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A Good Thing {mafia au}

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mobster!Reader

- 37. We’re dating and I didn’t know you were a mobster/biker

- 46. Argument leading to kissing/sex.

Summary: Your world shifts so many times but the most important one is the time you met Bucky, slept with him, and then fell in love with him. You force your world to stay still after that because if Bucky ever found out who you were—it would shift into nothing. Because you’re the type of person Bucky Barnes despises.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. EXPLICIT SMUT. Unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), angst, reader gets mean, some happy moments, angst again. HEA

Note: Not me making a comeback after one year 🤪 I’m so sorry but sometimes the muse goes away. She’s back tho and the writing motivation is juicy. Dedicated to @empyreanwritings because she is my muse 😌✨

Count: ~10k (sorry)

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Coffee and rain.

There's something soothing to Bucky's soul when he smells the fresh grinds of coffee mixed in with the rain. The smells and the sounds lull Bucky's aching.

The nice thing about when it rains is that his favourite small coffee shop is quieter. People, for some inexplicable reason, prefer to run to the Starbucks across the street. More seating, probably.

And the very best part of this small coffee shop? It's open 24/7.

Bucky drinks his coffee silently at his usual booth, looking out the window at 2 AM. It's just one of those nights.

It was then he met you.

The door chimes open, and Bucky instinctively looks towards the door.

You were...gloomy.

You walked in, drenched from the rain, with the only thing to keep you completely soaked was your leather peacoat.

"Hey, Sam," you spoke softly.

The lone barista turned to look over to you with a frown.

"Would it kill you to carry an umbrella? It's rainy season," Sam said with his hands on his hip.

"I did have an umbrella," you tell him.

"And what happened to it?"

You shrugged.

Sam sighed.

"I'll go get you a towel, hold on. Do you want anything else?"

"A latte," you ask. "Could you make it with the pretty art?"

Sam presses his lips together as if to prevent himself from laughing. From Bucky's view, he could see the challenging look in your eyes.

"Coming up, just hold on," Sam tells you before he walks off.

Bucky checks his watch again and decides it's getting much too late, and he's sat here long enough. He gets up with his coffee and starts to leave, but as he passes you, you suddenly turn and bump right into him.

His coffee splashes through the hole in the lid over you, and he's glad that his drink had become lukewarm borderline cold with how long he sat at the cafe.

"Oh, shit," Bucky frowns as he reaches over you to grab a bunch of napkins from the dispenser. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Your face contorts into mild annoyance, and Bucky is sure you're going to cuss him out. But then, you lick your lips, and with a deep breath, you sigh.

"It's okay," you tell him quietly. "It's my fault for turning suddenly. I was trying to go hang my jacket."

Bucky passes you the napkins, but he grins at you. "Not sure if it'll help much since you're drenched. I really am sorry about your jacket, though. I can pay for dry cleaning?"

You actually crack a smile because you're soaked from head to toe and just holding the napkins alone have already used them up. You look at the man before you. His hair is trimmed neatly, but he's a little scruffy with a 5 o'clock shadow on his face. He's got steely grey eyes, but there's a little twinkle of warmth in them.

He's handsome, rough around the edges, but kind.

After all, he was offering to pay for your dry cleaning.

"It's a really expensive jacket," you tell him with a tilt of your head, a small smirk on your lips. "Dry cleaning won't fix it."

Bucky licks his bottom lip before biting it as he eyes you. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

You smile.

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You like when things are simple and straightforward.

There are many things in your life that are complicated, so you appreciate things that are not.

Bucky is simple and straightforward in the best ways. He's charming, funny, and just the right amount of depth. But he's also honest, and you like that about him. He's not afraid to say what he's feeling or what he's thinking about.

Bucky's so...unlike you.

You're always overthinking everything, debating what is safe to reveal and what isn't. You guard your feelings close to your chest, and you make it seem like you're a simple person too.

And you lie.

"How was work today?" Bucky asks as you step into his apartment.

You take your jacket off, hanging it in his closet before Bucky pulls you into a warm hug and a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. You drag your teeth over your lips as you place your hands on Bucky's stomach before running your hands up to his broad chest.

Another thing you like about Bucky. You think he's so fit.

"Not bad. Sold some paintings," you answer as you lean in closer, letting your lips brush against his.

A freelance art dealer.

That's what you told him you do for work.

It's only a partial lie.

But it worked for you because it could explain why you'd have to leave at times or if you had plenty of time off.

"How was work for you?" You ask softly.

Bucky is a man of many talents. He does a little bit of everything because he excels in whatever he does. But right now, he works at a bookstore.

"Good," is all he offers before he swoops in and kisses your lips.

You let out a soft hum of pleasure, letting Bucky sweep you away from reality for a moment. How can kissing someone feel so good?

It had started out easy enough since that moment in Sam's coffee shop. Bucky had been on his way out, but you managed to convince him to stay just another drink to make up for spilling his drink on you.

Before you knew it, two hours had passed, and you finally gave the man reprieve and let him leave to go to bed for the day. Not that he was eager to go.

Bucky asked for your number and didn't do that thing where men wait a couple of days to call you. He rang you the very next day to see what your schedule was like.

It was endearing.

One coffee date turned into two, then turned into three.

Coffee dates turned into walks in the park, grabbing lunch, and then grabbing dinner.

Once or twice a week turned into four or five times.

Leaving at two in the morning turned into staying the night.

What had started as casual was beginning to get serious—because you were falling for someone who was meant to just be a distraction.

Bucky moans slightly against your lips as his hands drift further down your back and onto your ass before he pulls you flush against him.

"Mm, you always taste and feel so good, doll," Bucky pulls back with a grin on his lips.

You want to fuck Bucky so badly. Fucking Bucky always felt amazing because he was a generous lover. You'd done it with him so many times in the beginning, when you could look him in the eye and lie.

But nowadays, something unpleasant was settling in your stomach. It made sex much harder.

"What do you want to eat?" Bucky asks while he caresses your backside. "Wanna go on a walk today?"

You hum as you rest your cheek on his shoulder. Bucky also smells good—he smelled like clean laundry and pinewood. And clean laundry and pinewood were starting to smell like home.

"Mm, I know you asked me what I want to eat but I can already smell pasta," you look up at him, smirking.

Bucky laughs as he presses another kiss to your forehead. "I remember you said you were craving this pasta the other day but in the case you don't crave it anymore, I can just throw the whole thing away and we can get takeout."

You let out a burst of laughter as you slap Bucky playfully against his chest while he grins mischievously at you.

"You're so ridiculous," you roll your eyes but can't stop smiling.

Bucky just chuckles as he pulls back to grab your hand to lead you further into his home.

"Let's eat first and then we can think about a walk after. I've been hearing there's been more gang activity lately, so maybe we shouldn't. It wouldn't be good to run into one of those scumbags."

You look at Bucky's eyes, the rare time they're cold.

"Right," you swallow.

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"Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," you mutter as you run your fingers through your hair. You look around and inwardly frown. This used to be home. There were so many nice things here. The chandelier above you was worth more than some people's home.

Yet, it couldn't compare to the quaint and warm feeling Bucky's house was.

"You can't just keep disappearing for days or even hours on end anymore. Your father's gone and that means—"

"I know what it means!" You snap, turning to look at Natasha coldly.

"Sorry," Natasha mutters first before you sigh and rub your forehead.

"No, I'm sorry," you tell her with a sigh and pinch to the bridge of your nose. "You're right, I can't keep going off on my own but this is a lot for me. I never expected to inherit this Syndicate so soon."

"I know," Natasha says sympathetically. "At least it was a natural cause. I always told him to take it easy on the sodium. But you're doing great. You've been around the business long enough."

You chuckle. "Yes, but the news about my father's death has spread and people have been targeting us, haven't they?"

Natasha huffs with a nod. "Fucking Stark has been snooping around our area. I think he's trying to edge in on our business and take our clients."

"Any fights?"

"No more than the usual. There was nearly a shootout a couple of days ago at one of our warehouses."

You sigh.

The terrible thing is that while both you and Stark are old money, old syndicates, you've both inherited the business and just recently. Now you're both new kids on the block trying to establish your names.

"Right," you say, feeling hollow as you stand. "Let's gather everyone for a meeting. I want updates on all our books."

You and Natasha leave the room, walking out into the long hallways. Members straighten up when they see you, and the guards look more serious.

"Boss."

Your people greet you left and right, and you hardly acknowledge them. Every time you hear them, it's just an uncomfortable reminder.

You're the daughter of a mob boss, the new owner of his Syndicate.

You're the kind of person Bucky Barnes despises the most.

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Bucky hasn't ever disclosed why he hates gangsters and mobsters—but you pick up on this quickly when you're out and about together, and there's evidence of criminal activity out on the street.

It was the smart thing to do—lie.

Being who you are, what you've done, and what you own, it's a general rule to never disclose who you are and what you do. Even in relationships, unless they're about to enter the family or the business.

But you know Bucky would never join the family or the business, and he would never love you if he knew the truth.

You had the luxury that you've never been the face of the business, that you've been kept behind the scenes. Natasha's more the face of the Syndicate than you are. You've used that to your advantage because it's good that Bucky will never recognize you.

You're not sure what you could do to keep him if he found out.

"Oh, you taste really good," Bucky mutters as he pulls back from your lips just ever so slightly. You can still feel his warm breath on your lips.

You're in his lap, straddling his body with your thighs over his. Your panties have long gone missing, and your neediness had you pulling out Bucky's hard cock long ago. Pressed against his body, you feel his warmth and hardness. You feel your body melt into his, and you both love and hate it.

You wish it didn't feel as good as it did. You wished it felt like any other body you've used.

But he doesn't, and you're trying to wrap your head around why that is.

"What is that? Cherry?" Bucky asks as he captures your lips again, dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you again. His tongue slides over yours, and you feel yourself grinding against him.

Bucky moans into your mouth, and you're addicted to the feel and the sound of him wanting you.

'Please always want me,' you think.

"I did have ice cream earlier today," you mumble breathily against his lips. "Black cherry."

Bucky hums, more so in pleasure at your gyrating hips than the lingering flavour of your dessert. His hands are under your dress, warm against your ass as he guides you into grinding more slowly before he adjusts and slips into you with one slick thrust.

You can't help your eyes fluttering close and the low groan in the back of your throat. Bucky makes you feel so full, so—open.

"Come on, doll," Bucky presses a sweet kiss against your jaw. "Open your eyes. I wanna see you look at me—wanna see your pretty eyes."

Your eyes open back as the thrusting becomes more urgent and you stay locked into Bucky's steely grey eyes.

That's probably why he's different.

Because Bucky sees you differently.

He looks at you like you're the sweetest thing in the world—like you're the most precious thing he has. He sees you for your dreams, your hopes, and your fears. He looks at you and expects nothing from you except your love and your happiness.

You can see it all in his hot gaze, and it makes you whimper.

"There we go, doll, you're close, aren't you?" Bucky's helping you along as he thrusts upwards rhythmically at a steady pace.

It's so good, so fucking good. Better than with anyone else you've ever done it with before. Your hands grip at Bucky's shirt at his shoulders, nails lightly digging through.

"Bucky—" you whimper. It's so lewd, the way you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping together, the slickness gathering between your thighs. It brings you higher and higher and higher.

Bucky moans in your ear as your head drops against your hand on his shoulder. "Fuck, you feel really tight. So good, always mine. Come on, doll. Let go. Let go and cum all over me."

And when your clit drags over Bucky's skin, and he hits you deeply just the right way, you fall over the edge, right over him. You come with a strangled cry and clenching of your thighs. You hear Bucky's breath hitch, a soft swear at your walls fluttering around him as he thrusts upwards eagerly, chasing his own release.

When he comes, and you feel the comforting warmth of his spend inside you, you relax against him while he's still inside.

The mix of your heavy breathing and his pants come to a still, and you languidly lift your head to place a sweet kiss on his lips.

The feeling of displacement settles over you like it always does after you finish fucking Bucky. The same feeling of disillusionment that makes you feel hollow and numb.

Because despite whatever Bucky sees in you, you know it's nothing but a part of you you'll never be able to fully be.

Still, you press your lips insistently upon his, foolishly hoping that you could be what Bucky sees. Even if it's only when he's inside you—even if it's just for a moment.

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There's a reason Bucky likes fucking you (he secretly calls it making love to you, but he hasn't told you. Also because sometimes it is fucking).

Yes, it feels incredible, and it's fantastic every time. But there's something else. Bucky feels just a little closer to you when he makes you cum. Because in that one split second, that moment where you're on the precipice of wound up too tight and falling, you're entirely open to him.

You can't help but look openly vulnerable and can't help the raw emotion that crosses your face.

And Bucky is addicted to that.

He's not sure what he was expecting when he met you at Sam's cafe. A one-night stand or the occasional 2 AM booty call, maybe. It had easily turned into friends with benefits, and now they were dating.

Bucky has let himself fall completely. It was hard not to. You were too funny, too witty, too sarcastic, too soft, too loving, too everything. How could he not fall?

But while Bucky fell for you with no preparation for how he was going to land, you had fallen for him with a parachute.

He could sense you holding back. He could sense your sadness at times like you were upset with yourself for falling for him. Bucky doesn't take it to heart because there were times you openly adored him as well (when you're on that precipice of cumming and when you're gazing at him when you think he's fast asleep).

"How come we're always at my place?" Bucky asks as he strokes your back, feeling the familiar bumps of your spine. He tries not to go too low because you've got back dimples, and if he touches them, he'll definitely rile himself up to the point of railing you from behind again. He wants to talk because you only ever talk when he's fucked you so good; you're too relaxed to be on your guard.

"I like your place," you mumble sleepily against his chest.

"I mean, you make pretty good money, you must have a place way bigger than mine," Bucky muses.

You shrug.

"Perhaps but my place isn't like yours," you tell him, your index finger stroking his skin in a small line back and forth. "I don't spend a lot of time at my place, nor have I cared to decorate it. There's just a bunch of paintings and posh, modern-esque furniture."

Bucky is happy to listen as you intertwine your legs through his.

"I like your place because it's—like you. Your kitchen always smells like pasta. Your couch is well-worn in and you have throw pillows that don't match at all. Your bed is smaller than mine but I like it because we sleep closer together. And your sheets smell like you," you smile with your eyes closed.

"Like me?" He teases. "Hope that's good."

You hum. "Pinewood and clean laundry. I know you definitely wash it every week."

"You don't?" Bucky asked, his voice (mostly) jokingly aghast.

"Mm, the cleaners probably do," you mutter.

Bucky lets out a burst of quiet laughter. "Rich brat."

"Hey, I helped you wash dishes today."

"Ah, right, how could I forget your supervision. I wouldn't have been able to achieve clean dishes without you today."

"I'm glad you understand," you say cheekily.

Bucky merely pinches your side lightly as he rolls you over for a chaste kiss.

He sighs.

Bucky's fairly sure he's going to hit the ground and break all his bones, but he supposes that's alright. Because on the off chance your parachute doesn't work, or heaven forbid, you decide you can take it off, he'll still catch you—broken bones and all.

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You're listening to Natasha give you the report, but your mind is miles and miles away.

Another gang fight broke out in the lower west part of your city today. Stark really seems to be testing your limits. To be fair, you just swiped one of his biggest clients from him and one of his shipments.

It's going to rear its ugly head soon. The way things are, it's going to escalate, and you'll probably start having to kill people. There's no hiding behind your father or Natasha anymore. You'll be the one who has to give the orders. You'll be directly responsible instead of indirectly and watching from the sidelines.

You just keep falling deeper and deeper into that person Bucky unknowingly despises.

"Hey."

You blink as you look up at Natasha from your desk.

"Everything okay, boss?" She asks you, and you snort.

"Don't call me that," you roll your eyes.

"Why? You are." Natasha smirked as she stood straight.

"Not to you. Dad took you in when you were a kid. You're family," you tell her softly, and Natasha allows herself to soften for the moment as well.

"You were an annoying sibling," Natasha says, ruining the entire moment.

"You were a sombre little thing. I was sure you were actually a granny in a kid's body," you rebuke back, causing the redhead to laugh.

"Alright, enough of that. What's wrong?" She asks you, and you bite the tip of your tongue.

You eventually let out a long sigh. "I don't know. I don't know how to handle all of this. I wasn't like you, Nat. Sure, sometimes I participated in meetings and learned the mechanics and the darker side of things Dad did, but I'm—I don't know. I knew I'd probably take over one day when Dad was like 102 years old and preferred bird watching instead of chasing deals and murdering people who messed with us. I always thought that taking over would be what I'd want too, after growing older."

"You don't want to?" Natasha frowned.

"I don't know," you swallowed. "I don't know anything anymore."

"Well," Natasha licked her lips, trying to conceal her concern for you. "What I can tell you now is that you need to arrange a meeting with Stark and settle this before it all gets very ugly."

You sigh.

"I know."

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Between making sure you have enough time for Bucky and all the business of the Syndicate, you're starting to feel a little haggard because you're keeping secrets on both sides.

Until one gets discovered.

"Are you crazy?" Natasha hissed at you.

She cornered you two blocks down after you left Bucky's.

"Are you fucking trailing me?" You seethed at her.

"Of course I'm fucking trailing you!" Natasha exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "You've been acting all gloomy and strange. You've been putting things off, showing up late, and missing half the time. And now I'm finding out it's because of some guy? The dick can't be that good."

"Watch your mouth," you warn Natasha, jaw clenched.

"I'll watch my mouth when you put the Syndicate before him! This was your father's legacy," Natasha emphasized, frowning at you. "This is what he left behind, what supported our lifestyle for years. We have people we have to look after and you've been AWOL for some guy none of us have met!"

You stay silent, guilt thrumming in your chest because you can't seem to do it right anywhere.

"Is it serious?" Natasha asks you finally, and when you don't answer, she has hers.

"If it's serious, then you have few options. You know what they are," Natasha clenches her jaw. "You either leave him now and return to us or you reveal who you are and bring him into the Syndicate by marriage. You know what you have to do if you reveal yourself and he doesn't agree to be a part of the business, don't you?"

Kill him, your mind answers, but you continue to remain silent.

"You can't afford to be soft," Natasha reminds you. "Don't go soft on me because I have to be the one who hardens and cleans up your messes."

It was then your eyes met hers and flashes dangerously. "I'm fucking serious, Nat. Stay the fuck away from him. I might be shit at it but I still give the orders."

Natasha's nostrils flare at you, the way they do when you've argued with her when you were younger, and she's disappointed.

"Figure out what to do because that meeting with Stark is in one month when he's back. If you think your lover can't be with you for who you are, then leave him. This is my home too, don't run it into the ground with your father."

Natasha is quick to turn and leave after, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

She was right—that you needed to figure it out.

But you don't even know how to. How do you make sure Bucky could still love you even if you told him who you really were?

How do you make sure he still looks at you the way he does when he learns you're everything he hates?

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"Bucky."

"Hm," Bucky looks at you while you lie in bed together. It's one of those rare nights the two of you have kept your hands to yourselves. But it's been a rather long day, and neither you want to admit it's also nice to be able to not fuck—like it means more somehow.

It's the perfect time to bring it up. After all, on your stroll back to his place, the two of you passed by a group of gangsters smoking and talking much too loudly.

You don't recognize them, so you know they aren't a part of your Syndicate. Your people are much more discreet, and they would never sit out in the open like that, flashing around their tattoos for everyone to see.

Still, Bucky makes a disgruntled face and a scoff after you pass them.

"Is there a reason you hate gangs and mobs so much?" You ask quietly as you lie on your side facing him, trying to not let your heart thud too hard.

"Is there a reason I need to?" Bucky turns to you with a cock of his brow.

"No," you answer honestly. "But most people just ignore them. You seem to have a personal grudge."

Bucky is silent for a moment as he stares at the dark ceiling. You're kind of glad it's a little too hard to see anything because you don't want to know his expression. Probably thinly veiled contempt for people like you—not that you could blame him.

Then Bucky sighs, pulling one of his arms from under his head to wrap around your body and pull you closer.

"I actually used to live here with someone else. The things you talked about loving are all the things he bought for me or taught me how to do," Bucky confesses quietly.

You listen quietly, unassuming and uninterrupting. Something tells you that this was the wrong thing to do.

You thought you could make Bucky continue to look at you the same if you just understood why he hated people like you. But maybe you were wrong.

"His name was Steven Grant Rogers, and he was—everything. My best friend, my brother, my confidant. We've been attached to the hip since pre-k. We scrapped, slummed, and lived good together," Bucky smiled in the dark as if he was fondly reliving memories. "Steve was a good guy, you know? He was always a little scrawny little thing, though. Oh, and terrible health problems. Asthmatic as hell. Little guy, big heart. He just—always wanted to be more."

"And?"

You expected something like how Steve had been in the wrong place, wrong time. Some mobsters killed poor Steven Grant Rogers.

It's how it always was.

But—

"Then Steve somehow got in with the wrong crowd. They were filling his head with ideas that he could be different—strong. They had him partying and easing him into drugs. It was weed at first, helped Steve a little with his sleeping problems. And then it just kept escalating. I tried to get him to stop, but it was just driving a rift between us. Steve always felt I never understood that part of his life—the desire to be something he wasn't," Bucky sighed.

"I thought Steve was already great—there just wasn't anything we could do about his physical health. We couldn't make him suddenly have a healthy body that could run 20 miles and make him shoot up a whole foot taller," Bucky was absently stroking your arm.

"I never knew which gang he was hanging out with, I think Steve hid it for my safety. But all I know is one night, I found a bunch of drugs he was supposed to drive over the border into Mexico. I told him he was fucking crazy and that shit would get him killed. There was no way he could smuggle it over. The dogs alone at the border would sniff it out," Bucky's voice was hard. "He had some plan but I couldn't even listen. Told Steve that if he wanted to get involved in this shit—shit he knew was wrong, then to get out and leave me out of it."

You feel something painful tugging at your chest. Maybe it was the way Bucky sounded so heartbroken.

Maybe because this was sounding familiar.

"Next thing I know, I'm getting a call from the hospital at 4 AM and I'm rushing to the ER but I'm too late. Dead before I could even leave the house," Bucky rasps.

You want to tell Bucky to stop—he doesn't have to bring this up. You're sorry for asking. You're so sorry.

But you remain still, hand tensely on his stomach. "Cops are all over me with questions before I can even process the fact Steve's gone. They're telling me they found him on the side of the road, bullets through his windshield and chest and his car had traces of coke. The bundles were gone, just sprinkles of it everywhere."

It's silent for a moment, with Bucky no longer talking. You feel his arm tight around you, chest taking heavy breaths.

You stroke his stomach, even though you also feel nauseous, but the gesture seems to soothe him enough to talk again.

"I think Steve realized that everything he was doing was wrong—that he'd gotten involved with something he never should've. I think he tried to turn around since his car was driving away from the border when they found it. And I think he tried to let them know he was bringing the goods back or bringing it to the cops to turn himself in alone. I'll never know what the guy was trying to do. Either way, it wasn't what the gangsters liked and they went out to find him. They went out to put a hole in his chest and take back their goods. They went out to kill him and leave him like it wasn't anything."

Bucky then turns to you. There's enough light from outside through the peek of the curtains. You see that Bucky's eyes are rimmed red.

Your chest aches because you know that Bucky misses Steve so much every day without a shadow of a doubt. He misses his friend so much; there's a part of him that's gone now too. It's a part no one, not even you, could fill.

"So, when you ask me why I hate people like them, that's why. Because they can go about their life doing shit like this to people like Steve and it's all just another body to them. Another faceless no one they don't even remember. And people like me can't do anything about it," Bucky's face is so close, you can feel his minty breath on your face.

Your eyes sting for a lot of different reasons.

You wrap your arm further around Bucky, pulling him in close to comfort him. Even though you're the last person who should.

Because your father is the reason why Steven Grant Rogers is dead.

No one knew him by that name, though.

They joked around with the scrawny man, calling him "Captain."

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Steven Grant Rogers was a strange person your father used to tell you.

You had no interest in another asthmatic kid who wanted to join your father's Syndicate. He was just one of the other hundreds of similar guys who wanted to.

Everyone thinks being in a mob is glamourous, and parts of it are. But it's also gruelling work when you're at the bottom of the chain and when you get higher, the shit you have to do just gets more gruesome.

But your father always liked people with upstanding morals.

And apparently, Steve had enough to earn him the nickname Captain—or Cap.

You might've seen him once in passing. It was the time of your life where you were less present in the business. You simply preferred travelling and blowing massive amounts of daddy's money.

So, when you came home one day after Nat called you to say your father was upset and needed family, you were surprised to hear that Steve was dead.

Betrayed, your dad told you. Betrayed by Cap. A man who your dad took under his wing like his own. It was just an initiation job Steve was to do on his own.

And when Steve called your dad to say he couldn't do it, couldn't live like this anymore—wanted out. Your dad told him the same rules he's told everyone—even you.

There is no out. Blood in, blood out—that's the only way.

You look at Bucky's peacefully sleeping face. It was clear he felt lighter after confessing to you, opening up to you.

You felt the opposite.

You felt like the anchor to your ankle tightened, and you were sinking even faster than before.

Understanding Bucky only led to one thing—cementing his hatred for you once he found out.

You couldn't keep Bucky, nor could he keep you.

The choice was clear.

You had to leave him.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky's not sure what he's done wrong.

You've stopped answering his calls and texts.

You've stopped showing up at his place. Everything that was you in his apartment is gone.

Not even a single sock left.

Well, that's not true.

You did leave something.

A post-it note that says, "It's over. I don't want to see you ever again. Don't reach out."

Cold.

Heartless.

The way you were when he first met you. It had lingered under the surface and never showed itself to him, but now it was directed at him.

It's possible you've blocked his number or changed it.

Bucky's sure he's hit the ground now, and his heart is the very first thing to break while his bones feel sore.

There's no closure, and Bucky doesn't think you'll ever give him one. He should just suck it up, take the loss, and move on. He should let time do its thing and forget about you.

But he can't.

Bucky was in too deep. He already knows. He's devastatingly in love with you.

That's why he has shown up at your place. It's much richer and posher than he ever expected. He knew the community you lived in—he's still surprised that he's stuck outside your gates.

Bucky showed up at 8 PM, and you weren't home. Now it was nearing 1 AM.

He looks up when he sees a black car pull up. It stops just a little ways away from him. The driver window rolls down for a brief moment before it rolls back up.

Then in the back, the door opens, and you step out.

You look...different. A little sharper than when you're with him.

You tap the driver's window.

"Are you sure?" Bucky hears faintly.

"Leave, and don't say a word to Nat," you warn.

Bucky blinks because he's never heard you sound so cold.

You wait until the car leaves until you can't see it anymore and turn to him, eyes dispassionate.

"Why are you here, Bucky? Didn't you get my letter?" You ask him plainly.

Bucky gets up with a grunt, frowning at you.

"Can you even call that a letter? You wrote it on a sticky note," Bucky quirks his brow at you.

"All I had at the time," you shrug as you walk past him, entering the code to your gates, and it opens. "The message remains the same. It's over and I don't want to see you."

But Bucky grabs your hand as he trailed after you.

"Why? Why is it over? Did I do something?" Bucky asks you, trying to not sound desperate, but his eyes give that away.

You keep walking, pulling your hand out of Bucky's.

"No, you didn't." You said briskly as you reached your front steps. You turn to him. "Go home, Bucky. It's over because it just is. Are you going to stand there and try to make me stay with you? Is that the kind of man you are?" You taunt him.

Bucky bristles at your words, trying to push them aside because you're only saying them to get a rise out of Bucky—to make him quit.

But he won't.

"No, but until you tell me why it's over and until it's a reason I can accept, I'm not going home," Bucky insists. "You don't get to say you woke up one moment because you suddenly fell out of love—and don't play stupid and act like you don't love me. I know you do, I've already known for months."

You swallow harshly as Bucky pushes past you into your home.

It's as lonely as you described.

Meaningless art with posh furniture.

"I have nothing to say to you, Bucky. Leave before I get mean with you," you warn him, threaten him.

Bucky snorts. "Mean with me, doll? You don't think you're already being mean? You left a sticky note saying it was over and not to seek you out. I think you're already past mean. You're fucking hostile."

You purse your lips because you're frustrated.

Why couldn't Bucky just be the man who cursed you, wished you ill, and forgot about you?

Why did he have to come here and be so annoyingly persistent?

"I'm just over you, Bucky," you say dispassionately. "What we had was good but I'm done with it now. Don't tell me just because I fucked you on the daily—because we ate together that you thought I wanted that forever. I'm doing that with three different guys right now."

That causes a look of anger in Bucky's eyes, and you hope that he'll just call you names and then leave.

"No," Bucky grinds out. "I thought you wanted that forever because after you fucked me, you stayed in my bed—in my arms as you fell asleep. Because before and after we ate, we did everything and nothing and all that's in between. You're pretty stellar, doll, but even you don't have enough time or energy to do that with three different guys."

"Just get out and leave, Bucky. How many times does a girl have to tell you that she's fucking over you for you to leave? Are you always this pathetic?" You tilt your head with a smirk. "What? Do you want to have breakup sex before it's over? Or do you think your dick is so good it might be able to convince me to stay?"

Bucky just stares at you.

This isn't you.

And no matter how many terrible things you say to him, he's never going to believe that's how you truly feel.

Because the only way for Bucky to confirm that is to get you on that precipice.

Bucky surges forward, catching you in a surprising kiss as he backs you into your too expensive couch.

You moan instantly in his mouth.

"Moaning just from that, doll?" Bucky taunts you. "Maybe my dick might be good enough to convince you at the very least you're wrong."

Bucky's kissing you again, pulling you close to him as he strokes down your side, pulling one thigh open for him to fall between your legs.

When his erection hits your clothed pussy, you arch your back, whimpering in his mouth as your hips rise.

"I really hope you're not seeing three guys because you're so fucking needy for me right now. That would just be sad if none of them are taking care of you properly," Bucky's just being mean now, and you deserve it for breaking his heart and trying to rub salt in his very open wounds.

But Bucky's much kinder than you and goes back to silently making his point instead of dishing back what you gave.

He makes work of kissing your neck, sucking and licking as his fingers unbutton your shirt. He presses his hand against your back, lifting you to take your shirt off before unhooking your bra and throwing that away too.

"Always so pretty," he mutters before he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and nipping until the nub becomes a hard pebble.

His fingers have already dipped into your pants, past your underwear, as his calloused pads of his fingers slip through your folds. Bucky rubs you lewdly, firmly, without holding back as he circles your clit and teasingly presses against your entrance.

You get slick for him easily and quickly, your mouth letting out pants and moans for him as you try to make work of undoing his belt and pulling down his zipper.

You don't want the foreplay, and it's clear Bucky is getting you soaked to take his cock tonight.

When Bucky pulls his hand out, grabbing onto the edge of your pants and panties as he rips it down, you're too eager to help him help you out of them. He makes quick work of his own pants and shirt before he spreads you as wide as he can.

With one sharp thrust, he sinks into you fully, stretching you so wide and filling you up.

You let out a hot moan when he settles all the way in. Fuck, he was perfect. He filled you so good, so perfectly. You missed it.

Bucky presses his entire front against you, pressing you firmly into the couch as he kisses you deeply for a moment. He pulls back just enough that his lips are ghosting over yours.

And then he fucks you.

His thrusts are deep and punishing. He changes his angle and continuously swipes over that spongy, bumpy spot in you. Over and over until you're legs are wrapped around his hips so tightly like you want to keep him in you.

Your hands are gripping the back of his hair as you whimper and cry, choking on your moans as Bucky whispers in your ear, trying to push you to that edge.

"You know you're mine, doll. Why are you pretending you aren't? I'm out here giving all of myself to you and you're trying to pretend you don't want me? It's hard to pretend right now, though, isn't it? When you're wrapped so tightly around my cock, thrusting against me so desperately because you want me to make you cum," Bucky nibbles your ear, causing a high-pitched yelp from you. "Fuck, you're always so tight for me. How are you always so fucking tight? You love me, admit you love me."

You shake your head, trying to breathe through the quickly rising wave that wants to crash. You try to stave off your impending orgasm, the one that would be admitting how much you want Bucky, but he isn't having any of that.

"Oh, no," Bucky tuts. "Don't go doing that now, doll. Open your eyes for me. Open them right now because you know I like seeing your pretty eyes when you cum for me."

You try to refuse, but when Bucky's gripping the back of your hair, a hot wave of arousal pulses through you as your eyes snap open and you stare into his eyes.

Even when he's mad at you, even when he's heartbroken. He still looks at you so openly.

That too tight coil in you snaps when Bucky's hand slides down to thrum at your clit.

You cum with a choked whimper, thrusting upwards into him as he curses and smashes his lips against yours. His hips move jaggedly until you feel his hot spend coat your walls, filling you and dripping out.

He falls on top of you; though heavy, his weight is comforting. It's just the sounds of heavy breathing from the two of you that fill the room.

When it finally calms down, Bucky lifts himself to hover over you. He's got that look of triumph on his face. He's got that look because he got you on that precipice, and just before you came, he got the truth he wanted.

You want him. You love him. And for some reason, you won't let yourself.

You stare at him, feeling—numb.

"Still want to tell me you're over me?" Bucky asks softly.

You fight tooth and nail in your own body to not let the tears well up.

You swallow. You need to shove down those feelings, even though they were right on the surface for Bucky to see.

Because if lying to him won't work anymore, then you'll tell the truth. And you'll do it the way that forces you to face your worst fear.

Seeing how that look of love will really turn to hate for all the right reasons instead of the lie you tried to build.

"Fine," you say, no longer dispassionate and instead with nothing but emotion. "I'm not over you. I'm never going to be over you. But we're never going to work, Bucky. And you know why?"

You use your strength and his lack of awareness to flip the two of you over. He's still in you when you're on top of him.

You stare down at him, and you can't help the burn in the back of your eyes. Why does he have to look so—Bucky.

You lean down, so you're closer to his face.

"My father is the man who killed Steve Rogers. Congratulations, Bucky. You've gone and fell in love with the daughter of the Syndicate that got your friend killed. And you know what else? You're also fucking the boss of that Syndicate now." You watch as Bucky's eyes go wide, shock registering in his system. It's all you can take. You don't want to watch the shock go away and morph into something else.

You slide off of him, resisting the urge to moan as he slides out of you.

You get up, collecting his clothes and dumping them on him. You stare down at him, and you know your eyes are rimmed red as he sits up and stares back at you.

"So, if you're done trying to make me stay and realize you should've gone—go home. And don't come back. We could never work, and this is where you realize you don't want it to."

You grab your shirt, if only to put it on to cover your physical nakedness. It doesn't help you stop feeling vulnerable.

You turn to leave, ready to go upstairs and leave Bucky to go alone. He could break your shit for all you care—could burn the house right down with you in it, and it would've been fine.

But somehow, somehow, Bucky's grabbing your hand again.

You turn to him, exasperated and tears in your eyes.

"Bucky—"

"Will you just stop trying to leave for one damn minute!?" He shouts at you, and you're stung into surprise.

"Let me just fucking process everything for a second," Bucky frustratingly says as he pulls you back to the couch and forces you to sit down.

"What's there to process?" You bite out. "I'm a crime boss of a Syndicate and my family is the one who got Steve killed. Stop trying to make excuses for me and just—leave. You hate these kinds of people, Bucky. And I'm at the top of those kinds of people. It's time to wake up and realize you hate me."

"Don't tell me what to feel, doll," Bucky says warningly at you. "I have questions and you're going to answer them."

You're silent, ready for the questions and also not ready.

"Your dad is dead?"

"Yes."

"How."

"Heart attack."

"Why did he kill Steve?"

"He said he took Steve in like one of his own and Steve betrayed him. I'm assuming that meant Steve was going to try to turn himself in or the drugs. It would've led back to the Syndicate."

"Did you have anything to do with it?"

"No, I wasn't interested in the business during this time. I don't remember ever meeting Steve."

"Have you done anything like this since taking over?"

"No. I can't say I'm a good crime boss. I know how the business works and I can do parts of it, but everything was rather—sudden." You look away. It's not fair to be sad about your dad's death with Bucky right there. You hate yourself when Bucky squeezes your hand.

You wish he'd let go.

"You've killed people then?"

"I've sent orders. Usually wars between other Syndicates. We're in a tough period since my dad has passed. A lot of people are trying to take advantage of the new kid in power—even if the Syndicate belongs to me by blood," you confess, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

It's silent for a minute, and you want to pull your hand away if Bucky wasn't holding it so tightly.

Bucky just stares at you while you look straight forward.

"One more question," Bucky says slowly. "Is this what you continue to want? Do you want to be the crime boss of a Syndicate? Is this the life you want?"

You turn to stare at Bucky. His face holds no emotion, so you have no idea how he's feeling and for once, his eyes are guarded.

You knew it would be, but it still stung.

You let out a sigh.

"No," you finally say. "I did—at one point. Inheriting all this was always part of the plan. I just thought in some vague distant far part of the plan. I never really thought about it much. I'm capable of this work but I just—" you shook your head.

"Stop holding back," Bucky pushes you because he's not letting you hide this time. If he's going to fall, he's not going to let you dawdle if you want a parachute or not while joining him. He's going to rip your parachute right off.

You swallow as you look at him. "I just—want you. I didn't think meeting you would lead to all of this. But now, I can't stop wanting something that's going to get us both killed. I want to live in Barcelona where you sell stupid boats and I actually am a paint dealer because we do need money. I want that if I look out the window, I can see you all day and then we eat ridiculously good food that we both have concerns about becoming unhealthily obese quickly and both not really care because that's our life. Working weird hours and eating whatever we want when we want."

Bucky squints his eyes at you, unsure of what to make of what you're saying, but it's blooming something in his chest. It's all painful and muddled up with everything else that has happened recently.

He wonders why in this fantasy, he sells boats. Are boats popular in Barcelona?

You're quiet again, and Bucky has finally run out of questions. He leans back against your posh couch and thinks about how it's not worn in enough.

Bucky thinks about so many things.

He thinks about Steve and wonders if it's still okay to love you. It's easier knowing you had nothing to do with his death.

While it'd be easier to blame you because of your blood relations, Steve would probably punch him in the mouth. He's a good guy like that.

Is it still okay to love you knowing you've got blood on your hands? That you're capable of getting more if you had to.

Bucky's not sure.

But it doesn't stop his heart from feeling what it does.

He turns to you, and you watch him with open eyes. He wants to laugh. How the tables have turned.

"I love you," Bucky says, and he watches you swallow with tears in your eyes. "I love you even though you're the kind of people I hate. I love you and I want that kind of life you've just talked about. I'm not 100% sold on the boat idea, though."

You choke on a laugh.

Bucky smiles. He's super tired.

"Can we have that though?" He asks, and you know what he's really asking.

Are you willing to abandon everything to have that life?

Bucky's no stranger to blood in, blood out. You don't get special treatment just because you're a crime boss. If anything, it's harder.

You stare at him.

Finally, you're really looking at him with everything you have, and it feels so—right.

You lean over to kiss him, revelling in the way he kisses you back.

Because Bucky Barnes loves you. He loves you even though he knows the truth.

"Yes," you tell him. "Hope you don't sunburn easily. Also boats are a great idea, you'll see."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The meeting with Stark had been a bust. His ego is way too big to even consider a détente.

It had ended with people being killed on both sides as you both escaped. You hadn't been in a good mood, and that was when you realized Bucky was sitting on the ground outside your gates.

Still, it was the best thing that he could've done. You're glad you're terrible with emotions and thought a sticky note would really keep him away.

Or maybe you knew it wouldn't. Maybe you held onto hope even though there was no reason for you.

There was some intel that Stark was planning to blow up one of your warehouses in the next week. It would probably be one of the bigger ones. He did want to try to stick it to you and cost your Syndicate money.

Well.

That was Natasha's problem now.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asks with a frown.

She's family. The most wonderful thing you have left of this world.

The only one who could understand that it doesn't have to be blood in, blood out.

Because she's not your blood, and she's family, your inner family.

"I think it's for the best," you mutter as you fidget with a puzzle. "I told you I wasn't like you. You're more fit to run this thing if you want to keep it out of the ground."

"But your father—"

"—is dead," you finish as you look up at her.

"If he wants to keep his legacy running, then he'll jump for joy at the thought of you taking over because I'm the selfish daughter that would run it into the ground," you smile prettily while Natasha scoffs.

"You love him that much?" She asks.

For a moment, you soften, the way Natasha has never seen you before.

"So much that I'd come up with new rules to be with him," you say quietly. "Besides, we're the new generation. We should make our own rules. Get married or die is way outdated."

"Ah, yes," Natasha said dryly. "I love faking your own death to be with the man you love because he can't stomach joining a mob Syndicate because his best friend was murdered by one is so much better."

"It's interesting at least," you laugh. "Besides, it'll give leeway for you to take over much easier. I even left my will here. See?"

Natasha clicks her tongue at it.

"You have everything else prepared?" Natasha asks, and you nod.

"All the stuff I need to start over is good to go."

"And did you..."

"Clean up loose ends? Yes," you sigh. "Bucky wasn't happy with me."

"And he just forgave you?"

"It helped I chose someone who also dabbled in child pornography to set up our documents. I don't think Bucky was too morally conflicted to see him go," you shrugged. "He helped me get rid of the body."

"Glad you two are bonding," Natasha shook her head with a sigh.

You hum.

It's a long moment before Natasha pulls you in for a rare, tight hug.

"Be safe," she mumbles. "Don't actually get blown up. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," you hug her back, tears welling in your eyes. "We'll meet again if we ever cross paths. Hopefully after you're a badass crime boss that's taken Stark down a few notches. I mean, you have to avenge my tragic death."

Natasha just laughs.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

1 year later...

You hear the door ring as it opens.

You look up from the counter and give a hopeless grin.

"Back again, Rafael?" You sigh. "What did you do this time?"

The man just laughs as you start preparing a bouquet for him.

"I brought home the wrong ice cream," he says with a shrug.

You click your tongue at him. "How could you forget again? You did this three weeks ago."

"She changes her favourite flavour every week! I can't keep up," Rafael frowned.

"She's making a human, a human that's half yours," you quirk a brow at him. "She's entitled to changing her ice cream flavour if she wants."

Rafael sighs but good-naturedly as you finish fixing his bouquet.

"I should go talk to Steve out there, huh? All he does is sell boats and manage to keep you happy. How is that?"

You smile as you look at the window, staring at your husband, who is fixing up a boat. It's like he can sense when you're looking at him as he looks up, giving you a charming smirk.

"Stevie's a whole other level. It's best not to compare. He's crazily good at knowing everything about me by just looking into my eyes."

"But how!" Rafael exclaims.

"Um, something about precipice and practice," you tilt your head.

"Unhelpful," Rafael tuts, and you laugh.

"I'll give a ten percent discount due to my unhelpfulness, how's that?"

"You are an angel. Maybe I should try to look in your eyes and see if I have this superpower too," Rafael waggles his brow, and before you can retort, the door rings again as it opens.

"Stop hitting on my wife, Rafael, you're going to end up having to come back twice if your wife finds out."

You look up and see your husband, tanned and delicious.

"And who would tell her?" Rafael quirked his brow.

"Me, and I'm sure she's already one step from leaving you if you dawdle any longer with your flowers and ice cream," your husband smirks.

Rafael curses as he winks at you before giving your husband a nod and leaves.

When it's just the two of you, you beckon him closer to the counter. You tug on his shirt as you pull him in for a sweet kiss.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi," he husks back.

"I miss calling you Bucky," you sigh.

"Stevie's not as fun?" Bucky smiles.

"It's alright," you crinkle your nose.

"You can still call me Bucky in bed," he waggled his eyebrows at you as he hops over the counter to kiss you again.

"Mm," you hum in pleasure. "We'll see if we're up for those kinds of activities after we go eat tonight."

Bucky looks excited. "Can we go to the usual? I can't get enough of the calamari."

You snicker but nod before you look around.

"I can't believe you went and opened a flower shop too. Isn't art dealing enough?" Bucky sighs.

"The flower shop is just an add on, you big baby. I meet my clients here and they like buying flowers too. Besides, you like seeing me here every day. And I like it too," you pout.

Bucky sighs. "Shit, we're that clingy couple. Can't function without seeing each other."

You smile.

"That's a good thing," you decide.

"You're a good thing," Bucky shoots back haughtily like you should be offended.

You roll your eyes as you pull Bucky in for another kiss—much longer and deeper. You love that he still smells like pinewood and clean laundry. But now he also smells like the ocean, and you adore it. Because the ocean was something you added to him.

"Always let me be your good thing," you mutter against his lips.

Fin

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Moodboard: @empyreanwritings 💕💕

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I love these two so much 😭💕 If this flops I will actually pretend this never happened LMAO so please comment & reblog if you enjoyed 😊

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