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gaysindistress · 10 months

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When Night Comes - seven

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mob!Bucky, cursing, the feels, angst, I’m not nice to Yelena in this chapter

word count: 4k

six | masterlist

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom @buckybarnessimpp @hidden-treasures21 @unaxv @mal-adaptive-dreams @elizacusi-blog

a/n: “If We Were Vampires (feat. Wesley Schultz)” by Noah Kahan inspired the last part of this chapter so give it a listen when you get closer to the end. I also need to stop making a posting schedule. I never follow it 😂

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“If you can hear me, clap once.”

“If you can hear me, clap twice.”

“If you can hear me, clap three times.”

“And if you can hear me, put your hands in your lap,” Sunny smiles as the kids follow her instructions, “Thank you, thank you. Now we are going to go outside so when I call your name, please grab your things and go line up. I want a spy line; no one should be able to hear or see us walk down the hallway, yeah?”

The kids shout ‘yes’ in response and eagerly await their turn to line up, their tiny bodies nearly shaking with excitement to play outside. One by one they collect their things and line up, each having a little side conversation while eyeing the two teachers in the room because they know they’re not following expectations. Jessica, always the fly on the wall, sneaks up behind two boys and surprises them when she whispers, “Aren’t spies supposed to be silent?”

They nod in agreement and quickly shut their mouths, turning to face the person in front of them. Most of the time she’s able to surprise them and scare them (with love) while other times she has to whip out her maternal look of scorn to get them to follow rules. Sunny, however, can glance over in their direction and the kids immediately shape back up. All it takes is one fleeting glance and the kids know to listen. The more challenging ones might need a verbal reminder but sweet little Wyatt Rogers is quick to do that for the teachers. Jessica likes to joke that he will grow up to be a teacher or police officer one day with his love for rules and enforcing them.

Today is no different with him quickly stepping in to gently correct his peers before Jessica or Sunny have to. Unease fills Sunny though when she meets his startling blue eyes. She convinces herself that he has no way of knowing about Strigoi and that she knows about his parents even though the way his eyes are piercing her at the moment might be telling a different story. She offers him a small smile, hoping to ease her own worry. He smiles back before looking away to talk to the boy behind him. With his eyes no longer analyzing her soul, she should feel a way of relief washing over her but she doesn’t.

The phone rings, telling them that a parent is there to pick up their child, and she jumps at the sound. Jessica gives her a puzzled look as she starts the headcount and Sunny answers the phone.

“Hello, dragă.”

The honeyed voice strikes fear into her core and she freezes as it continues to speak, “I’m here for Wyatt. As much as I like Jessica, I’d rather you be the one to bring him out.”

“Uh… yeah okay, I’ll bring Wyatt out,” she stutters, hanging up the phone too quickly and shoving it into her sweatshirt pocket.

“Wyatt!” she calls over to the boy, “Wyatt it’s time to go home.”

“I can take him,” Jessica offers, still not blissfully unaware of everything that had happened a few days prior. All she had gotten out of her was that the date had gone well. Other than that, not a single word about Bucky or Alix.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”

Jessica catches her wrist before she can walk out of the door, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” and with that, she pulls her wrist away and places her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to walk him to the main entrance. Standing with his back to the door is Bucky in a black and white tweed jacket with black jeans and a matching striped sweater under. Wyatt races to open the door when he sees his uncle, pushing the door open with all of his might and letting the devil in disguise in.

“Uncle Buck! Mama said Daddy was going to pick me up today.”

“He got caught up with work and asked me to,” he tells him, ruffling up his blonde hair as he signs him out, “Go wait in the car.”

He allows the boy to duck under his arm as he opens the door before setting his sights on Sunny.

“Yelena told me that you refused our help again. How am I supposed to be a gentleman if you don’t let me?”

“I don’t think you qualify as a gentleman anymore.”

He raises his thick brows at her insinuation, “And what about me disqualifies me?”

“I know what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it.”

“I’m not doing anything but asking what you mean so please enlighten me.”

She cocks her head in annoyance, “I need to get back to the classroom.”

“Enlighten me,” he repeats, voice dropping a few octaves.

To the human ear, they might hear the slight hitch in her breathing but to him, he can hear every intake, how it sticks to the inside of her lungs and refuses to release. He can hear how her heartbeat quickens when he looks or speaks directly to her. He can hear the blood rush throughout her body and pound against the inside of her veins. Everything is laid bare to him and she is painfully aware of it hence why she finds the words spilling out without a second thought, “She told me that you’re a Strigoi and your business is how you know Alix.”

“Oh, she did? What else did she say?”

“You don’t know what she wants with me and that she’s putting herself in a lot of danger coming here.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

His eyes narrow in disbelief but he lets it go, eyes softening at the fear that sours her usually sweet scent, “I’ll see you tonight, dragă.”

Too paralyzed by fear, she doesn't ask him what he means and just watches as he lets the door close behind him and gets into the car. It’s not until after his car pulls back onto the road that she snaps back to reality. Her body trembles as she walks back, air Jordans scuffling the linoleum that is probably as old as she imagines Bucky to be.

Jessica peeks her head out of the doorway, “What took so long? Was he being… a meanie head?”

The girl in front of the line squawks at her choice of words, chiding her for calling someone a name.

“He just wanted to talk,” she quickly says before turning to the kids, “Remember spies in the hallway, and then you can go wild outside.”

An eruption of excited squeals comes from the line but they all settle down the moment they step into the hallways. Too focused on walking backward and keeping a close eye on the line, her body returns to its normal state and she doesn’t feel the text vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Are you going to tell me what happened Friday night?”

“I already did.”

Jessica snorts, “No you did not. Something else happened so spill.”

Sunny’s trained on watching the hoard of children running around the playground, “Nothing else happened, I swear. It went well.”

“What happened with Bucky then?”

“Again nothing. He kept texting me all weekend but I told him I need space until I can figure out what to do.”

“So that’s why you came back terrified, okay, yeah,” sarcasm drips from Jessica’s voice as she mocks the lies, “You don’t have to tell me everything but at least quit lying about it.”

But she can’t.

She can’t tell her the truth, even a sliver of it will have Jess calling the cops because of how insane she sounds. The underlying pain in her voice tugs at her heart but it’s not enough to make her break and she maintains her cover-up.

“Jess, seriously, I’m not lying. It’s all just a lot. I wasn’t expecting that from him or to like Yelena so much so it’s just a lot trying to figure out what to do.”

“Yeah well, I know what to do.”

“Do tell.” “Dump him and focus on her. She’s clearly more interested than he is no matter how downright gorgeous he is. I wouldn’t even give him the time of day. Ghost him.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Jessica sends her one glance and parting words before heading over to diffuse a fight she sees brewing, “There’s no thinking, just ghost him.”

The knock on her door disturbs her peace, drawing a deep groan from her as she stubbornly gets up. The intruder knocks again, more harshly this time as if saying ‘Hurry up and answer the damn door.’ The edible she took earlier needs to kick in faster if she’s going to deal with whoever decided that 10 pm is the perfect time to bother her. Before the third round of knocks comes, she swings open the door and levels a very bored look at Bucky.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming over.”

“And I thought you'd forget but here we are,” she goes to close the door but his large hand stops it.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Is that a part of the Strigoi thing?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ a little too much as she steps to the side and lets him in. It’s dark enough inside that he wonders if she was about to go to bed, however, the music video that’s playing on the projector tells him otherwise. Sza has been playing on repeat since she got home and she’s definitely not about to pause it for him.

He looks around her apartment, taking in every detail he can about her and the side she never lets anyone see. Ms. Sunny the daycare teacher is not the true representation of who she is aside from a few key characteristics. She is loving, warm, and amazing with kids however those are usually hidden behind her favorite blank stare and quick comebacks. Something about her is distinctly unique and maybe it’s the way she casually knocks his ego down or it’s how quickly she got under his skin without trying.

Either way, he has to harass her for the basket of edibles on the coffee table, “I didn’t peg you for a stoner.”

She drops back into her spot on the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket, “Says the drug dealer.”

“I’m not a drug dealer,” his retort goes over her head as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch.

“I find that hard to believe,” leaning forward, she pops open a container and takes another edible. This man requires at least 20 mg for her to put up with his shit. She can feel his eyes burning holes into her back so she offers the container to him. Maybe a little THC will chill him out and he won’t be so unbearable

“I’m not like Alix.”

“So you’re not a mobster and not human?”

“Well you got me there but I promise I’m not in the same business as she is.”

“What business are you in exactly?”

He takes a seat at the other side and says, “Is that the question you really want to ask?”

“It’s the first one I’m going to ask.”

He pops one into his mouth, eyes on hers the entire time like he’s trying his hardest to devour her. She pays him no mind and turns her attention to her phone to change the playlist. She contemplates putting on a show or movie to pass the time until the edibles hit them but he has other plans.

“Strigoi and Lycan’s business is different from what you’re thinking.”

Settling back into her corner, she narrows her eyes at him, “Different as in you traffic people?”

“We don’t do that. That’s more of a Lycan thing now. We are more about controlling our population and keeping our existence under wraps.”

“But you did do it at one point?”

“No, I didn’t but it was a Strigoi matter years ago. We don’t need to kidnap people to feed.”

“Next question; can you even get high?”

He lets out a small chuckle and slings his arm across the back of the couch, “Yes but it doesn’t last as long as it does for you. It acts as a dampener for the thirst.”

Her eyebrows shot up in shock, “Are you always ya know… bloodthirsty?”

“It never really goes away so in a way I guess but I can control myself. There’s no need to be afraid of me,” he softens his voice towards the end, smelling the fear that has started to rise in her.

“How do you know I’m afraid of you?”

“I can smell it and I’m not stupid. It’s written all over your face.”

She drops her face to look at her hands wrapped up in the green blanket her brother gave her before he died.

“Yelena has been tracking that Lycan woman you saw me with. Alix doesn’t seem to know where you are yet.”

“Key word is yet,” she scoffs, picking at the lint balls on the blanket.

“If you let us, we could protect you. She might be desperate but she wouldn’t risk years of peace to get to you.”

“You clearly don’t know her.”

“So tell me then; what does she want with you?”

The challenge in his words quickens her heartbeat and he snaps his eyes shut to will away the Strigoi inside as the blood rushing becomes overwhelming. When he opens his eyes, she’s staring at him with a knowing look.

“No need to be afraid of you?”

“What can I say? There’s something about you that makes me lose my self-control,” he chuckles however she’s unamused.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“It should be flattering if anything,” he says as he takes off her leather jacket to reveal a simple gray t-shirt and black jeans. His signature superstars Adidas give him a domesticated look that is all too deceiving when she knows what lurks beneath the surface.

“How exactly is that flattering?”

“I’ve been around for a while, not many things tempt me let alone lose control. The fact that just being near you tests that aren’t just a coincidence; there’s something special about you.”

She has to resist her own urge to rack her eyes down his form as she speaks, “Maybe that’s why Alix wants me so bad.”

“Maybe,” he dryly chuckles as the hand on the back of the couch flexes in a not-so-humorous manner at the mention of her ex.

“How do you know her?”

“I don’t personally know her but I know of her and her reputation.”

She nods her head slowly as the edible sits in but it does nothing to help with the storm in her mind. Everything about Alix and her brother swirls inside as she stares absentmindedly in his direction.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night,” he starts slowly, hoping to gently bring her back to him, “I saw you with her and it just… I saw red but that isn’t an excuse for how I treated you.”

“You’re right,” she whispers still fixated on his watch.

“What?” “You’re right,” she says louder now, looking at him head-on, “You were an asshole about the worst possible thing ever. It’s so confusing sometimes how sweet you can be but within seconds, you’re a completely different person.”

It’s his turn to hang his head, “I know and that’s not how I want you to see me. Like I told you, I don’t view this as a fling…”

She interrupts him, “Are you really giving me that bullshit? ‘I can see this turning into something real’? No this,” she gestures between them, “isn’t turning into anything. You blew that chance.”

“I still owe you a dinner so at least let me make that up to you before you completely write me off.”

She stretches out her feet and nearly touches his thighs with them, “Why should I give you a second chance?”

“Because you want to” The hand on the back of the couch falls to her sock-covered feet and drags them to fully rest on his lap.

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs, “No what I want to do is kick you out but I’m not entirely convinced you wouldn't sneak in through a window.”

“I wouldn’t need to because you wouldn’t do that. You like me too much.”

She pulls her foot back slightly but his hand holds onto it tighter and stops her from pulling away. His touch is not unwelcomed however the protector inside of her screams for her to push him away.

“Jesus every time you talk, circus music needs to play with how far-fetched some of the shit that comes out of your mouth is.”

“You’re the one who needs circus music. I see the way you look at me, how your breathing hitches when you see me, how hot you get when I get closer,” his hand is dragging up to her ankle as he continues to mock her, “Don’t you think I can tell when I have an effect on you?”

“You have the audacity of a middle-aged man who just got divorced,” she tries to deter him from moving his hand up by insulting him.

It has the desired effect and his hand freezes on her ankle, chilling her to the bone, “Do I look like a middle-aged man to you?” “No, you look like someone who’s wormed their way into my life and made it a living hell ever since then.”

“I can leave,” he offers, taking his hand off of her ankle and gently nudging her feet off his lap.

The way he so casually offers to give her what he wants is a surprise, a shock even to her and it takes her a moment to process what he said. In the meantime, he takes his chance to look over her. Anxiety has taken away her ability to sleep and the circles under her eyes have grown more prominent in such a short amount of time. The way she slouches into the couch is also evidence of how stressed she’s become since learning of Alix’s arrival. It pains him to see her in disarray and turmoil but he knows he caused it. Had he taken the time to slowly reveal everything to her maybe she’d be doing better. Had he allowed her to feel comfortable around him so that when he finally did tell her, she would’ve sought comfort with him rather than with Yelena. He’d practically driven her into her arms so he had no right to feel any jealousy about their budding relationship but a part of him wanted to destroy it.

“Do you want me to call Yelena?” he asks hesitantly.

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to leave. It’s just… It’s just a lot,” she sighs as she stares at her feet, “I wasn’t expecting her to find me and then for all this to happen. I just don’t know how to handle all of it and it’s not like I can tell Jessica. She wouldn’t understand.”

His nose involuntarily wrinkles at her name but Sunny doesn’t catch it. Sure she’s a lovely girl and a good friend to Sunny but she’s with Peter in some capacity. He tries not to show his annoyance as he speaks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Make it all disappear so I can go back to my normal life,” she half-jokes as she drops her head against the back of the couch.

“I can do that. All you have to do is ask,” he jokes back, resting her hand on her ankle once again, “But I can’t make Strigoi or Lycan go away unfortunately.”

“Or bring my brother back,” slips out before she can stop it. A horrified look takes over her face when she realizes what came out but a soft expression overcomes his.

“It will get easier even if it doesn’t seem like it right now,” he mutters while his thumb rubs small circles into the skin of her ankle.

“That’s what they all say but I don’t believe them. It’s been five years and it’s just gotten worse,” she glances down at his hand and then back up to him, “Did you have any siblings?”

“I did but that’s a story for a different time,” he tells her after checking his watch. 11:11 pm flashes back up at him and she tries to hide a yawn under her blanket but is unsuccessful.

He gently pushes her feet off and stands, extending a hand down to her, “Come on, dragă. It’s time for you to get to bed.”

Furrowing her brows at his persistence, she obliges and takes his hand, nearly bumping into his chest from the force of him pulling her up. He smiles softly down at her as his arms enclose her to his chest. Once again they find themselves inches from each other with their noses nearly touching as he leans down. His breath fans over her lips as his barely brush against hers and she lifts onto her toes to meet his but he drops his head on her shoulder. Although she can’t see, he is squeezing his eyes shut to force the animal side of him back into its cage.

“Hey,” she gently coaxes him to look at her, a hand cradling his face, “Bucky.”

The tender call of her voice brings him to his full height regardless of how much the voice in his head is screaming at him to stop. Black veins are retreating under his red eyes as he regains control of himself and awaits her reaction. The hand that cradles his face drifts over and her thumb brushes where the black veins once were. Her warm touch unthaws emotions deep within him he thought were lost to time and he finds himself dipping back down to catch her lips against his better judgment.

He knows this can’t go on forever. It’s guaranteed that one of them will spend their days alone. They’d be lucky to get maybe 40 years together but one day, one of them will be gone. That doesn’t stop him from giving what he can to her in this kiss. All of the promises and emotions he can possibly convey are done with the flicker of his tongue and slide of his lips against hers. Her soft noises urge him to keep kissing her as if she alone will sustain him rather than the blood in her veins. His hands slide up her back and find their rightful place holding her face against his, deepening their kiss.

Sunny stills as she pulls away and tilts her forehead against his, “We can’t do this.”

Chuckling albeit in a sad manner, he agrees. Yelena is at the forefront of their minds and so are the implications of their relationship as humans and Strigoi.

He expects her to pull away entirely but she doesn’t and instead, drags him back into a feverish kiss that ignites a fire he hasn’t felt in years. The black veins threaten to return and the red begs to flood the blue eyes she’s grown accustomed to seeing in her dreams. Fangs poke at her bottom lip and she smiles, gently kissing his nose as she pulls away. His natural state, one of animalistic desire, is terrifying to most however she is the exception. There is not a hint of fear and worry in her eyes as they stare up at him. The warmth that his body can no longer proceed is found there and a hint of emotion he prays will develop into more.

“I need to go to bed.”

He pauses to allow his body to regain its composure. Emotions overwhelm his thinking and words tumble out without hesitation.

“I’ll give you every second I can find,” he whispers, voice hoarse and quiet.

“I know,” she whispers back, drawing him into a hug, “Good night.”

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imaginetonyandbucky · 4 years

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The Buy In

For the prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

Chapter One: Fresh Meat

by @dracusfyre

“Hey, boss, we got fresh meat for you,” the man at Bucky’s elbow said. Bucky’s heart was in his throat, pulse racing like mad; he was the first detective ever to get this close to Tony Stark, to the Mechanic, and he prayed he would live to tell the tale. For years Stark had only been seen through the lens of a telescoping camera, impeccably dressed with sunglasses hiding his eyes and surrounded by his men at all times. Before today there had been no wiretaps, no informants, no insight into the elusive mob boss and his inner circle. But after years of hard work, Bucky was about to change that. As he was pushed into the echoing warehouse, his eyes darted around the room, taking in the classic cars, the souped-up sports coupes and half-built engines, looking for the man himself. Bucky wondered how many of these were stolen and awaiting new buyers. Men in suits were spread out guarding the exits, but he didn’t see a desk or an office, any kind of throne from which Stark ran his criminal empire.

After a moment, in the middle of the room, a man that Bucky’s eyes had completely glossed over unfolded himself from a work bench. He was wearing a tank top and low-slung jeans, and as he stood, he pulled his welding mask off and put down the butane torch. Bucky blinked, stunned as he approached; the man’s hair was tousled and messy, jaw dark with a five o’clock shadow, arms toned and tan. His eyes, when they met Bucky’s, where whiskey brown and warm with amusement. Bucky barely kept his jaw from dropping as he recognized Tony Stark, right down to the scar on his jaw he’d gotten in the car crash that had killed his parents.

“New meat, huh?” Stark asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he tilted his head and studied Bucky with eyes that seemed entirely too perceptive. “Tell me about him.”

“Wants a job,” the man at his elbow said. Bucky didn’t jump, but it was a near thing; he’d forgotten the man was even there. This was Tony Stark? The Mechanic was actually a mechanic? Everyone, from Bucky's fellow policemen to the FBI task force that had been organized to take him down, to the ATF agents and federal marshals that swapped stories over beer, had a different theory about where the man’s klichka came from: because of his well-known penchant for nice cars, because shop tools were his favorite methods of interrogation, because he was good at greasing wheels and making things happen. No one had ever suggested, even as a joke, that it might be because the man was a grease monkey. “Former military, spent time in Iraq,” the man continued. What was his name? Oh yeah, Harold. Everyone called him Happy. “Got out and a friend of a friend got him a job, if you know what I mean. His info checks out; he used to do work down at Brighton Beach then moved up to Red Hook before crossing the bridge. You said we needed new muscle down on 6th, remember?”

“I remember.” Stark pulled out a wrench that had been hanging from his belt and started flipping it from hand to hand as he considered Bucky thoughtfully. Bucky lifted his chin and met Stark’s eyes, hoping his nervousness didn’t show; this wasn’t his first undercover assignment, just the one with the highest stakes. Stark controlled most of Manhattan and had been successfully expanding his territory at the expense of the Russians and Irish and gangs from Harlem. As the silence stretched, the metal of the wrench flashed in the light from the windows as it rose and fell, his hands sure and steady. “Go away, copper,” Stark said finally, and Bucky gaped as Stark turned away.

“I’m not a cop,” Bucky protested to Stark’s surprisingly muscled back. This operation, his job, maybe even his life depended on convincing Stark he wasn’t a cop. “Look, this is the biggest outfit in the city and I just want a paycheck, ok? My last boss came up short and ran back to Armenia without paying his debts. Word is you always pay up.”

“Sure you do,” Stark said, the corner of his mouth turning up. “We all just want a paycheck, right? Happy, remind me why we need muscle on 6th?”

“Cops have been hassling our people,” Happy said, taking a step away from Bucky and eyeing him with suspicion. “Trying to shake’em down, demanding a cut.”

“Right, right.” Stark picked up his welding mask but didn’t put it on. “What’s your name, copper?”

“I’m not-“ When Stark just raised an eyebrow and gestured like get on with it, Bucky said, “Jason. Jason Brooks.”

“That’s it? No street name?”

“My friends call me JB sometimes, but that’s it.”

“Alright, Blue Eyes,” Stark said as he pulled his mask back down over his eyes and fired up the torch again with a hiss of blue-white heat. “Get the cops to lay off my people, and you’ll get your paycheck.”

Happy put a hand on Bucky’s back and shoved him back out the door of the warehouse since they’d been dismissed. “That’s it?” Bucky said, bemused.

“Yeah, that’s it. Whaddya want, to provide a resume and cover letter? It’s not like the Boss has to check with HR here.”

“Does he really think I’m a cop?”

Happy shrugged. “Only the boss knows what the boss thinks. Guess not if he said you could stay. Come back tomorrow at 5.”

“Do you really think he’s a cop?” Rhodey asked when Tony was done welding, coming over to admire the smooth bead he’d put on the chassis of the classic car he was remodeling.

“Oh, he’s definitely a cop,” Tony said, stretching his back and shoulders. “But then I thought, we have a cop, we have cop problems, let’s let one take care of the other. Either he’ll get them to back off, or he won’t, but either way one of my problems will be solved.”

“Oh, so it’s not because he has a pretty face?”

“I didn’t know you were on the market, platypus,” Tony said with wide eyes. “I’m sure I could get his number for you, along with his bank account, social security number, and entire relationship history.” When Rhodey just rolled his eyes, Tony grinned. “He did have a pretty face, though, didn’t he? I wonder if that’s why they sent him.”

“Not unless the feds have changed their MO in a big way,” Rhodey said, handing Tony a towel to clean his hands and wipe the sweat off his face and neck.

“I’ll let him run around a bit and see what happens,” Tony said, voice turning serious. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I had about Natasha. Or Natalie, whatever she’s calling herself now.” Natasha had been a plant from the Russians, trying to crack his operations so they could retake some blocks they’d lost a few years ago when Tony had taken advantage of infighting to push his boundaries out. She’d taken one look at the ladies working in Tony’s territory and taken to them like a mother cat with kittens. She’d also organized them with the ruthlessness of any NY City union boss, eliminating pimps with such prejudice it earned her the klichka the Widow. Six months into working for him, she’d flipped and given him everything she knew and was the reason why the Russians had been pushed back to their tiny toe-hold in Brighton Beach, with most of them heading back for greener territories back in the Motherland. “Put him with KT. He’s good with newbies.”

“You aren’t worried he’s going to find something?”

Because it was Rhodey, Tony gave it some thought. Whatever law enforcement sent Blue Eyes had apparently done a better job with his cover than the previous people did; so far Happy had been able to weed them out pretty early on. Tony couldn’t even say why he was getting a cop vibe from the new guy. He had short hair, little longer than military regulation, but the stubble on his jaw screamed six-day bender and he had the thousand-yard stare of an ex-soldier used to violence down pat. Hell, that part was probably true. Maybe it was the surprise in his eyes when he’d seen Tony; in Tony’s experience, most people who made their living on the streets had the ability to be surprised burned out of them long ago. “Nah,” Tony said eventually. “For the good stuff, he’d have to go through me. Anything else he’d just be nibbling around the edges.”

“Whatever you say,” Rhodey said with a shrug.

#tony stark #winteriron #bucky barnes #no powers au #tony x bucky #dracusfyre

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send-me-your-hcs · 4 years

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okay. for some reason mob boss tony kidnaps peter and it turns out peter is a little. (he gets so scared and couldn't help but get into the littlespace as a defence mechanism???) and tony freaks out because he doesn't know how to take care of a little.

This is literally so funny to me. Like just the thought of Tony going from “You belong to me now, baby boy” to “oh God why is it making that noise, Happy make it stop” is so fucking hilarious?? But damn if I’m not intrigued.

…

......am I doing it?

…….fuck me I’m doing it. Damn you, anon.

Warnings: mentions of human trafficking and abuse, ageplay, underage (but Peter’s age is unspecified and can be envisioned however you’d like).

The compound crumbles in less than an hour.

For all his bravado, Justin Hammer goes down almost too easily. Tony feels tempted to whistle as he walks through the compound’s warehouse, stepping over the slain bodies of Hammer’s underpaid cronies.

His team is just finishing up the last of the clean-up. The occasional gunshot echoes off the walls as Tony takes stock of all the merchandise he just inherited, debating what to do with Hammer once they get home. It almost feels like a waste of effort and time to torture the man before killing him, even with all the trouble he stirred up with the police. Tony’s tempted to just put a bullet in his brain and be done with it.

But, well. He isn’t called The Merchant of Death for nothing, and he does have a certain image to maintain. Plus, with Hammer keeping him company tonight, he’ll at least be partially spared from the usual tedium that comes with being the biggest mafia don on the east coast.

It’s as he’s wondering just what exactly he should do to Hammer first that Happy finally arrives, looking a little disheveled, but no worse for wear. “Boss,” he says, stumbling over the array of corpses with a muted curse, “compound’s clear. We’re ready to pack this all up and move out.”

Tony wipes the toe of his shoe off on some unnamed man’s bullethole-patterned sleeve. “Good. And Hammer?”

“On his way back to base as we speak, sir. I’ll have him ready for you when you arrive.”

Tony nods in approval, then notices the pronounced, telltale crease in Happy’s brow. Always a good sign.

“Something else you wanna tell me, Hap?”

Happy grimaces, deepening his forehead wrinkle. “There was an unexpected...uh...hiccup, sir.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow at the other man, equal parts curious and incredulous. “A hiccup,” he repeats, slowly, watching Happy’s face grow increasingly sour. “What sort of hiccup?”

“The, um...the teenaged boy kind?”

---

There are only two bodies littering the floor outside Hammer’s office: his enforcer, and his bodyguard. Happy scowls at the sight and starts clumsily rolling them out of the way, glaring at Bucky while he does.

Bucky smirks at Happy, pointedly not moving to help clear away the bodies lying between them. “Kid hasn’t stopped crying since you took Hammer,” he says to him, standing in the doorway like a sentry.

“Probably in relief,” Tony says, straightening his tie as Happy finishes kicking over the second body. “Who is he? Do we know?”

“My guess is a trafficking vic,” Bucky says with a shrug. “He’s got bruises. Seems kinda...out of it.”

Tony hums. “Well, I suppose we’re about to find out.”

Bucky steps aside and Tony strolls into the room, sparing a disinterested glance at Hammer’s shameful choice of interior decorating. The throw pillows are haphazardly strewn across the floor from the sofa; one of the grommet drapes is missing from the window. It’s a mess, but that’s not entirely unexpected.

Happy follows close behind him as he makes his way to the corner of the room, where the soft sound of pitiful sobs is coming from underneath the large desk. Tony peeks his head beneath the desktop just enough to confirm the kid doesn’t have a loaded weapon before he crouches down.

The little thing is balled up tight, wrapped in the missing window drapery and clutching one of the stolen throw pillows like his life depends on it. He seems naked underneath it, which confirms Bucky’s human trafficking theory and gives Tony almost an instant headache. There are bruises spanning the boy’s wrists and ankles that look new and swollen, standing out brightly against the boy’s very pale skin.

Tony clears his throat. “As comfortable as that looks, perhaps I could convince you to stand up so we can chat face to face, hm?”

The kid flinches, whimpering into the pillow he has pressed over his face. Tony sighs like an overburdened parent and says, “I don’t have all day. You have till the count of three to come out on your own before I come in there and make you. You hear me? One. Two…”

The boy’s soft-looking head of curls slowly lifts, and the next thing Tony knows, he’s staring into the biggest pair of honey-brown eyes he’s ever seen. They’re red-rimmed and brimming with tears, swollen from how long the kid’s been crying, but they stay obediently and nervously fixed on Tony as the boy slowly uncurls his limbs and crawls out from under the desk.

Tony’s somewhat surprised that the boy clings to his pillow religiously enough to let the curtain slip down to his waist, held up by only a single tiny, shaking fist. The boy won’t spare either hand to hold the drape up properly so it pools around his hips, revealing his slim, narrow torso, his perfectly unblemished skin.

There aren’t any other bruises, though more could be hiding under the curtain. Tony appraises the kid for a long, tense moment before he asks, “What’s your name?”

Thin arms squeeze the throw pillow tight enough to strangle it. The boy is still looking up at him with that damned pair of Disney eyes. He hasn’t stopped crying.

“‘m Peter,” he mumbles, sniffling.

His voice is cute. A little high for a kid his age, but in an endearing way. “Peter.” Tony nods, pleased. “I’m Tony. Tell me, Pete, how long have you been here?”

Peter glances at Happy, then at Bucky in the doorway, before shyly lowering his gaze to the pillow in his arms. He hugs it tighter and says, “Um...don’t...don’t know what day it is.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Happy says, sounding put out in that wonderful way he always does. “June 16th.”

The boy blinks, looking nervous and unsure as he says, “Since...two days.”

“Okay,” Tony says, “And where were you before that?”

Peter’s shoulders droop. He looks down at the floor with wet eyes, mumbling, “With bad guys.”

It takes everything Tony has not to smirk. “Bad guys? Worse than these ones?”

Peter nods. “They took me,” he says, his little voice completely heartbroken, “from Miss Jones’s place. They waited till she was asleep and they took me. S’been…” Confusion washes over his face, like he’s trying to access some memory that isn’t there. “It was winter. There was still snow outside.”

Before Tony can decide how to respond to that, Happy tactfully pipes up with, “Who the hell is Miss Jones?”

“Michelle Jones Adoption Center,” Bucky says, reading aloud as he stares down at his phone. “Looks like a non-profit adoption agency. Website says the founder also runs a foster home. Is that the one?”

All three men turn to look at Peter, who nods, staring at Bucky hopefully. “Uh-huh. They sent me there when my aunt and uncle died.”

Part of Tony is scared to ask. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died when I was little.”

“Yikes,” Happy says quietly under his breath, though not quietly enough. Tony gives him a reproachful look, then turns back to the boy, whose face is once again soaked in tears, clinging to his throw pillow like it’s a teddy bear.

Tony bites the bullet and says, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, kid, but now that you’ve seen our faces, I can’t let you go back to Miss Jones’ place.”

If the kid’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps staring down at his pillow, letting his tears drip down off his cheeks and soak into the fabric. “I just...I want…” His lower lip wobbles, and then the sobs come. “I don’t know. I don’t know. ‘m so - so c-confused. I just want my D-Daddy.”

For the first time in longer than Tony can remember, he’s at a loss for words.

“Want Daddy,” Peter says again, babbling, like a child. The crying is really doing nothing for Tony’s budding headache. “‘m scared.”

“I’m praying this isn’t what it sounds like, but, please tell me Justin Hammer wasn’t your Daddy. Ugh, Jesus, I’m never going to get the taste of those words out of my mouth. Blech.”

Thankfully, Peter shakes his head no, looking just as disgusted as Tony feels. Thank God. “I don’t...I don’t think so. I-I don’t know. They said I had to be good for Daddy. They said I couldn’t go home unless it was with h-him.”

Bucky jokingly says, “I’ll be his Daddy,” but he mutes himself when Tony lifts a hand to silence him, before turning to give Happy a helpless look. The man stares back, then silently gestures to his gun, the question clear as day on his face. Tony immediately shakes his head, waving the man’s hand away from his holster with a steely glare.

Okay, so. That’s interesting. Apparently mercy-killing the boy isn’t an option. Giving him back to gentle-hearted, law-abiding-citizen Miss Jones isn’t an option, either.

So where does that leave him?

Tony watches the boy cry a moment longer before resignedly asking, “Peter, how old are you?”

Peter wipes his wet face on the pillow, refusing to let neither it nor the curtain go long enough to use his hands. “Don’t...know,” he says, after a moment, his brows furrowed like he’s thinking it over hard. “They s-said that was up to my Daddy.”

Stellar. Great big help, that is.

Sighing, Tony rubs his temple to soothe his headache, taking a moment to really look at the boy in front of him. Peter is...well. It’s fair to say he isn’t unattractive. Hammer’s poor taste in interior design apparently doesn’t extend to sex slaves.

Tony’s done horrible, truly vile things in his career, but children are usually where he draws his thin, arguably nonexistent moral line. They’re rarely intelligent enough to interest him in any fashion, but Peter - for what it’s worth - has managed to pique his interest just enough that he finds himself actually opening his mouth and saying:

“Peter. Since I can’t let you go back to your foster home, tell me: would you rather come home with me instead?”

He lets the ‘instead of killing you’ go unsaid, since the boy is already having trouble wiping away his tears. Peter stares up at him with a frightened, mistrustful look that makes Tony’s hands twitch. There’s innocence in those eyes, sure. But there’s brightness too. For all the babbling and childish baby-speak Peter’s given him, Tony gets the very distinct impression that he’s far from stupid.

“With you?” the boy asks, hardly louder than a whisper. His tone is soft and wary, sounding every bit the child he believes he is. “You...you’ll be my Daddy?”

It’s a strange thing, to be fifty years old and still learning such intimate things about himself, like how fucked up he is for liking it when this sweet, baby-faced teenage boy calls him Daddy in his soft, childish little voice. Part of him can’t wait to turn around and see the looks on Happy and Bucky’s faces; the rest of him doesn’t want to take his eyes off Peter for even a moment.

He nods, giving Peter what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he steps forward, offering his hand for the boy to take. “That’s right, honey,” he says, his tone syrupy sweet. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Daddy’s here now.”

Peter looks between Tony’s outstretched hand and his smiling face, deliberating on what they both know is his only real option. Finally, he lets the curtain drop from around his hips to pool at his feet, revealing his slender legs and freshly-shaven pubic area. Tony’s brain momentarily goes white and fuzzy until Peter’s slim, soft hand hesitantly takes his own, still clutching that hideous throw pillow to his chest like a teddy bear.

Tony grants himself another long look over Peter’s gorgeous frame as he slips his suit jacket off and drapes it over the boy’s shoulders. Peter smiles gratefully and pushes his arms through the sleeves, his face darkening with a blush as Tony starts fastening the buttons. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Fuck. Forcing himself to swallow the growl building in his throat, Tony takes the boy’s hand again and leads him to the door. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Peter clings to him as they step through the threshold. Well, Tony thinks to himself, his hand tightening around Peter’s own, at least things won’t be boring from now on.

#starker #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #ru answers #anonymous

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janiedean · 7 years

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(part 1) ur gonna roast me for this but im legit curious why mafia AUs are so bad? im asking in a non confrontational way, i get it romanticizing mafia is wrong, but i also believe that 1)most mafia AUs are a really toned down type of mafia;2)they do make for some interesting kinds of dynamics with fanart and with fics; 3)in a fic specifically u can create your own world and call something mafia and still make it so they don't kill innocent people but only idk members of other gangs or sth

(part 2) plus theyre a way to put ur charas in a completely diff context and see what theyll do. i mean i dont believe that writing ships in a certain context (like mafia) equals romanticizing that context. mafia AUs arent even my fav things to read (in fact i almost never do), im sure many ppl romanticize it and i obvs dont agree with that but im just trying to udnerstand bc i believe fandoms are a way to explore things that we normally wouldnt.

I’m not gonna roast you don’t worry xD okay wait let me check if I replied to this already if yes I’m gonna c/p because it’s half past midnight otherwise I’ll just go at it again wait *checks tags* fff obviously I don’t have a general post but anyway pls read this after you’ve done with my post and then this which is also choke-full of links. plus for a (not nice) laugh: here. AH WAIT I FOUND THE POST.

okay, so, let’s have it out of the way: I have nothing against mob aus or crime aus. I have a problem against calling them mafia AUs because in the US mafia = organized crime at large, in Italy mafia = ACTUAL EXISTING ORGANIZATIONS THAT ARE ACTIVELY HARMFUL. now that I introduced the topic I’ll c/p you the reply I gave to another anon who while discussing the issue pointed out that most writers don’t even know Italian mafia is a thing, which is pretty much on the same discourse so...

*The thing is - in the US it might not be enough of a deal anymore and I honestly do get why people make the mafia = regular mobsters, since the mafia was the first foreign organized crime being exported to the US via italian immigrants (sorry if this sounds horrible in English but I just woke up and I still didn’t have coffee) so I understand that mafia became the umbrella term.But the thing is that - as you said, these people don’t even know that there’s a mafia in Italy anymore or where the word comes from.

I’m going to link to italiansreclaimingitaly’s tag about the mafia and its perception outside Italy because they posted about this extensively and it’s an excellent resource, but meanwhile I’m gonna do a very short bullet point list and about the topic:

Mafia might not be a big deal in the US, but it still is here. We have the beauty of four different mafias (Cosa Nostra - the Sicilian one, camorra which is the one in Campania but has tendrils spread everywhere, the 'ndrangheta which is in Calabria and the Sacra Corona Unita in Puglia) which are all active [especially camorra and 'ndrangheta] and whose actions have direct impact (negative) on our economy and on our society. Actually mafias are one of the main reasons we’re currently economically fucked up, and if I start talking about how mafia culture keeps some areas literally backwards I could talk about it for three months.

There are still people who are killed for standing up against them. These days the most prominent personality is Roberto Saviano who is a writer who dared to put together a book documenting minutely the way camorra works and he’s been living under protection for years by this point. Like, they want him dead because he wrote a book. And I’m sorta sure that he was talking about leaving Italy and going to the US after years of sticking with it here because he can’t take it anymore but I don’t know if it was a taken decision or if it’s still debating it.

It wasn’t even thirty years ago that we had the stragi di mafia - in english it’d be something like the mafia slaughters, basically around the beginning of the nineties there were a number of bombs planted by the mafia targeting people who were trying to oppose it including judges Falcone and Borsellino, actually the anniversary of Falcone’s death is like... tomorrow. And they’ve killed people for way longer than that. Here is a list of only Cosa Nostra victims including the ones from the eighties/nineties. And people are still dying because of it. The slaughters I’m referring to are just the ones in the nineties which are enough of a number.

They also perpetuate a culture where if you testify against your mafia-employed relatives you’ll be shunned forever. There are women who testified against their families and couldn’t see their children anymore never mind that they weren’t automatically considered a relative anymore the moment they sided against the mafia. Some people have committed suicide after becoming witnesses also because our police force/justice system can be terribly non-supportive in this kind of situation so they got left on their own. Never mind that back in the day - it was the beginning of the nineties? - I recall at least a particular story of - I think, correct me if I remember wrong but I can’t remember the names for the life of me - where this guy testified against the local mafia when he either used to work for them or was forced to pay them the pizzo and in retaliation his six-year old (or five? Anyway he had a son younger than ten for sure) got kidnapped, killed and thrown into acid to dispose of the body. That happened in what, 1993? 1994? It’s pretty much yesterday. And now the camorra is doing the same - there’s a list here of camorra victims among which accidental passerbys that got killed because they were in the way which I can tell just by glancing is not complete. And I’m not even going into the 'ndrangheta. That is to say, here mafia still kills people and cripples our country.

Now, I get that it’s a word, but the point was: let’s say that instead of the Italians the Japanese came to the US first and the umbrella word for organized crime was yakuza rather than mafia and let’s say yakuza was still what it was originally in Japan while in the US it stopped being a big deal and people write yakuza!AU instead of mafia AU. Let’s say someone Japanese gets angry at that and goes like 'listen the yakuza is a real deal it does this this this and that and it’s a plague in our country so can you please at least look it up before writing your fanfic’, which is what had happened way back then when this whole mafia and fanfic thing blew up. A bunch of people told us to get over it because it’s just a word and if it’s a problem in Italy it’s not in the US so why should they care? Now, if we had been Japanese (or Chinese or Russian or Mexican) would they have said the same thing? Considering the general tumblr attitude I’m pretty sure they would have received either an apology or 'this is an important deal let’s keep that in mind’ with signal boost reblogs and stuff.

It’s the fact that we should get over people not knowing that it’s still a real problem for us and that they can’t take five seconds to google it that is the problem imo. Especially when instead of mafia au you can just say mobsters au or tag it as organized crime and everyone is a lot happier, mostly because as the tag above explains romanticising the mafia is a good thing for them because it means they can act outside Italy with less stigma because everyone thinks that the mafia is dead or not relevant anymore, if I’m explaining myself. (And it’s active outside Italy - like, there was a mafia kill in Germany in 2007 where six people died (sorry the link is in Italian but there isn’t an English wiki page, if you look the city up you’ll find something probably) and it was because of the 'ndrangheta.

I’d really like to not get worked over it because it meant it was a thing of the past y'know, but the problem is that it isn’t and I’d rather spread some awareness in hope some of these writers look it up (because it’s a good thing that people know what mafia is since as stated they have tendrils everywhere - if you read Saviano’s book the entire first chapter is about how camorra regularly deals with Chinese import/export in Italy for one) than shrug and figure that since they’ll think everything is good for fanfic then it’s not even worth my time.*

Now, ^^^ that was the c/p-ed reply that should answer most of your doubts. What I didn’t address was:

im sure many ppl romanticize it and i obvs dont agree with that but im just trying to udnerstand bc i believe fandoms are a way to explore things that we normally wouldnt.

aaaand as we say here in Italy, this is where the donkey falls (sorry we have weird sayings), because in theory there’s nothing wrong with that... except that in 99% of the mafia aus I’ve seen around the thing is that they’re supposed to be cute.

like, I see a lot of shit with TINY MAFIA BOSS STEVE ROGERS with RUSSIAN ENFORCER BUCKY (????? bucky isn’t even russian???) and the yoi thing I saw before had the japanese character being the leader of a russian mafia gang which is... like... guys it doesn’t happen it really doesn’t, and a lot of them re-use wrongly terminology taken from the godfather without context or knowing what the hell it means, and it’s always from the criminals’ pov and they’re somehow seen as criminals doing justice where the police can’t (???) and like... no. mafia bosses/enforcers/employees are bad people period, and at least here if you try to leave or repent they kill your family in retribution. like, not even ten years ago there’s been a woman who used to belong to a mafia family (or one colluded with the mafia) who testified and her entire town/family shunned her and she couldn’t take it anymore and... killed herself drinking acid if I don’t recall wrong. it’s not even special cases. this shit is not funny, it’s not cute, it’s not adorable and it’s not good fodder for your imagine your otp scenario (srsly I saw one like.. let me find it,

LIKE. just look at this shit. in a regular context, the enforcer goes to the show owner to force them to pay a monthly sum to their boss lest they destroy their shop and their lives and their family’s life never mind that mafia culture is deeply homophobic so the mafia enforcer flirting with the shopkeeper is like completely fucking out of the question. I mean, people here like to shit on the sopranos but that show was actually excellent representation of Horrid Criminals Who Were Never Supposed To Be Good People and the small arc that happened when one of tony’s friends turned out to be gay (closeted) was REALLY well done. btw, it ended that when they found out he was gay most of the crowd rejected him and thought badly of him until I think they killed him also for other reasons, but that spiraled from finding out he liked dick. and that’s american mafia that they actually based on well-done research of the culture in Italy it came from, I assure you that here it doesn’t work that differently. like. the shit above is so inaccurate and frankly offensive, it’s like... I get people romanticizing problematic stuff but the thing is that when you tell them that it’s actually offensive you get brushed off as ‘ah well you’re being too sensitive it’s just a word u__u’. now, I’m all for exploring shit we wouldn’t be into, but not like THAT, because that’s like mafia romantic comedy and that’s not how it works. now, you wanna do a fic where the mafia characters are deeply flawed and bad people and the police tries to catch them? fine, great, go ahead. you wanna do a fic where the enforcer above deals with dunno an entire life of internalized homophobia when he finds the shopkeeper attractive and feels conflicted over having to con money out of him and doing horrible shit for a living and maybe understanding that crime isn’t worth it and then he actually collaborates with the police and gets shit from about everyone he knows and loves for that? okay, awesome, go ahead. nothing bad in that.

but the shit above is not exploring things we wouldn’t/writing darkfic, it’s THINKING THAT A CRIMINAL ORGANIZATION WHICH IS STILL A THING IN OUR PART OF THE WORLD IS CUTE AND ADORABLE. and that only plays in their favor because it takes the bad aura out of the word and we really should not let that happen. like. that is what is bad about mafia aus and mafia discourse, that people don’t realize the mafia is alive and well and thriving and not a thing that doesn’t exist or a generic word for organized crime.

you wanna write the shit above? okay, CALL IT CRIME AU or mob au, not mafia au.

btw, add-on: idk if I mentioned it in the above post or not, but in case I didn’t, I said that people would balk at the idea of a mexican cartel au. sadly since then I’ve found out a fandom where not only there is one but it’s also extra cutesy and people apparently love it and it has a bunch of kudos/comments and idek I’m not even touching that with a ten foot pole but like... I’ve avoided it and everything that author wrote because to me it’s just... nope. like, nope. if you do mafia aus don’t make them fucking cute. (also: in the same fandom I had to mute a v. famous fanartist whose art I actually liked but did cutesy mafia aus and.. like... haahahhaahahahahaha nah sorry. can’t go there. nope.)

#mafia #mafia for ts #Anonymous #ask post

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