he was chaos, he was revelry
summary: Bucky tells you to go out and have a day at the mall and get whatever you want. When you only buy a $20 Squishmallow, he has to intervene. word count: 2.9k+ pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x fem!reader notes: if you don't know, i'm a sucker for mafia dark romance books. like literally a whore when it comes to reading them on my kindle. most of the time it's the female character spending thousands of dollars with the male character's money because it's enemies to lovers, but here's a little twist on it! <3 warnings/tags: mafia au, sweetheart!reader, shy!reader, bucky is the mafia boss and rich, fluff, bucky loves his girl
The sun barely filtered through the heavy curtains when you padded into the kitchen, the tile cold under your socks. The scent of strong coffee hit you first, followed by the low rumble of Bucky’s voice from the adjoining office.
You’d gotten used to it, mostly—the way his mornings started in one world while yours stayed in another. You could hear him through the cracked door, his voice sharp, all steel and threat. “If he thinks he can skim off my shipments, he’s got another thing coming. I want him handled by noon. Make it clean.”
A pause. The scrape of a chair. His tone dipped even lower. “And tell the Rosetti crew if they send another man sniffing around my docks, I’ll gut their operation and leave the bones for the rats. Yeah. That’s all.”
Silence followed, broken only by the soft click of the call ending. And then the door opened, and suddenly you weren’t in the world of the Barnes Syndicate anymore.
“Morning, doll,” Bucky murmured, his voice rich and warm like the coffee he carried. The sharp edges of his morning melted away the second he saw you standing there in your oversized sleep shirt, hair a little mussed, hands tucked in your sleeves. His whole face softened, like the violence of a few minutes ago was just smoke he could brush off his shoulders.
“Hi,” you whispered back, smiling shyly as he walked over and pressed a kiss to your temple. He smelled like cedar and the faint bite of cologne, a mix you’d long since decided meant home.
“Made your tea,” he said, nodding toward the counter. Sure enough, the mug was there, steeping just the way you liked. “Sit. Eat something for me, yeah?”
You obeyed, curling into the chair as he slid a plate with toast and strawberries your way. He perched on the edge of the table, still in his black dress shirt and vest from early meetings, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the gleam of his metal arm in the morning light.
“You’re free today, right?” he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just threatened someone’s life two minutes ago.
You nodded, chewing on a strawberry.
“Good. I want you to go out, doll. Shopping. Whatever you want. No limit.” He leaned in to kiss the top of your head, and you could hear the indulgent smile in his voice. “You’ve been holed up here too much.”
Your first instinct was to refuse. “Bucky, I don’t need anything—”
“Not what I asked,” he interrupted gently, but with the kind of authority that made your cheeks warm. “Humor me. Take Natasha with you. Let her carry the bags.”
You blinked. “Bags?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Plural. Go spoil yourself for me, sweetheart.”
---
Natasha Romanoff was the perfect bodyguard. Or maybe the scariest one. She leaned against the mall’s marble column in black jeans and a leather jacket, sunglasses hiding her sharp eyes. Everyone who glanced her way looked twice, then decided they had somewhere else to be.
Meanwhile, you hesitated at the entrance of yet another gleaming luxury store, feeling like a kid sneaking somewhere you didn’t belong. The displays were immaculate—handbags behind glass, shoes lined like art pieces.
“You can go in,” Natasha said dryly behind you, arms folded. “You’re the girlfriend of James Barnes. They’ll probably carry you to the register if you ask.”
“That’s… worse,” you muttered under your breath, earning the faintest twitch of a smirk from her.
You wandered inside anyway, letting the sales associates swarm. They started listing the merits of different bags and scarves, but your heart wasn’t in it. The idea of spending thousands of Bucky’s money on a purse that would just sit in your closet made your stomach twist.
After an hour of store-hopping, you had… nothing.
Natasha raised an eyebrow as you walked past a fountain, hands still empty. “You’re going to break his heart, you know.”
“I’m looking!” you insisted, cheeks warm. “I just… don’t need any of this.”
Then, as if fate had a sense of humor, you spotted it.
A wall of squishmallows.
You froze in the doorway of the toy store, heart stuttering at the sight of the soft pastel sea of plush animals. There, on the middle shelf, was the one you’d been eyeing for weeks: a fat little lavender bunny with floppy ears and a permanent sleepy smile.
You drifted closer, fingers brushing the soft fabric like it was spun sugar. Price tag: $20.
Behind you, Natasha sighed, long-suffering. “This is what gets her attention. Not the diamond bracelet. A… blob.”
“It’s not a blob,” you whispered defensively, hugging the smaller version in your arms first. It was only $9.99, which felt safer somehow, but after a long stretch of indecision—cuddling it, putting it back, and staring at the bigger one—you finally picked up the larger bunny.
It was so soft.
“Okay,” you mumbled to yourself, taking it to the register. Natasha trailed after you, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe this was her life now.
Hours later, back in the car, your entire “haul” sat on your lap: one squishmallow. The driver’s rearview mirror reflected the barest twitch of his mouth, like he knew exactly how Bucky would react.
You clutched the plush closer and sank into the leather seat, shyly happy in a way that didn’t need anything more than this $20 marshmallow bunny.
---
Bucky’s evening had been a blur of phone calls and quiet threats. He’d wrapped up a meeting in his office, loosening his tie as he sank into the leather chair and finally glanced at the credit card notifications on his phone.
He expected a list of designer boutiques, a jeweler, maybe that cozy little bookstore he knew you loved. He’d practically begged you to go wild, and he wanted to see the proof in numbers.
Instead, there was just… one charge. $20.48 – Playtime Toys.
Bucky blinked. He stared at it like it might rearrange itself into something sensible. “Twenty… dollars?” he muttered under his breath, scrolling to make sure the statement wasn’t glitching. That was it. The entire day out, with Natasha as your guard, and you’d spent less than a single steak at his favorite restaurant.
He called his driver first. “Where’d she go today?” Bucky’s voice was calm but suspicious.
The driver chuckled quietly. “Couple clothing stores. Looked around. Bookstore for a while. Stationery shop too. She didn’t buy anything. Just… looked.”
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “And the toy store?”
“She found a stuffed animal, boss. Held the small one for a long time. Put it back. Eventually bought the bigger one. That was it.”
Bucky sighed and ended the call. He sat there for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. He could practically picture you, wandering the mall like a shy little ghost, falling in love with a plush toy instead of anything remotely expensive.
He wanted to be exasperated. But mostly? His chest ached with something warm and stupidly fond.
---
The penthouse was quiet when he returned, the only light spilling from a single lamp in the living room. His steps softened instinctively when he spotted you curled up on the couch, fast asleep.
You were on your side, hair falling over your face, the TV murmuring some late-afternoon sitcom rerun. And nestled against your chest, clutched in both arms like a lifeline, was a plump lavender bunny squishmallow.
Bucky froze in the doorway, the sight hitting him like a punch. God, he was ruined for this. His cold, lethal world fell away entirely as he walked closer. You’d tucked your cheek against the plush, and he noticed—when he leaned down—that faint, familiar scent. His cologne.
He huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh, crouching beside the couch. “You sprayed my cologne on a marshmallow bunny, doll?” he murmured, brushing a knuckle over your soft hair.
You mumbled something sleepy, half-lost in a dream, nuzzling the squishmallow closer.
Bucky sat on the coffee table, elbows on his knees, and just… watched you for a moment. The only person in his entire world who could fall asleep clutching a stuffed animal while he had men stationed with rifles on the roof.
He finally, gently, tugged the bunny from your arms. You stirred with a tiny whine, lashes fluttering as you blinked up at him, bleary and soft. “Bucky?” Your voice was a whisper.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, lowering himself onto the couch and pulling you into his lap with one smooth motion. You melted against him instantly, head on his shoulder, the residual warmth of sleep making you pliant. He pressed a kiss to your hair. “We need to talk about your… shopping.”
You perked up faintly, confusion knitting your brows. “Shopping?”
He held the squishmallow up like evidence. “This. This is all you bought?”
Warmth flooded your cheeks. “I… I didn’t really see anything I needed…”
“Doll,” he said, voice low and thick with amusement and a hint of frustration, “I told you to spoil yourself. I gave you a driver, Natasha, my card… and you spent twenty bucks at a toy store?”
You squirmed in his lap, shy and defensive. “I like it. And… it was enough.”
He stared at you for a long moment, then let out a slow breath and shook his head, lips twitching. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
“Sorry…” you whispered, eyes dropping.
“No, no, don’t you dare apologize.” His voice softened instantly, the steel melting into warm honey as he cupped your cheek. “I just… I want you to have things, doll. Pretty things. Comfortable things. Everything.”
“I don’t need everything,” you murmured, leaning into his palm.
He kissed your temple, his metal hand rubbing slow circles on your thigh. “Then I’ll just have to keep trying until you take at least something from me that costs more than a marshmallow.”
You giggled quietly, burying your face in his neck. “It’s a bunny.”
“Uh-huh,” he teased, hugging you tighter, the plush squished between your bodies. “My terrifying reputation out there, and at home my girl smells like sugar and sleeps with a bunny.” His thumb stroked along your jaw, and he whispered, “you’re mine, doll. And I’m gonna spoil you whether you like it or not. Starting tomorrow. No more twenty-dollar limits.”
“Bucky…” You whined softly, but your arms tightened around him anyway, secretly loving every second of his indulgent attention.
He chuckled low in his chest, already plotting which stores he’d personally escort you to next—because clearly, leaving you to your own devices had resulted in a lavender squishmallow and absolutely nothing else.
---
You woke to warmth. It was the slow kind—like sunlight through gauze, or fingers tracing your hip beneath the covers. The sheets were tangled around your legs, and your cheek was pressed into Bucky’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear.
His arm was slung low around your waist, all protective weight and heat, and you barely had time to stretch before his hand slid up to your ribs. “Morning, doll,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.
You made a soft noise in reply, pressing your nose to the crook of his neck. He smelled like expensive soap and the clean spice of his cologne—the same one you’d sprayed, just a little, onto the squishmallow now sitting like a sentry on the couch across the room.
His chest rumbled under your cheek. “You smell like that damn bunny again.”
You smiled sleepily, too warm and soft to be embarrassed.
“You gonna let me do this properly today?” he asked after a moment. His voice was lighter now, teasing, but there was a thread of something real beneath it. “Let me spoil you?”
Your hand found his shirt—half unbuttoned, likely from some midnight phone call you’d slept through—and you nodded against him. “M’kay,” you mumbled.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it lingered. “Good girl.”
---
You’d never shopped with Bucky before. Not like this. Sure, you’d trailed beside him during quick errands or sat with him while he bought suits—but this was different. This time, you were the purpose. The focus.
You’d barely made it out of the car before the first store employee spotted him.
The shift was immediate.
People noticed him the moment he entered any space. Not because he made noise—he didn’t. Bucky moved with the coiled calm of someone who knew the world would part for him whether he asked it to or not. His arm slid around your waist as you stepped into the first shop, and just like that, every sales associate in the building looked like they were preparing for royalty and war all at once.
You leaned into his side instinctively. “I think they know who you are,” you whispered as a woman in a sharp black suit all but sprinted to the counter to alert someone else.
Bucky smirked. “That’s the idea.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sweetheart.” He stopped you with a gentle squeeze around your waist. “We are not doing the bunny stunt again.”
You flushed immediately. “It wasn’t a stunt—”
“Mm.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss behind your ear. “Start picking things. Or I’ll start picking for you.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already steering you toward the displays, one hand low on your back.
The boutique was quiet and spotless, everything sleek and expensive. You gravitated toward a soft knit sweater first—cream-colored, slightly oversized.
Bucky watched you run your fingers along the hem, then plucked it off the hanger himself and handed it to an assistant. “This one. In three colors.”
You blinked. “Three—”
“Cream, navy, and that soft pink. You’ll wear that one at home.”
Your heart gave a traitorous flutter. He was already moving on.
By the third store, you had a growing collection of bags hanging from his metal arm—cozy sweaters, soft linen dresses, a pair of boots you’d admired silently until he caught the look in your eye and made the purchase without blinking.
You tried to be subtle about what you liked.
He noticed everything anyway.
When you paused too long at a shelf of delicate hair clips, he picked out two and handed them to the attendant with a nod. When your fingers drifted toward a candle with a vanilla-peach scent, it was quietly added to the growing pile.
And when you looked guilty every time he paid?
He leaned in close, speaking low so only you could hear. “You don’t get it yet, do you?” he murmured, thumb brushing your hip. “All of this? It’s for you. Always has been.”
You swallowed hard and didn’t trust yourself to reply.
---
By noon, you had four shopping bags of your own and six more hanging from Bucky’s arms, none of which he’d let you carry. You insisted on at least holding one—and he handed you the smallest, lightest one with a smirk.
“I’m gonna have to build you a closet just for gifts,” he muttered as the two of you walked through the marble corridor of the high-end mall.
“I don’t need a closet.”
“You need shelves. A dressing room. Hell, a second apartment.”
You gave him a look. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you spent twenty dollars on a plush rabbit like I haven’t buried people for more expensive things.” He turned to face you, stepping into your path and backing you up gently against a column. His arms caged you in without touching, just the looming warmth of his body in that damn black jacket he looked so good in.
You blinked up at him, flustered by the attention—and the grin playing at the edge of his mouth.
“Let me take care of you,” he said, softer now. “Let me give you everything. You don’t have to be shy with me. Ever.”
Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the bag you were holding. “I’m just… not used to all of this.”
“I know,” he said, leaning closer, his forehead brushing yours. “But get used to it. Because I’m never gonna stop.”
---
By the time you returned to the penthouse, you were exhausted, glowing, and more than a little overwhelmed.
Bucky insisted you go lie down while he had the packages brought in and sorted.
When you finally walked into the bedroom, the bags were neatly arranged in a corner—and your squishmallow was still sitting upright on the couch by the window, as if it had stood guard the entire time.
You smiled at it, then dropped into bed.
Moments later, the mattress dipped beside you, and Bucky pulled you into his chest with a content sigh. “You did good today, doll.”
“I bought stuff.”
“You let me buy stuff for you,” he corrected, arms curling tighter around your waist. “Progress.”
You tucked your face into his neck, voice muffled. “You still mad I only bought a bunny?”
“Still can’t believe it,” he said, chuckling. “But I’ll allow it.”
You let out a soft laugh, heart so full you didn’t know what to do with it. Outside this room, he was the head of the Barnes Syndicate—ruthless, respected, feared. But here, with you, he was the man who carried ten bags through a mall just to see you smile.
