he won't ever let that happen again, that you could be safe with him, that he’d protect you. You believed every word he said.

“I never want you to feel that scared again”, you smiled at that, “plus, I can’t lose my favourite bartender”, his foot nudged yours underneath the desk.

“Is it the whiskey cokes I make?” you asked, nonchalantly. You knew what he was getting at, but you wanted to hear him say it explicitly.

He laughed at that, his eyes creasing, “no, I think it might just be you”

This man was making you feel things you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Bucky’s cock hardened at the way you leaned forward as you laughed, your breasts pressing together as you giggled. Such a sweet moment, but he can’t help himself. You were addicting. Your smile, your body. He wanted to drag you over the table.

Your trance was disrupted by the sound of the elevator opening. It was Steve.

“Bucky. We need to go. It’s urgent”

Bucky could’ve killed Steve for interrupting his precious time with you. Instead, he clenched his fists and sighed.

“Wait for me in your office, give me 5 minutes”

He turned back to you, “I’m so sorry honey. I really didn’t want to cut this short”

“I-it’s okay Bucky, honestly”, you suddenly felt out of place. Not important enough to be in the room which such serious business occurring.

Bucky stood from his chair, taking your hand to help you up from yours, guiding you to the elevator the same way he did before.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips. You loved this time with Bucky. You were disappointed.

“Honey.” Bucky spun you around before you stepped into the elevator, one hand pressed on your back, pulling you into him, and the other on your left cheek.

“Bucky?” The air mingling between the two of you. Your breath was caught in your throat. He was so so close, his pupils blackened with lust, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

He was obsessed with the way you were staring at him, wide eyes, completely shocked, your breathing coming out in gasps.

His hand moved to the nape of your neck, he pulled you in. When your lips met, he was gentle at first, dominating you but with care. Guiding you to where you needed him to go.

He felt you relax, you sighed into his mouth, he swallowed it up. You needed this just as much as he did.

Your hands fell to his big arms, kneading the muscles as your knees went weak. He was wrapped around you, god he was everywhere.

He deepened the kiss, his hands trailing down your spine. Fuck. You moaned into his mouth, his tongue running over your bottom lip. You tasted like strawberries. So, so sweet, he thought.

He could feel himself becoming desperate. He wanted you. Bent over his desk. He shook the thoughts, reminding himself that this was enough for now. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach. Fuck me. He was kissing you like his life depended on it.

You released him first, trying to catch your breath. He rested his forehead on yours, taking in your fucked-out eyes, puffy lips and the way you were holding onto him. You laughed, trying to hide the flush that had creeped into your cheeks.

He leaned back in, pecking your lips softly, and then your cheeks, and then your forehead.

“Do you treat all of your favourite bartenders like this?” You whispered.

“Only the ones who make me really nice whiskey cokes”

You tried to hide the way you snorted at that as he guided you into the elevator. He bid you goodbye, a cheesy smile on the tall mans face.

He spun on his heel when the elevator shut, what the fuck could Steve want? It must’ve been serious. Steve knew better than to enter his office without warning. He knew something had happened. Fuck.

Next part here; https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/738343739506999296/bartender-part-4

TAGLIST:

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @mrsevans90 @kandis-mom @blairbibi @pattiemac1

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky au #sebastian stan

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (PART 2)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Mob! Bucky x reader

Part 1 can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737816177450041344/bartender-part-1

AN; thank you for all the love on part 1!

Warnings: drinking, gun violence, references to the mob, blood, MINORS DNI

Summary; bartending for an elite club to make ends meet. you don’t realise you’ve stumbled into the lair of Bucky Barnes.

He paid for my fee? What the fuck?

Now you knew something was up. First the staring, and now this. Your head was reeling with questions as you made your way inside your apartment, gently closing the door. He is just taking care of one of his employees.

Slipping into your pajamas and flicking the kettle on, you decided to attempt to unwind from your night. Everything was fine until this man decided to act all unpredictable.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky couldn’t be any more pleased that you had accepted a ride from one of his drivers. You hadn’t questioned how the driver had started heading in the direction of your apartment block before you had revealed your address. He hoped you were flattered by the lift.

He wasn’t used to this. To pursuing his women. Most would flock to him, laying down at his feet. Providing nothing but a quick, cheap fuck.

When Bucky had left the club, he instantly headed to his office, shaking Steve off when he suggested he should head home.

“Steve, just leave me”, Bucky sighed as Steve reluctantly let his friend out of his grip. He could see the blaze in Bucky’s eyes, the focus in his upper body. There was no stopping him when he was like this, this drive was how he had risen through the ranks of the mob so ruthlessly.

Bucky sat in his office chair. He’d received your name and address from Sam, and Steve had found your social media sites. He grinned when he told his driver your address, having to hold himself back from scoping out the apartment block, but his grin grew even more when he opened your social media accounts. A couple pictures of you smiling with Nat, one from your graduation, and none with a boyfriend. He wasn’t expecting that.

You were so different. He found himself wondering about you, pondering your past and how you’d come to work at one of his clubs. He wondered if you knew what you were getting yourself in for, the people you were working for. Part of him wanted to tell you to run while you could, to turn your back and never return, but another part of him felt glad. Signing the contract to bartend his club was the perfect entanglement of your lives. He always got what he wanted.

When you arrived at the club the next night, he made sure to request you to serve his drinks.

When Nat told you the news, that he wanted you to deliver his drinks, you felt your face scrunch. Why me? You didn’t want a repeat of yesterday's events, so you told Nat to help you reapply your lipgloss, and attempt to give you some form of a pep talk before you grabbed the tray of five straight whiskeys.

“He wouldn’t ask you to serve his drinks if he didn’t think you were a good server. Now pucker your lips-” Nat explained absentmindedly.

“It’s just so weird. I mean, it was so awkward yesterday”

“Maybe he likes that?” You giggled. No way. Nevertheless, you appreciated Nat’s efforts to calm your nerves.

She continued, “well I know plenty of women would pay to serve him so…”, she elbowed you, referencing his good looks.

“Nat. That just makes it worse! He’s hot and he knows it, and he knows I know it-“, you rambled.

“And maybe he finds you hot”, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at that, as your best friend handed the tray of drinks to you.

Deep breath. He’s just a man. You’ve got this.

Heading up the stairs to the secluded room again, you felt a little shaky. As you drew the curtain back, the same silence fell over the room. It was all the same men from last night, the tall blond one, the dark skinned one, one sitting in a red suit and the long haired brunette.

You spoke first. Surprising yourself at that. “H-hello. I just wanted to thank you for the ride home last night… and also I have five whiskeys.”

The man at the head of the table let out an exhale, shaking his hair away from his face, “it was no problem honey. There will be one waiting outside for you tonight too.”

You were taken aback. A small, but grateful smile gracing your face. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“That’s… really kind of you, thank you. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Ah-ah-ah”, Bucky tsked, standing up from his chair. God, he is massive. So tall. So broad. Your head craned to look up at him. Your stomach was flipping at his comment, “you won’t pay me back for anything”, he grabbed the tray from your hands, fingers brushing yours.

You sent him a smile, opening your mouth to wish him a thank you before leaving. You left the room with your hands shaking.

Bucky was obsessed with the way he made you nervous, and the way your dress cinched your waist. He saw everything. The way your hands shook when he brushed your fingers, the way your eyes lit up when you took in his build, and the way your cheeks flushed when he let his eyes roam your figure. He felt his cock grow hard when he saw that you didn’t spare a glance to any of the other men in the room, just him. You were his. Whether you knew it or not.

You let elation carry you through the rest of the night. You spent the next few hours behind the bar, your eyes trailing to the curtained room far more often than you liked. With watching Nat flirt with the regulars, and poke you in the ribs occasionally, you felt yourself relax into your role.

That was until you heard a popping sound. Repeatedly. And then screaming.

You were paralysed. Deafened by the noise, and then the sight of masked men enclosing the club, shoving guests down, smashing glasses, and shooting their guns into the air.

Panic seized you, gripping you by the throat. Nat pulled you onto the ground harshly, your chin smacking the cold floor behind the bar.

“Just be quiet. It’s okay. They’ll be here for boss, not us”, Nat explained frantically, as if she’d experienced this before. You couldn’t breath, just wheezing in manufactured gasps, eyes wide.

“N-Nat. I’m so scared”, you felt tears pooling in your eyes as the club quietened. You could hear footsteps. Quick ones. People were leaving. You assured yourself that maybe they weren’t trying to hurt anyone.

You could hear the men approaching the bar. Oh my god, this is it. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to stop the scene unfolding before you.

Your whole body seizing up as you felt a hand grab your upper arm, pulling you up, holding your body against theirs. You couldn’t see who it was, and your thoughts ran at a hundred miles-per-hour. As the figure pulled you to your feet, you looked across the bar, Bucky’s associates restraining the men. Sam kicked the gun from one's hand, then pushed him into the ground. Steve had the other backed into a corner, repeatedly pounding him in the jaw.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’ve got you. Let’s go. Come on.” The voice in your ear soothed you. You recognised it as Bucky’s. He brushed your hair from your face and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his rough hand. You could hear him yell something to Steve about grabbing Nat, but the pounding in your ears began to drown him out. He was practically walking for you, your feet barely scraping the floor.

He led you to the car parked outside the back of the club. Sitting you down and pulling the seat belt across your body. He was drinking you in. Looking at your red eyes and swollen lips.

“I am so sorry, honey. I have a… couple of enemies in the city. That will never, ever happen again”, he faltered over his words, carefully picking them.

You were shell shocked. Only able to nod in a fake understanding. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

“Look, let me take you home”, Bucky brushed a strand of disturbed hair behind your ear, his thumb running across your bottom lip. God you look gorgeous. He was obsessed with your swollen lips and the way you were clinging to him as if he was the weight holding you to reality. He hated the situation, the imposing mob hydra infiltrating his club at a poor attempt to establish fear, but god you looked insane.

He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over your palm. He tried to explain, briefly, the situation. He ran a company which focused on the safety of citizens in the city. Some tried to breach that. To bring drugs, disorder and chaos in the city as a quick way to make money. You didn’t need to know all the details, he thought. He knew he was omitting information, making himself out to be the good guy. He’d done things he was ashamed of. Wronged good people. Eliminated the competition. Acted ruthlessly to own the city. But you didn't need to know that.

He was drunk on the way you were shaking in his arms. The power that he had to comfort you. He couldn’t help but smile. An open fire by the enemy mob has done nothing but bring me closer to what I want.

Bucky helped you get out of the car, walking you up to your apartment. Even after everything you’d witnessed, your boss helping you up the stairs to your flat brought you to reality. You didn’t question how he knew which floor and door to stop at.

“I-thank you for walking me back but, you should go now”, you couldn’t meet his eyes. The events of the night were catching up on you. You wanted to call Nat and lay in bed.

The tall man made you look at him, picking up your chin with his forefinger. He turned his head slightly as you locked eyes with him. You were just so gorgeous. He wanted to kiss you. But not like this. Not when you were this shocked. He wanted to make it special. Rose petals and champagne. Not like this. So he made a point to look at your chin, bloodied from hitting the ground earlier.

“At least let me clean this up”, god he was so convincing. You opened your door and let him follow you in. You grabbed your first aid kit from your bathroom, telling him to make himself comfortable.

You let him wipe your chin, and gently place a plaster over it. His free hand rubbing circles into your shoulder and the nape of your neck. It was close, sensual even. He felt his cock still at the way you closed your eyes and let your head tilt back when his thumb hit your sensitive spot. He wanted you like this all the time. Relaxed, open, and submissive. You allowed yourself to bask in his touch, and the comfort it brought. You deserve this after the day you’ve had.

“Please, come into my office tomorrow, I can’t have you coming back into work in this state. I need you to feel completely comfortable”, Bucky practically demanded. He wanted to take care of you so badly.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You could confide in him. You could ease yourself back into the club. Unaware of the undertones of comfortable.

“T-thank you Bucky. I’ll be there.” You dropped your eyes and thanked him for the care. He ran his hands down your arms before retreating towards the door. You needed this job, and you needed the money. This situation can’t change that.

You slipped into bed, questioning what exactly you would be doing with your boss tomorrow.

Meanwhile Bucky headed back to the club. There were two masked men in his basement he needed to deal with.

Next part here! https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/738091620032987136/the-bartender-part-3

TAGLIST

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes

#mob bucky #marvel #bucky x reader #mob bucky x reader #bucky x assistant!reader #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky barnes

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (part 1)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Mob! Bucky x Reader

Authors note; this is my first fic. Pls be nice :)

Warnings; drinking. Minors DNI. Will get saucier lol.

Who am I? You were staring at yourself in the mirror of your janky apartment. Little red dress, white thigh high lacey socks. This wasn’t you. You felt silly. But you needed this

Since finishing college, the job market had been dry. You were broke. Undeniably. The rent payments are piling up, student loans begging to be paid, your unforgiving landlord constantly up your ass.

You smoothed down your dress, reminding yourself that this was temporary, just to make ends meet before finding a job in your field. You couldn’t deny that despite feeling a little on-show, you looked hot. Your dress hugging your curves, and your heels making your legs look everlong.

You’d picked up a job at a club uptown. You’d never been but you knew it was high-end, elite, and intimidating. Powerful men frequented this club. You were dreading meeting them; misogynists and man-whores, you thought. It’s okay, I’m just a waitress. Your only job was to serve at the bar, and deliver drinks to those rich enough to reserve tables. All I need to do is look good and smile.

Your best friend, Nat, had managed to land the job for you. She’d been working at the club for 6 months, and the money was supposedly “incredible”. You remembered laughing at that, accusing her of flirting with the regulars.

With that thought, you picked up your jacket, hugging it around your body, and headed out the door.

You adapted to the job easily enough; the thumping music, the strobing lights. Nat was constantly approaching you, checking in on you, “you’re okay right? Well you look amazing”, she whispered in your ear, winking at you, as you poured another drink.

She helped you climatize to the new environment. When service slowed, you found yourself drinking in those who frequented the club. The men on the floor were sleazy, approaching women while heavily drunk. The girls were dancing, swinging their hips, some finding company in those men. A part of you was envious, this had never been your scene and you felt a little excluded.

You were dragged out of your thoughts by Natasha asking you to drop some drinks off at one of the reserved tables. You felt a little reluctant, the table being hidden by a velvet curtain. You had yet to do this part of the job yet. I wish I could eye them up before approaching. Another part of you felt a little excited though, anticipatory.

You headed to the table, deep and low voices sounding. Some men were laughing, and others engaging in low conversation. Pulling the curtain back, a silence fell across the group of men sitting in the secluded area. You paused, taken aback. You had semi-expected the men to ignore your presence, you hadn’t expected this.

“H-hello. I have five whiskey cokes?” Your voice came across weaker than you hoped under the intimidating stares of the men. You hated the way your claim sounded like a question.

Your eyes fell upon the man at the head of the table. All black suit, perfectly tailored, with his hair falling over his piercing blue eyes. He wreaked power. His eyes were raking over your face. Drinking you in. You felt the breath get stuck in your throat when you met his eyes. He is gorgeous.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” a deep voice emerged from the man. It posed more of a statement than a question. Could he sense your anxiety?

“Yes I am”, you were painstakingly aware of how breathy your voice sounded, and also of how you were still awkwardly standing with the tray in your hands.

You eyed the other men, seeing the way their eyes dragged over your body, your curves. You felt naked. The eyes of the man at the head of the table had never left your face. He was enamored.

You cleared your throat and placed the tray on the corner of the table, trying to hide the way your hands were beginning to tremble. God, why am I shaking? You shot the men a fake smile before spinning on your heel and pulling back the curtain, their eyes burning into your ass.

When you had left the table, Bucky cleared his throat. “Get her name. Her social media. Her address. I want to know everything about her”.

Once leaving the room, you hunted your best friend down. “Nat, the men I delivered those drinks to…”, you waved your hands incredulously, reminiscing on the tense encounter and expecting her to have an explanation.

“Yes?” She smirked. She knew exactly what you were referencing. The intensity, the intimidation.

“What the hell was that? I mean- the guy at the head of the table… questioned me about being new, and the rest of them… ugh”, you rambled, your hands punctuating your questions.

“Oh…”, she raised her eyebrows at you, her face glowering in how she knew information that you didn’t, “the guy that questioned you, yeah he owns the club”, her smirk growing into a Cheshire Cat grin. She knew she had dropped you in the deep end.

Your eyebrows practically flew into your hairline, “the o-owner? God, Nat I’ve made a clutz of mysel-, I was stood there with the tray for so long, he must think I’m so stupi-”

She cut you off. “Well, at least he actually acknowledged you. He never even looks at the rest of us”, she explained, only exaggerating your confusion. “Shame really, considering he is probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, I mean, I would”, she winked at you again.

You laughed at that, knowing that she really would. She always knew what to say, and she was right. He really was breath-taking. But, he was also your boss. He probably only noticed me because I did something wrong.

You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the encounter, convincing yourself that you were overthinking the fire in his eyes. He was staring at you because you were so awkward. He could tell you felt out-of-place, you thought, sighing to yourself and shaking the thoughts. Serving people drinks and cleaning the bar made for the perfect distraction.

The night continued without event, you were glad. You felt yourself ease up over time, Nat making you giggle as drunk men tipped you rather excessively. You weren’t sure if it was your best friend's humour, or the feeling of knowing you’d managed to cover this week's rent, but you felt pleased.

You picked up your coat, and slung your bag over your shoulder, deciding to call a cab to get home. You felt eyes on you as you hugged Nat goodbye. Looking over her shoulder, you locked eyes with that man again. Your boss. Stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the bar. In a vast crowd of people, his eyes were narrowed in on you. You unlocked from Nat, drowning out her qualms about letting her know when you arrived home safely. You couldn't focus on anything else. He was the epitome of power; tall, broad, perfectly tailored.

You had to force yourself to rip your eyes from his, bidding Nat a farewell and heading out the door.

Bucky watched you until the door shielded you from view. He was fixated. It was only when Steve slapped his hand down on Bucky’s shoulder that he was brought back to the present.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through her body if you keep staring at her like that, pal”, Steve stated teasingly. He saw the way you commanded his friends' attention from the second you approached the table. It had been a long time since he had seen someone have such an effect on him.

Bucky turned to Steve, an exhale escaping his nose, “she is… certainly something”.

Steve continued, “… innocent, right?”, eyeing Bucky for his reaction. He tread on eggshells, he knew Bucky had taken a shine to you, he didn’t want to overstep.

Bucky nodded, his jaw twitching, “too innocent to be working here”. The pair nodded in unison.

You stepped outside and took a deep breath, relishing in the relief of being released from his intense gaze. You hailed a cab, being pleasantly surprised by the car that rolled up to you. Sleek and matte. A Mercedes. This was the nicest taxi you’d ever seen. When the taxi pulled up to your apartment block, you attempted to pay him with a remainder of your tips.

“Fee has been covered by… James Buchanan Barnes”.

Part 2 here https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737991483216494592/bartender-part-2

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel

[hollyseb]

MASTERLIST + ABOUT ME

hi! i’m Hol, i’m 20 years old. this is an 18+ blog. please read the preceding warnings before reading my writing. i am a college student who writes in their free time, so please bare with me as i try and post regularly. enjoy your stay!

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Steve Rogers

One shots

Clean this up - dark!steve rogers x cleaner

Bucky Barnes

Series

Bartender -mob! Bucky x reader

I do- mob! Bucky x reader

One shots

Fight for me - avenger!bucky x reader

You’re not okay, you’re shaking - CEO!bucky x reader

#steve rogers x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers