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harlequin-hangout · 1 year

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Incapable

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mob violence, violence against reader (Not Bucky), mature themes, Brock Rumlow just as a person, guns, general mob fuckery, light alcohol use, slutty themes ( Minors DNI), Kidnapping, torture

Contains: Arranged marriage, fluff, some angst, femme fatale/boss bitch energy, strangers to lovers maybe? Happy ending

Word Count: 4.7k

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the only person to treat you as human, despite your marriage being transactional. How will you react when he's kidnapped?

I do not nor will I ever give permission for my writing to be copied, pasted, reposted to other sites, or edited in any way shape or form. Seriously, just don’t.

A/N: I did not make the gif, and @vbecker10 inspired me to use it. Just look at him! Adorable, and so, so done with people's bullshit. If this progressed kind of fast, I'm sorry! I really didn't want to start another series, and I didn't want to publish something that was INSANELY long either. I love writing our Reader as someone who can handle herself, it makes me so happy. I hope you all can enjoy another Badass Reader fic!! (There will be a super slutty epilogue but I'm so ready for this to be out so the smut will appear in the next bit, but both pieces can be read on their own)

The door to your house was broken. Someone had kicked it in. You step over broken glass, finding every drawer ripped apart.

“James?” You called out to your husband. Silence was the only answer you received.

“Bucky??” Your voice was more desperate. You ran from room to room, only finding more destruction. Making your way into Bucky’s office last, you found his sitting corner smashed, with blood staining the carpet and upholstery. A broken cell lay on the ground – Bucky’s work phone. The picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day had been ripped out of its frame, the blade of a hunting knife stuck in the side table through the photo of Bucky, while your face had been scratched beyond recognition. There was no mistaking the message that the sender was intending. Though your marriage wasn’t traditional, James Buchanan Barnes had never made you feel like property. Your husband was the only person in your life that hadn’t treated you like a means to an end, like a bargaining chip or a high-ticket item, and he was missing. You pick up the cracked phone on the ground, managing to turn it on enough to get Steve’s number out of it. You dial, hang up after one ring, then call right back.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” You hear Steve’s jovial voice on the line.

“He’s made his move. Get Wilson and be here in 20.” Your voice was calm, but Steve could hear the icy bite.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I know this is tough but–”

“But nothing, Rogers.” You cut him off. “I know that I haven’t been involved in the business, but this is personal. 20 minutes. Wilson. Bring however many weapons you can carry.” You hung up, not waiting for a response.

Your marriage was transactional, you’d known that from the start. You’d been adopted by Rumlow Senior when your mother had passed, and been raised alongside his son, Brock. At least, that’s the story the Public knew. You had been part of your mother’s efforts to pay off her debts to the Rumlow Mafia family. Your father had passed from massive medical complications – you didn’t know a lot of the details, you had been too young to understand and no one had ever given you much to go on past that – and your mother had borrowed money from the Rumlows to help pay for his treatments. There wasn’t money to pay back her loans, so she paid them back the only way she could. Your mother had become the infamous Mafia fixer known as Lady Death, and you had been sent to live with the Rumlow family at age five as insurance. She had been legally dead since you were adopted by the Rumlows, but your mother had been killed for real on an assignment when you were seventeen. After over a decade with the family, Rumlow Senior had made you a deal. Keep playing the role of his adoptive daughter, and you would be kept safe. When you were twenty one, you were given a choice. Rumlow Senior would be stepping down as head of the Rumlow Family that year.

“But why would you pick me?” The question hung heavy in the air of Rumlow Senior’s office.

“You have been raised in the Family just as Brock has, Y/N. You are every bit as ruthless as my biological son, and I have complete faith that you would make the right decision for the future of the family whenever the need arose. Unlike my son, however, you have a cool head on your shoulders. You do not jump at the chance for violence. You take the diplomatic route whenever possible, and leave none in your path when it is not.” You sat there in silence. This wasn’t a life that you had wanted. True, you had grown up learning alongside Brock in order to maintain the role of Rumlow’s Little Princess, but you hadn’t ever expected to be offered anything, much less control of the family.

“I . . . I don’t mean any disrespect, but what’s the other option?” Rumlow Senior crossed his arms. You knew that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but still, he responded.

“If you don’t step into the role of Matriarch, there will be a target on you. Your safest choice would be to marry the head of another family. Your husband’s power would both protect you and benefit our family.” You chew on your lower lip and nod slowly. There was no leaving this life behind for you, not if you wanted to live past the age of 25.

“If I really do get a choice . . . I would rather the marriage.” You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. Rumlow Senior watches you, a pensive expression on his face. “You’ve been an amazing father to me, both before and after my mother’s . . . Passing . . . but this life. . . it isn’t for me. I don’t want any hand in the lifestyle that killed my mother.” You couldn’t stop the bite from sneaking into your voice during your last sentence. Rumlow Senior nodded slowly.

“As much as it pains me to admit, this life has not been kind to you. I’ll put out the notification to other families and see who we may ally ourselves with. You’ll always be a part of this family, Princess, even if you weren’t born into it.” He gave you a gentle smile. The old man had always treated you carefully and stated that your mother’s debt wasn’t yours to carry, but you’d overheard conversations behind closed doors. An arranged marriage had been in the cards for almost a decade now. You weren’t a part of the family, you were a business asset that he wanted to keep compliant. If nothing else, at least the marriage would get you out.

Several offers had been made. It seems the Romanoff Matriarch liked women, and the Pierce empire also put in a bid for his youngest son. The one that surprised you the most, however, was James Buchanan Barnes. His was a family made of people who didn’t have a home, jokingly called The Lost Boys by Brock and his lackeys. While he had no family power, he was indisputably powerful.

“So which one do you think, Princess? Any of these would make great allies for our family. That Romanoff girl is quite a catch, she’s got fire in her.” You put on your best business mask, looking over the files.

“Yeah . . . She is pretty great, but the Romanoffs only control most of the upper East side. We have the South, which is almost double the size of the upper East. The smartest choice is Barnes. His White Wolf family controls the North and the parts of the East that the Romanoffs don’t.” You close the folders and lay them on the desk. “First choice is Barnes, second choice is Romanoff, and third choice is Pierce. He’s always given me the creeps though.” Rumlow Senior smirked, impressed with your choices.

“Spoken like a true businesswoman. Let’s have a wedding!”

Within the next two months, you and Barnes were married.

“Please sit still?” You kept dabbing the medical wipe on his bloodied knuckles despite the mobster’s squirming. “I know it stings, but you did this to yourself. Besides, are you gonna sit here and tell me that you can punch a man multiple times, but you turn into a toddler when I have to clean a cut?” Barnes kept looking down, his face forever brooding. He didn’t answer, but did still his hand. “There. Was that so hard?” You busied yourself putting away the first aid kit.

“You aren’t comfortable around me, are you?” His statement caught you off guard and your head snapped up to look at him. His expression was relaxed. This wasn’t the kingpin that had just beat information out of a Pierce Empire lackey. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t think a lot of people would be, especially witnessing what you just did . . . I’m sorry you had to see that.” You chew on your lip and Barnes continued. “I know you were raised with the Rumlows, and I guess I just assumed that you’d be used to seeing that sort of thing.” He paused, waiting for your response, but seemed genuinely taken aback when you started to giggle.

“You think I’ve been distant because of a little violence? James–”

“Bucky,” he interrupted. “Please, call me Bucky.” A soft smile breaks through your mask.

“Bucky,” you corrected. “I’ve done worse than that to Rumlow thugs when they failed to follow my father’s orders. I wasn’t shielded from any of it. In fact, I was even offered control of the Rumlow family. I turned it down. Given the choice, I’d rather not be the cause of violence, but violence doesn't bother me ”

“Then what does?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you sit across from him on the tile floor

“About the beating or the relationship?”

“Uuhh . . . both, I guess?” You’d never heard Barnes sound so unsure. It was refreshing, even endearing to a degree.

“I’ve been treated like a bargaining chip since I was little. First, my mother, then my adoptive father on multiple occasions. Our marriage was just another business deal to him, and I didn’t think you’d want a clingy business deal. You get alliance with the Rumlows, and I get to keep my protection. I don’t see a reason to complicate things.” Bucky was quiet for a few moments.

“And the beating?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. It’s really hard for someone to give you information if you don’t give them a break in between blows to answer your questions. Seriously, that’s basically mafia 101.” Bucky burst out laughing at your cheeky response. People didn’t usually talk to him like that, they were all too afraid.

“I’ll give you that one, Doll,” he stated as he regained control of himself. He stared at you, taking in your every feature. After a few moments, you broke the silence.

“You’re thinking something, Bucky. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like to make this relationship a little more complicated . . . what about you?”

You had kept your own room, but from then on things with your new husband just seemed . . . easier. You spent most of that night talking about how you really came to be a part of the Rumlow family, and how you had opted for marriage because it was the closest thing to your own life that you’d ever have. In turn, Bucky began to open up about his past. How working for other groups had landed him with a metal left arm and a distrust of most people. How his time as a fixer had caused most people to fear him, and therefore avoid him. He didn’t really have friends outside of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and they both worked for him. You got the sense that he chose to have his marriage arranged because he thought it was easier than the alternative for someone like him.

“You know . . . you don’t have to be alone.” You had told him one night.

“And what do you mean by that, Doll?” He had questioned you, raising an eyebrow as he set down his bourbon glass.

“You say you’re alone because people are afraid, but that’s not completely true. You can’t fool me, Buck. I was raised with the potential to do the job you do. You aren’t alone because people are afraid, but because you don’t give them the opportunity to not be.” Bucky was quiet, but watched you with a fascination. You place your drink on the side table and lean forward. You’d come to enjoy the nights that you and Bucky would just sit and talk. It was a welcome escape from the monotony of everyday life and the drain of keeping up social appearances. Both of you were relieved when you could drop the masks and the roles that you were each expected to play and just exist with another person who didn’t judge you. Who didn’t hold any expectations apart from honesty. Your husband takes another sip, trying to hide the smile that played across his face.

“And what would you suggest I do instead, Sweetheart?” God you loved the intensity of his gaze, and as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, you decided that you were feeling brave. You stood, sauntering over to him. Bucky leaned back in his seat, setting his drink down and allowing you to lean over him, your lips brushing his neck.

“Ask.” That singular word whispered in his ear broke Bucky’s self control. His right hand flew to your neck, pulling your lips to his. You felt the cool metal of his left hand pressing into your thigh as he slid your skirt up, allowing you the mobility to straddle his lap. You press yourself against him as you whine, desperate for his touch. You didn’t sleep much that night, being pushed to the edge over and over and over, only to be brought back without release. Bucky loved watching you struggle. He loved your willingness to fight, and he wanted to watch as the fight drained from you and you submitted to his will. He knew you had been playing the roles expected of you your whole life so here, behind closed doors, he would earn your submission, not demand it. You would choose when you broke, but once you did? Bucky was going to ruin you, and he was going to savor every moment

After that night, you rarely slept in your own room. Your marriage was transactional, no one could deny that. Through the years, however, it had become so much more. You became one of the most powerful couples in the city, though you still kept your distance from the world of crime. Your diplomacy was unrivaled, but one night, that all came crashing down.

Your brother, Brock, had taken the role of Rumlow Patriarch when your father stepped down. For years, Brock’s temper had been controlled by your father’s background guidance. That all changed the night Rumlow Senior passed away. You attended the funeral, of course, but he passed suddenly. Bucky was out of town on a business trip and unable to make it back in time for the event. You passed along his condolences to Brock, but Brock took your husband’s absence extremely personally. Without the watchful eye of Rumlow Senior, Brock Rumlow’s true nature shone through. Brock was a loose cannon. His temper was unmatched, and his ego caused him to completely disregard the rules that every other family played by. For months after the funeral, the street thugs under your brother’s command ran rampant. They overstepped boundaries and lines of control held by other families as well as started fights wherever the opportunity arose. One night, they went too far. Three of Bucky’s new recruits had been carried back to the office after your brother’s thugs beat them almost to death. All they had done was refuse to leave the bar that they were already drinking at when the Rumlow thugs showed up, stating that the two groups could co-exist. These were just kids, barely old enough to even be IN the bar, and with six men versus the three kids, it was a massacre. Adding insult to injury? That bar was on White Wolf property and owned by Steve Rogers, one of Bucky’s right hands. Bucky had come home fuming that night. You talked him down from murdering your brother on the spot. You had no love for your brother, but murder would result in an all-out war. You spent the better part of the night with Bucky, Sam, and Steve readying yourselves for several outcomes. The following night, Bucky went to have a civil meeting with Brock, Mob Boss to Mob Boss about the behavior of his subordinates. Steve and Sam went on patrol hoping to stop another encounter, and you went to meet with Natasha Romanoff, the Matriarch of the Romanoff family. If this all went south, you would need an ally in order to take your brother in an all out war.

So that’s how you got here. Standing in your husband’s office surrounded by the aftermath of a ransacking. Your shoulders fell back and your chin lifted. If Brock wanted a fight, you’d give it to him. Brock may be the head of the Rumlow Family, but with Bucky currently indisposed, you were the head of White Wolf. Time to show him what his Little Sister was capable of when someone threatened her family. You headed straight to your room. If you were going to be acting as the White Wolf Matriarch, then you should look the part. You slide into your black business leggings. They look like skinny cut pants, but provide enough flexibility for you to move. A flowy black blouse pairs nicely, accompanied by several gold accessories. You favored rings and necklaces, but added a couple cuff bracelets for good measure. Your knee high riding boots with the steel toe inserts were pulled from your closet. Your winged liner was sharp enough to stab a man was accompanied by a dark lip and perfect brows. Finally, you swept your hair up into a sleek high ponytail. You take one look in the mirror, and your appearance plus the cold hearted look in your eyes made you smirk.

“The bitch is back,” you thought to yourself. You pulled a duffel bag out from under your bed. You hadn’t much from your mother, but you did keep her favorite set of knives. They were well known as the choice weapons for Lady Death, and that fear could serve your purposes. Strapping the wrist holsters to each wrist, you frowned. This blouse was nice, but it didn’t hide the knives well enough for your liking. . . You slipped several more into your boots as you heard Steve’s car pull up. You turned to rush out the door when you paused. One of Bucky’s black suit jackets was draped over the chair by your door. It was far too big for you to wear, but if you draped it over your shoulders . . . You tried it out in the mirror. It worked, hanging off your shoulders like a cape. The extra fabric also provided the cover to your wrists needed to conceal your wrist sheaths better. You grab your phone and head down the stairs to meet Steve.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good–”

“Well, then it’s a good thing your job isn’t thinking right now, Rogers.” The blatant interruption caught both men off guard. “You’re going to listen carefully because I’m only explaining this once. The story you’ve been fed about the Rumlows taking me in out of the goodness of their hearts is complete and utter bullshit. My mother worked off her debt to them, and I was kept as collateral. She taught me a lot of what she knew. I was raised as a Rumlow and was offered control of the Family because of my brother’s inability to control his temper or play by the rules. You can either do what I tell you, or you can explain to Mr. Barnes when we return why you didn’t accompany me. Are there any questions?” Whether it be the lack of emotion in your eyes or the ice in your voice, you didn’t know, but neither man argued. Wilson was the first one to speak up.

“ . . . Who’s your mom?” You look Sam dead in the eye, smirk, and with a flick of your wrist you impale one of the knives in your wrist sheath in the ground between his feet. Both Sam and Steve go pale with recognition.

“My mother was Lady Death.”

The Door to the interrogation room blew inward. C4 was such an amazing toy, you were so happy that Sam kept a stash. Hands in your pockets, you step over the twisted remains of the door, the dust settling at your feet. Immediately you hear the click of guns, but that only pulls a sadistic smirk to your face.

“Hello, boys. For those of you who don’t know who I am: look to your elders. For those of you who do: Run.” It was your brother's right hand and childhood friend, Justin, who spoke first.

“Y/N, didn’t expect to see you join the party.” He swaggered up to you, full of confidence that only an upper class white man could possess. He loomed over you, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be sexy or intimidating. Neither was a good look on him. “What’s your problem, princess? Did we break up your little game of house?” You look up at the taller man, not budging an inch.

“Oh not at all, champ, I just thought I’d give you and your little friends a chance to play in the big leagues. Only three of them? Shouldn’t be much work.”

“Hey, Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but –” Justin interrupts him before you have the chance.

“That’s Barnes’s wife, dumbass. She’s the Boss’s adopted sister, and the last person you wanna piss off.”

“She don’t seem so scary, all of her power comes from other people! Why should I–”

“You’d be well to listen to your superiors, or haven’t you learned that yet?” The ice in your voice stopped the newbie dead in his tracks. You stalk towards him, eyes fixed. “Let’s give you a family history lesson, hmm?” You had the undivided attention of all four of the Rumlow thugs. You just needed to keep it that way long enough for Steve and Sam to work into position. You stopped in the dead center of the room “ Justin, how many years ago was Lady Death’s final kill?”

“Uuhh . . . five years? Just before you married Barnes.”

“Good Boy,” you purred, working as much condescension into your voice as you could manage. “And how many years ago did my mother die?” As he did the mental math, Justin began to shift uncomfortably.

“ . . . Seven . . . no, Nine? Nine years ago . . .” As the dots started to connect, the realization began to show on each man’s face. Your smirk grew to a full-on sadistic smile.

“Let’s try this again, gentlemen. Whether or not you know who I am, it’s too late. I’m Lady Death.” The tension is palpable in the air as the newbies eye you, then the door, as if evaluating their chances, but your backup was already in position. From the rafters of the building, four shots rang out. You’d ordered Steve and Sam to aim to kill, but you hadn’t bothered to check their handiwork, simply stepping over the bodies and making your way towards the last door that stood between you and your brother.

The door creaked open, and your rubber soles thudded against the concrete with each step you took. No matter how hardened to violence you were, you had never cared about any of the people on the receiving end of your violence. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared for the sight that met you on the other side of that godforsaken door. Bucky was sat in a metal chair. His arms were tied behind his back, and a gag was stuffed in his mouth. His white dress shirt had been discarded, and his undershirt was torn. The bridge of his nose was cut, and someone had busted open his left cheek. Dried blood still caked his skin. The moment he saw you, his eyes filled with fury. He fought against his restraints, almost toppling the chair.

“Aaaah, Y/N, nice of you to join us! Can’t have a party without Daddy’s favorite kid,” Brock spat at you. You study your brother, willing your face back to neutrality.

“You know just as well as I do that that isn’t true, Brother mine.” If your calm demeanor threw Brock off guard, he didn’t show it.

“Well, Sister mine, your husband here had the audacity to tell me how to run my people, after refusing to even honor our father. Our father who spoke of him like the Golden Son just for marrying the whore who wormed her way into my life!” By the end of his statement, Brock was screaming. He took a moment and regained his composure.

“Do you really think that was a good move?” As you questioned Brock, you walked over to a spare folding chair. You let the jacket fall from your shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair.

“I can make whatever move I want. Dad may have taught you everything you know, but he taught me everything he knew. That’s the difference here, Wendy. That is what you are, aren’t you? The Wendy to his pathetic troupe of Lost Boys.” Locking eyes with him, your smirk returns.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Brock. Dad isn’t the only one who taught me things. My mother lived here too, remember?” Brock’s eyes narrow, tracking you as you slowly close the distance between you and him. “How do you explain the kills on Lady Death’s roster after my mother passed, hmm? Think about it.” You could see the gears turning in Brock’s thick skull before he shook his head.

“You lying bitch, you’re trying to play on my nerves. You turned down this job because you weren’t capable” You interrupt, starting to slide one of your knives from the wrist sheath into your hand.

“I turned that job down because I wasn’t interested. Never mistake my disinterest for being incapable.” You flick your wrist, your knife landing squarely in the meat of Brock’s shoulder.

He lunged at you, and the only thing you could focus on was the exchange of blows. He was a lot faster than you’d anticipated, and you were fairly evenly matched. You registered the pain of his blows connecting multiple times, but you pushed it down and attempted to return the favor. Suddenly, you felt his fist connect with the side of your face, then an arm wrapped around your waist. Brock spun, throwing you across the room. You hit the wall with a sickening smack, the wind being knocked from your lungs. Your brother slowly started stalking towards you. He was breathing heavily and wiped the blood from his upper lip as he walked, never taking his eyes off you. Brock grabbed your jaw, dragging you upwards, and you did the only thing you could think of. You slipped a knife out of your boot, and jammed it into him on your way up. Both you and him fell, Brock’s head hitting the ground with a sickening smack. You hauled yourself up, steadying yourself against the wall. You grabbed your brother by his hair, yanking his head up.

“You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and all that Dad stood for.” You paused, spitting out the blood that was pooling in your mouth.

“What the fuck happened??” You heard Sam shout as he and Steve finally caught up. You looked from your brother to Sam, steeling your gaze.

“Change in management,” you stated. “Send out a notice. Due to extremely reckless behavior that nearly started a war, Brock Rumlow has been removed as Patriarch of the Rumlow family. Its territories and personnel will be merged into White Wolf. Any concerns can be taken up with Lady Death.”

You turn your attention to Bucky, picking up one of your discarded knives to cut the ropes and gag off of him.

“Doll, that has got to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” Your satisfaction definitely showed on your face. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you pick the discarded suit jacket off the back of the folding chair and hand it to Bucky, leaning on him for support. Bucky pauses, glancing between Steve and Rumlow.

“Bring him back to the office. We’re not going to be done talking for a very long time.”

Tags: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @brattymum96 @vicmc624 @caritobbg @winterslove1917 @xonickibaby @youngblood199456 @thehumanistsdiary @ozymdias @thomase1

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