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awhhhflush · 1 year

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The Meeting

Mob!Bucky x Reader x Steve Rogers (Massive warning - this fic is dark.)

I'd recommend listening to this for this chapter!

Warnings (apply to the whole series): drugging, mafia/gang activity, criminal activity, age gap (reader is over the age of 18), arson, death, murder, coercion/peer pressure (non-sexual), manipulation/brainwashing, parental issues (a.k.a daddy issues), abuse of power, sort of stockholm syndrome?

Summary: Left to your own devices whilst your mother joins socialite groups with the other rich moms in town and whilst your father deals with those business troubles he's been having, you decide to explore your surroundings, and make a new friend on the way.

Fine. Maybe a miniskirt and Mary Janes weren't the best fashion choice for exploring the woods down the street, but you were yet to have unpacked the entire contents of your wardrobe. It was the best you could do. Besides, it would hopefully make a nice impression on anybody who saw you. The outfit painted a sweet, innocent, girl-next-door picture of you that you rather enjoyed. The plaid skirt went nicely with the cardigan you wore, which was perfect for the autumn chill. You promised your parents you'd be home by lunchtime, and surprisingly enough, your father let you leave without assistance. That was probably his first mistake, unbeknownst to you.

As you stepped out of the house, the October breeze hit you like an avalanche, a shiver running down your spine instantly. The shiver was also impacted by the eye contact you made once more with the man across the street, however. Your hands immediately flew to your skirt, tugging it down as much as you could to avoid judgement, earning a chuckle from the man. Although he was rather far away, you still heard his laugh and it sent an unfamiliar warmth to your core. You shuddered at your own avidity. You both paused for a moment, neither of you wanting to be the first to break the gaze, until he turned on his heel and gave you one more glance before entering his own home. Relief relaxed your shoulders, and you let the huff of air you must have been holding in slip from your lips. You clutched your bag as your stomach began to ache with hunger. Maybe it would be nice to have a picnic date with yourself in the forest.

The walk to the grocery shop, which perched on a corner flooded with crates of flowers and fruits, was thankfully rather short. You picked up a punnet of berries and some cookies, receiving both lustful and judgemental looks from most of the other customers. The cashier, who just so happened to be a suited, well kept man, whom was insanely buff and broad, that owned the shop itself, simply watched you in curiosity. You smiled warmly at him and thanked him as you left, the bell on the top of the door frame dinging sharply as you stepped out. Peckish, you bit into a perfectly crimson strawberry as you made your way to the woods your father had driven past on your way to the house. The juice of the berry stained your lips as you chewed and hummed contently. It was delicious.

The leaves under your feet crunched faintly, crisp and warm toned. The forest was riddled with overgrown greenery which had now grown limp and dry, but it was beautiful all the same. Ivy creeped up the trees, embracing them tightly. The grass was somehow short amidst the dying leaves and bushes. The trees cast a shadow over the entire forest. The place had a simple yet eerie beauty to it. Perhaps you could visit here more often. You found a tree, twisted and distorted, its trunk reaching out the the ground among the thorns and nettles. You settled upon the trunk, leaning against the upward twist of it. It was a perfect place to sit and relax. This place only got better.

You'd just dug into your berry mix as you heard a deep grunt sound before you. Your gaze snapped up, meeting the intense eyes of the man across the street. Your body immediately tensed under his watch. "We must stop meeting like this," he chuckled, the same sound from earlier reverberating through his chest, which was, much like the shop keeper's, exceptionally broad and muscular, his sweater fitted just enough to outline the muscles perfectly. You smiled softly, still nervous as his eyes burned into you. He held his hand out to you, offering it as a greeting. You shook it lightly, your small hand enclosing around his in a way that made his eyes darken. You didn't notice, though. You were too busy trying not to melt under his gaze. The man was incredibly attractive - it wasn't your fault that he flustered you so much. His dark hair was gelled lightly, stray and short curls framing his face. His eyes were a vibrant and deep blue, somehow radiating an alluring darkness despite their brightness in colour. He towered over you, and you were sure he would even if you weren't sat down. His shoulders were wide and his arms were large and rugged. His jaw was defined and sharp, brushed with faint stubble which was strangely attractive. Whilst it made him look older, it made him all the more handsome. His lips were plump and pink, in a constant state of soft smiling toward you. Between his brows was a crease, similar to the kind that frustration or anger would bring. But he wasn't angry or frustrated - at least you didn't think he was. Despite the time you felt you had spent scanning the man's features, seconds had not yet even passed. He seemed to freeze time. "I'm James," he breathed, "but my friends call me Bucky," and a smirk tugged at his lips.

"How does James turn into Bucky?" You giggled, playful confusion washing over your features. He hummed a laugh, leaning nearer to you. "When you become a friend." He purred. Your smile dropped, now replaced with a blank and flustered stare, heat rising in your cheeks. Bucky could've sworn his pants got tighter as he watched the blush erupt in the apples of your cheeks. You shook your head softly, the smile returning to your lips as you composed yourself and steadied your breathing, eyes bearing into his. "I mean where did the name come from." You simpered. "My last name's Buchanan," he explained, his eyes flickering between each of yours. The moment was oddly intense, sending warm shivers through you. Your stomach broke out in frenzied butterflies. "Oh," you breathed, and with that, a content silence settled upon the both of you. After a few seconds, Bucky broke the silence. "I was just about to go on a stroll," He said smoothly, his eyes shining with mischief. "Care to join me?" And his hand brushed against yours once more.

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Comfortable silence had lingered for long enough, and Bucky wanted to hear your voice again. The leaves crunched beneath your feet as you walked, but Bucky's deep voice broke through the haze that nature's ambience has lured you into. "So, where'd you move from?" He asked, turning to peer at you as you did the same. "Leesville," you muttered, nostalgia washing over you. You'd never had the most exciting social life, but Leesville had still been your childhood home. The look of gloom that clouded your expression made Bucky's hand move on it's own. He reached towards your face, hand cupping your jaw as his thumb swiped over your lips. "Strawberry juice," he mumbled softly in response to your look of surprise. Once again, the blush he had reacted so extremely to before sprung back to life, an almost inaudible groan sounding from his throat instinctively. You blinked at him, the same blank expression settling on your face, your lips parting as you exhaled shakily. You couldn't wrap your head around how easily this man was effecting you, this stranger, this new friend.

The two of you spoke and walked until the sky began to darken, when the realisation that lunchtime had long passed hit you. A small gasp left your lips, as you spun to face Bucky. His eyebrow quirked in confusion, to which you yelped, "I was supposed to be back home for lunch!" You absentmindedly grasped his hand and began to rush back the way you came, before his hand tightened around yours, the realisation of your action falling over you. You quickly dropped your hand and continued speed walking until you passed the tree you had sat at. Huffing, and clutching your chest in exhaustion, you heard Bucky catch up with you, his strides long and steady. "I'll walk you home. Besides, you're a big girl, I'm sure your parents won't mind." He insisted. You just stared at him as he began to walk ahead of you, glancing back at you just how he had that morning, until your senses came back to you and the panic clouding your mind subsided. He was right. You were old enough to get home a whatever time you wanted - except, it was more so to do with your safety than your age.

Rounding the corner and approaching the both of your houses, Bucky cleared his throat. You looked at him expectantly, and your mouth hung slack when you processed what he had to say. "Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow?" He'd asked. This man, this god-carved hunk, the most attractive man you'd admittedly ever seen, was asking you, a girl he'd only just met, a girl at least 10 years younger than him, out to coffee. You'd assumed he only walked with you out of politeness, because he'd bumped into you and introduced himself. You'd assumed he was only being courteous because you had just moved in. But no, he had walked with you because he, James Buchanan, wanted to walk with you. He, burly Bucky, wanted to spend time with you. It was his eyes, exploring yours in expectance, that bought you back from the depths of your thoughts. You gulped, unable to verbally accept his offer, and nodded. You were eager, don't be mistaken, but you'd never had any friends. You knew you were attractive, but to be thrown from your typical lonely state into a state of possible romance shook you. Bucky, leaving you just as he had greeted you, chuckled in response and shook his head at your obvious nervousness. "How does 11 work for you?" He asked, not even expecting a verbal answer anymore. You only nodded again, before quickly heading up your porch steps and into your strangely quiet home, leaving Bucky behind you, smirking, eyes dark and hooded.

Author's Note: Okay, I'm quite nervous to publish this... this is my first time allowing my writing to include outward sexuality. I'm hoping it isn't too cringey? This is also my first series! So I'm hoping it turns our nicely. Enjoy!!

Taglist: (comment to be added.) @chemtrails-club

#mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes #mafia au #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #mob steve #mob steve rogers #mafia steve rogers

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awhhhflush · 1 year

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The Beginning

Mob!Bucky x Reader, Steve Rogers

I'd recommend listening to this for this chapter!

Summary: When you're forced to move to a new town due to your father's "business trouble," you're likely to be left to fend for yourself, alone, and bored. You should probably try to make some friends.

Your head rests against the window pane of your father's leather adorned S-Class Mercedes Benz, thumping every now and again as he practically raced into the estate. You would have thought he'd take a more secluded approach, perhaps swaying away from using his shiniest car at 75 mph and buying the largest house on the street full in cash. You weren't complaining though. As the car slowed to a halt before the house, your eyes narrowed. This house was smaller than the previous ones - your father must be in serious "business trouble."

Your door opened with a click as you were met with the offer of Matthew's assistance. He was one of your father's favoured men when it came to your protection, but you both know he' hardly get through a staring contest, let alone a fight for your life. You stood, stretching after the 4 hour car drive from Leesville. Exhaustion from being cooped up in the back of the car for so long washed over you like a wave as Matthew lifted your luggage from the boot - one of the many benefits of having burly men working for your father was that you never had to put much effort into doing things for yourself, another being that they could arrange for the house to be fully furnished and cleaned before your arrival.

Your heels clicked against the polished white steps as you reached the front porch, stopping behind your father one of his men unlocked the door for you all. Your parents remained silent as the door was pushed open to reveal the interior of the house. Throughout the entirety of the car journey, your parents hardly spoke a word to one another too, let alone to you. Their love had a soft and strange unspoken nature, one in which many usually mistook for coldness, but your father had always been distant with you anyway. He had wanted a son, an heir to his throne, and as a woman, you could never be such a thing. By the time your mother had healed from your birth, she had grown too old to bear another child safely. Your father didn't detest you, but you knew you'd never live up to what he wanted, and the effect of that knowledge was just as harsh as the former.

As you peered over your parents' shoulders, your eyes widened. Despite the decrease in size compared to your last home, the house was actually gorgeous. The walls were painted a dusted cream, almost sun kissed in a way. The floors were light wood panelling, and the stair case twisted and curved to reach the second floor, which had walls painted a shade ever so slightly darker and warmer in tone than the walls down stairs. The pure and bright interior design was almost curious, considering your father's usual dark and sharp decoration requests. Catching a glimpse of your mother's faint smile told you that this time, the decorating was not per your father's desires, but hers instead. You father's eyes warmed in a way that did so only for his wife as he looked at her. See: unspoken. She needed not to thank him, because the quirk in her lip said enough. You smiled fondly as your eyes looked between your parents, a stab of jealousy rushing through your chest as you wondered where love like that could be found.

When your parents entered the house, you followed behind them eagerly, excited to see what your room would be like. Admittedly, it was a bit embarrassing for a girl of your age and wealth to be living with her parents still, but given your father's work situation, it would be too dangerous for you to live alone, unprotected. Turning to close the door behind you, you momentarily locked eyes with one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Although he was relatively far away, his features were perfectly defined. His jaw was brushed with the faintest of stubble, his jawline sharp enough to cut open your finger if you dared to touch it. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, stopping you in your tracks as your grip on the door handle faltered. As your mother called your name, you were snapped back to reality, turning once more to look at the man, leaning against his door frame, hands in his pockets and knitted sweater clinging to his muscles, before closing the door and making your way upstairs.

You hadn't noticed, in your flustered panic, the smirk that fell upon his lips and the darkness that settled in his eyes as he watched you retreat into the house.

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awhhhflush · 1 year

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requests!

hey loves <3 im new to this so im just wondering what you guys would like to read? feedback would be greatly appreciated! thank you <3

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awhhhflush · 1 year

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mam’selle - james buchanan barnes

forties!bucky x waitress!reader inspired by frank sinatra’s “mam’selle”

warnings: MAJOR FLUFF, use of the nicknames ‘’sweetheart’’ ‘’sugar’’ and ‘’mam’selle’’, flirty but shy bucky!! and bulky bucky and steve

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Holding back a wince, you hummed under your breath. “’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t serve ya our breakfast options at this time o’ day,” a thick southern accent weaving through your words. The man grumbled, before settling on the tomato soup. “Now sir, that I can serve ya!” You grinned enthusiastically, just glad he hadn’t gotten mad at you for doing your job, which was all too familiar to you. You spun on your heel, flats clicking on the floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. “Martha!” you called, watching as her unruly hair and scrunched up face turned to you. “Yeah, hon?” She replied, tucking her cloth into her apron. “The man on table 8 would like the garden tomato soup, please,” you told her, sticking the paper slip through the pin on the counter. “10 minutes, top, hon,” she smiled, before the sound of slicing could be heard once more. You turned to the rest of the customers, smiling contently as everybody either sat waiting for their food, or had already been served it and were digging in happily. You were only a few tables short of a full house, and in contrast to the hustle and bustle outside, the café was surprisingly calm.

Breaking your peaceful daze, the bell that hung above the door rang shrilly. Your head snapped toward a sight you would have never expected to see. Not just one, but two of the most handsome men you had ever laid eyes on stepped into the café. Your mouth hung agape for a moment, before they started to make their way to a booth in the far end of the building. You waited for a moment, as to not seem too keen, before walking to their table, clutching your notebook nervously. Never had you been so flustered, let alone by customers, and you tried your absolute best to pull yourself together and be professional. Your eyes fluttered shut for a short moment as you drew in a sharp breath, before you were at the side of their table. Clearing your throat, you greeted them. “Hey, boys! What can I do for ya’ today?” You grinned, only just keeping your voice from shaking as their eyes bore into you.

The first man, slightly smaller than his companion, smiled at you sweetly. His hair was blonde, and he looked as if he had spent a day by the beach - his skin gleamed as if he were under the summer’s sun, and his eyes shone a bright blue hue. You turned to his friend, and if you thought the first man had been gorgeous, then you certainly had another thing coming for you. The second man was somehow even more attractive than the first, and you felt as if all the air in your lungs had vanished. He, too, simply stared at you, although you couldn’t quite tell if time had merely slowed to a halt. Much like his friend, the man’s body was perfectly sculpted, like the mythological Gods your father had told you tales about as a child. His muscles were visible, even through his tightly fitted shirt, and his shoulders were impossibly broad. You had started to wonder how he had even fit through the door. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue, specks of green complimenting his irises. His eyes sparkled, like wine does.

“Hi, sugar,” and with those two words you felt as though your knees would betray you. The second man, whose hair was a dark shade of brown, began to flick through the menu, his eyes barely leaving you before he hummed in satisfaction. “I think I’ll have the blueberry pancakes please, and a black coffee.” He said, smiling at you once more. Before you could even think about it, you nodded a quick ‘yes’ and scribbled the order down in your notepad. Your turned to the first man, internally cursing yourself, before smiling expectantly at him. “I’ll have the poached egg ‘n’ bacon, if that’s alright,” he murmured, shyly, flashing a small grin at you. “Is that all, gentlemen?” you asked politely. “Think so, for now, sugar,” The dark haired man replied, your blood rushing to your cheeks. Once again, you internally cursed yourself. What was wrong with you? You didn’t even know the guy! “Comin’ right up,” you confirmed, scrambling away to tell Martha the bad news.

“Martha!” You yelled through gritted teeth, slamming the order down in front of her. You scowled in self-annoyance, eyeing her down as she scanned the order. “Y/N, we don’t serve breakfast after 10-” She went to sigh, but you grabbed her by the apron and dragged her with you until the both of you were peering at the far booth where the two gorgeous studs sat. “Oh my,” She trailed off, whipping back into the kitchen. Following her, you yelped, “How am I to say no to them?!” Then, you began to plead. “Martha, please, for me, make ‘em their breakfast, just this once,” You cupped her face in your hands, staring sweetly into her eyes and pouting. Finally she sighed, smirking lightly as you squealed in relief. “Martha, darlin’, you won’t regret it!” You thanked her, lurching forward to embrace her. “My, my, Y/N, you sure are smitten,” she chuckled warmly, before asking which one you liked with a raised eyebrow and childish smirk. “I don’t.. I don’t...” you hummed, before a smile cracked your almost convincing facade. “Fine!” you squeaked as she prodded your sides. “The dark haired guy,” you sighed with a dreamy look in your eye. As Martha filtered the coffee into a spotted mug, she giggled alongside you. “Go, take this to them,” she said as she handed you the coffee. “Thank you, Martha, thank you.” you whispered giddily.

Coffee in your hands, heart in your throat, blood in your cheeks, you shuffled toward the table. You set the drink down, steam rising slowly from the cup in curls. “Here you go, sir,” you grinned, casually placing one hand on their table to steady yourself. He smiled back at you warmly, eyes staring right into yours, weakening your legs again. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he beamed. Sweetheart, you gushed internally. “No problem, mister,” you responded, fiddling with the fabric of your apron. “Can I get you anything else?” You asked, stare fixed upon the dark-haired man, until the blonde spoke up. Your eyes flitted to him as he stuttered, “Could I maybe get an iced tea, please?” You chuckled sweetly in response to his request, and the brunette’s shiver went unnoticed by you as the sound of your laugh made his hairs rise on the back of his neck. The smile he held never left his face, and the blonde eyed him amusedly, unbeknownst to you. “Of course darlin’,” you soothed, almost charmed by the smaller man’s sheepish nature. Your gaze snapped back to the brunette, whose eyes had never left your frame. As your eyes met his, an embarrassed cough erupted from his chest. You raised your brows at the sharp sound, offering the man a napkin. He quickly declined, too shaken by your warm hand on his shoulder. You too noticed the placement of your hand, speedily withdrawing it before smoothing your skirt. “Your food should be ready soon,” You affirmed, quickly turning and rushing back to the kitchen.

You groaned as you entered, wiping your hands over your face in shame and embarrassment. “What now?” Martha urged expectantly. “This is hell!” you cried, covering your eyes and shaking your head. “Hon, you may never even see them again.” She tried to comfort you, fingers smoothing over your shoulders. When you uncovered your face, Martha couldn’t help but snigger at the hot-red hue of your cheeks. You frowned at her suggestion. “’wanna see him again, though,” you mumbled softly. “What will be, will be,” Martha hummed in response. You let your eyes close hopelessly at her suggestion. She tapped your head, gazing down at you smugly as you opened your eyes to look at her. “Their food is ready, and you can’t just sit in here all day, or they’ll starve, You don’t want your man to starve, do you now?” She mocked. You pushed her hand from your scalp, huffing. “You’re mean,” you moaned, pouting. “Hon, lets not forget that you begged me to make these,” Martha reminded you. “Fine.”

As you placed both plates before the men and polite ‘thank you’s slipped from their lips, the brunette’s eyes were fixed on you despite the delicious smell flooding his senses. The pancakes may have smelled heavenly, but he didn’t care for them as long as you were there. He knew it was stupid, to crush on a waitress he had never met, but you were gorgeous. Your voice was soft and warm, and he adored your accent. Your laugh sounded like a symphony of violins. His heart, for whatever reason, yearned for you, and he was confused by this. He was usually flirtatious, yes, but he had never truly felt drawn to somebody like he had to you. To make matters worse, he couldn’t seem to flirt with you how he did with others. He wasn’t sure how he would win your endearment. Little did he know, he already had.

Whilst the man gazed at you, wishing he could make you his, your thoughts mirrored the ones racing through his mind. Usually, men took a fancy to you. You hated to sound self-absorbed, but it was simple fact. However, this man had only called you common nicknames, nicknames familiar to you as a local waitress, nicknames that he likely called hundreds of other swooning women. Little did you know, he never typically used pet names for other ladies. It didn’t usually come natural to him, not when most girls had little to no meaning. He wasn’t a bad man, he took care of ladies and showed them a good time, kept them happy whilst they were with him, but most of his encounters were purely flings, mutually. He knew that the women he usually met were looking for nothing more than an exciting week, but you? How could he know what you wanted from somebody like him? The answer was plain and simple: he couldn’t. Unless...

“How would you like to go to dinner with me some day,” He asked boldly, his voice nearly quivering with unfamiliar anxiety. He glanced at your name tag, before adding, “Y/N?” Both yours and the blonde’s eyes snapped up to stare at him, the blonde’s eyes flooded with a look of knowing awe; yours filled with a look of utter shock. You turned briskly to meet Martha’s gaze, who was peeking for behind the kitchen door, smirking at you excitedly. “I- um, yeah.” You babbled, completely dumbfounded by the quick turn of events. “Yeah?” the man chuckled, flashing a kind smile at you. “Yeah.” you affirmed. The two of you just stared at each other with starry eyes, before you realised that you didn’t even know his name. “What, um, what’s you’re name?” you asked awkwardly, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The man reached for your hand, his calloused palm smoothing over yours. He pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand, before he spoke. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, mam’selle.”

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