#Mobster Bucky | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artficlly · 6 months ago

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smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked.

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents.

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets.

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense.

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight.

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications.

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would.

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen.

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you.

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice.

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog.

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat.

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal.

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal.

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness.

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash.

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.”

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves.

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink.

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found.

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his.

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots.

“Sit.” He commands.

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you.

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth.

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone.

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery.

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men.

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes.

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers.

Rot.

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity.

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace.

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it.

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine.

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words.

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more.

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them.

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood.

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time.

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle.

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences.

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax.

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper.

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots.

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down.

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table.

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling.

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest.

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.”

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed.

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more.

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger.

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks.

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile.

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin.

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off.

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips.

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails.

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck.

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him.

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place.

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding.

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock.

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet.

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb.

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve.

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns.

“Chaos magic?” He questions.

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin.

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain.

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon.

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort.

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes.

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct.

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent.

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly.

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy.

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs.

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things.

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him.

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look.

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders.

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive.

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull.

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon.

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol.

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull.

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours.

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest.

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap.

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh.

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants.

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm.

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt.

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him.

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady.

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles.

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted.

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk.

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips.

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully.

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock.

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you.

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers.

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation.

“Please—” you gasp out.

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place.

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit.

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin.

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath.

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy.

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased.

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual.

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre.

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp.

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt.

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain.

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

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caustinen · 25 days ago

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hear me out… 90s mobster au… conjugal visits…

mafia boss bucky got himself locked up… for something stupid and petty so he only got like 2 years and he already has people working on getting him the hell out of there, he’d never leave if they knew all he’s done but this sentence is doable. or so he thinks until his husband arrives to their first conjugal visit and instead of jumping his bones looks him up and down all icy firece eyes and throws a pile of papers to the bed before leaving with the bang of the door as soon as he arrives. bucky is too preoccupied with looking after him (gale is dressed in his tightest jeans on purpose, surely) that he doesn’t realize they are papers for him to sign for them to get a divorce.

the next time doesn’t go well. bucky has a point in claiming gale is being unreasonable just throwing it at him without even wanting to talk about it, gale insists he should’ve thought of it before getting caught. bucky gets all defensive and accuses gale of being a hypocrite, enjoying living trophy husband life when it suits him but now suddenly having a problem when there’s a slight hitch. he straight up refuses to even entertain the idea of divorce and gets all smug about it, tells buck he’s just having a temper tantrum and oh boy that does not land well, gale of course loses it completely to the point where the guards come running in to see if they’re okay and make gale leave with them (he goes happily, yelling after him about what an arrogant asshole john can be.)

while john is left fuming too, that little cell is starting to get to him, so the third time gale comes he’s ready to talk, and surprisingly so is gale. bucky apologizes and tells him he understand if gale wants more of a normal life, that he deserves someone who can give it to him and while it breaks his heart, he loves gale too much to not let him walk away if that’s what he wants. gale breaks down and tells him he doesn’t care about normal or want anyone else, he doesn’t care what people at the high school he teaches are saying nor their neighbours, he’s just broken about being scared for bucky’s safety here and once he gets outside too — the fbi keeps contacting him begging for information about his husband and there are suspicious cars always parked in front of their apartement these days, and gale hates and fears that he can be used against bucky, that he can be a weakness of the person he loves in his cruel world. bucky is beyond himself with worry once he realizes how much danger he’s caused gale too without realizing and left him to deal with it all alone, but gale claims he doesn’t care about that, just felt betrayed when bucky didn’t warn him beforehand about the gig having the potential to go this way like he promised he always would when they got married, had thought for a bit something worse had happened when he couldn’t reach him and then having to hear from the police he wouldn’t be able to see him other than at court. bucky apologizes and apologizes and apologizes until gale shuts him up by kissing him. the real feelings finally come out instead of anger and fear — missing the other like crazy, hell, they aren’t used to being apart even for a night. they run out of time when gale’s straddling his lips and they’re whispering comforting words to each other between kisses, and both walk away feeling much lighter than walking in.

the fourth time… welp! they make up for the lost time and then some. the guards have to physically drag gale away from there that time, clothes barely on and bucky yelling after them warning about hurting his husband or else as they manhandle him a bit too roughly for his liking. let’s just say that he’s more motivated than ever to get the hell out of there 🫣

#escapism with clegan!#clegan #buck x bucky #mota #buck #bucky #writing #i did something like this for another fandom years ago but it would fit them so well right???#mobster au

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world-of-aus · 9 months ago

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Hi, Hello and Welcome To Today’s Gym Thought..

Featuring Mob!Bucky

He has you against a wall in the darkest corner of his club, your leg hiked high around his waist, the slit of your dress allowing him easy access to your smooth skin.

“This mouth of yours almost cost us our shipment, doesn’t know when to quit,” he growls lips slotting over yours in a bruising kiss, you return his fervor arms curling around his shoulders, fingers finding their way into his hair.

The laugh he draws from you is airy, “you were letting them walk over you, if I hadn’t stepped in we would have lost them for sure,” you breathe into his lips. “The only good thing that comes out of your mouth is when it’s buried between my thighs.”

He presses you harder into the wall, hand finding your neck, he wants to break you. “I’m your dad’s business partner sweetheart, not yours.”

You reciprocate, tugging his hair at the same time you push your hips into his, a delicious groan bubbling from the man's chest, he tightens his hold around your throat, “and yet daddy didn’t trust you enough to come meet them alone, sent me right along to make sure you didn’t fail.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls his body pressing into yours.

The hands that were curled in his hair find their way to the fronts of his slacks, the air is electric around the two of you as you pop the button, fingers pulling down the zipper achingly slow.

“Make me.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #mobster!bucky #bucky barnes drabble

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months ago

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Yes Mama Chapter 1

Summary: Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world. But he’s not the boss. Just the face of the Family.

Warnings: violence, subtle mention of drugs, murder, language, possessiveness, smut, mild choking, public sex

Kids: oldest (from Steve) Frankie 12, second (from Tony) Antonia 10, third (from T’Challa) Uuka 8, fourth (from Bucky) Beau 6, fifth (from Bucky) Lottie 5, sixth (from Bucky) Valentina 3

Next chapter

The man cried heavily, his pathetic sniffles and watery eyes making Bucky’s eye twitch in annoyance. “Please, boss, I’m sorry!” he said for the hundredth time.

Bucky punched him again with his metal hand, splitting the man’s cheek open, a fresh gush of blood spattering across the wall next to them. “Fucking prick,” Bucky sneered. “All I asked was for you to make sure the shipment got from point fucking A, to point fucking B. But you saw a golden opportunity and decided to try out the merchandise for yourself and your buddies–”

“Boss, I–”

“Shut up!” Bucky yelled, slapping him hard across the face, making the man whimper. “I wasn’t done speaking, asshole.” The man nodded, his hands up in surrender. “Apparently I have to babysit every fucking piece of shit driver on the payroll. Don’t we take care of you? What is your family gonna do without your monthly stipend?”

The man’s eyes widened. “No, please, I made a mistake. I’ve got a problem, but I’ll get clean!” he pleaded. “I’ll make it up to you!”

“Even if you could,” Bucky sighed, reaching into the side of his jacket and pulling out a gun from the holster on his side, turning the safety off and pointing it at the man, “how could we ever trust you again?”

The man started hyperventilating as he stared at Bucky’s gun. “Please, my wife…my kids, I–”

“They’ll be taken care of,” Bucky said, sounding bored. “Just not by you.” He shot him between the eyes, watching the life drain from his face and his body crumple to the blood soaked floor. He stood still for a moment before turning the safety back on and putting the gun back in the holster. He turned to the people lining the wall behind him who had watched on. “Clean this up before Mama gets home,” he said. “I don’t want the kids to see or hear anything.”

“Yes, boss,” they all said in unison, before jumping into action, cleaning the room and disposing of the body. Bucky sighed again and headed out of the room, walking up the stairs, taking the elevator then trudging through the hallways until he got to his room. He stripped out of his clothes, throwing the blood spattered ones in the fireplace before getting in the shower. He scrubbed his hands thoroughly, taking extra care to make sure all the blood and gore was cleaned from the plates and divots in his metal hand and arm. Once he was sure all the evidence was gone he got out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist before opening the bathroom door to find Y/N sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Buck,” she greeted him, her ever-present smirk on her lips.

“Mama,” Bucky greeted her back, his own smirk lighting up his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Especially after I just got out of the shower?”

Y/N shrugged, her eyes scanning his body before looking toward the fireplace where his clothes were already burning. “Business as usual,” she said. “Report?”

Bucky hummed and approached her until he was standing a foot away. “Had to take care of a rat problem.”

“Again?” Y/N’s face morphed into a look of frustration.

Bucky nodded, crossing his arms. “A driver got handsy with the shipment and shared it with his buddies. Took care of them, too,” he answered her question as she opened her mouth.

Y/N sighed heavily, shaking her head as she looked down at her hands. “So disappointing,” she murmured.

Bucky frowned. He knew how much this kind of thing affected her, and it always pulled at his heartstrings whenever she was upset. Damn his overprotective, bleeding heart. “Don’t worry about it, Mama,” he reassured her, his metal hand reaching forward, his fingers tipping her chin up to look at him. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N eyed his metal hand, a hungry look flashing in her eyes. She looked up at him through her lashes then took his metal hand in hers as she stood up. He was much taller than her, but it didn’t deter her as she peered up at him then brought his hand to her lips, softly kissing each fingertip. “I know you do, Buck,” she whispered, kissing his palm. “You’re always my number one.”

“And I always will be,” he promised, pulling the hand that held his hand from her mouth to his lips, kissing the ring on her left index finger that she always wore. It was a thick, gold banded signet ring, a crest etched into each side of the band with a large, deep but vibrant red ruby setting. “Till the end of the line.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked across his face before she squeezed his fingers and dropped their hands, loosely holding his fingers still. “You should come see the kids. They haven’t seen you in a while.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll come down in a few.”

Y/N nodded then slowly took a step back. Her smirk returned and she let go of his hand before walking around him toward his door. She didn’t look back as she opened the door and left, shutting it behind her soundly. Bucky puffed out a harsh breath as he palmed himself through the towel. When was he ever going to stop reacting to her this way?

***

Bucky and Y/N had a long and complicated history together. He was born into a rival family under the Hydra organization. His father had made a deal with Y/N’s father, and when he couldn’t keep his end of the bargain Y/N’s father had swooped in and laid waste to Hydra, taking over their operations and merchandise. Bucky was a teenager when it all went down, and Y/N’s father had taken him under his wing rather than offing him, seeing he held a lot of potential. Bucky knew that his parents were doing illegal things, and that Y/N’s family was doing the same, but hers did it with a sense of dignity and strong family ties to the people around them, rather than treating them like servants or less-than. He felt like this was where he belonged all along. When they met as teenagers she was cordial, sometimes flirtatious, and Bucky liked her, but her father was overly protective and wouldn’t have stood for any adolescent, angsty shenanigans

Bucky quickly rose through the ranks in her father’s inner circle, and when he died and Y/N took over, Bucky was inherited as part of the empire. He admired the way she ran things. Her father was old fashioned, traditional, while she was ready to expand and do so with 21st century means and a nod to her father’s old ways. She had made sure nobody but those closest to her knew she was the boss, and made Bucky the face of the Family, handling most duties while she worked behind the scenes. She infiltrated other families, going as far as getting pregnant with three of the neighboring Dons and having their children so that they wouldn’t ever dare try to come after her and her empire since she held their predecessors, thereby procuring lasting alliances and business deals. If there was one thing mob bosses respected, it was family ties.

Bucky was the boss, but she was the Queen. Bucky and Y/N’s camaraderie quickly shifted into something deeper and more meaningful until they were married, popping out three kids of their own within four years. It most likely would have been more if it wasn’t for the fights about the first three kids. Bucky found it hard to care for them as anything more than like a neighbor kid that comes over all the time, whereas Y/N was always the attentive and caring mother they deserved. And the fact that the oldest was his childhood best friend’s son always grated on him. They were currently separated, not quite daring to divorce, but the option always loomed over them, feeling heavy and causing stress and tension.

Even if they did divorce, it would technically mean nothing. He would never leave her, the Family, or his kids. She had saved him, in every sense of the word. After a nasty fire fight that left him with a stump of a left arm she had done everything in her power to heal him and get him upgraded. The metal arm was top of the line, made of materials and technology that was so otherworldly he couldn’t wrap his head around it. All he knew was that she was his everything, and loved and cared for him more than anyone else ever had.

He got dressed and went downstairs to the dining room where he heard the kids' voices echoing loudly. Bucky walked into the room to find all six of them nearly bouncing off the walls as they awaited dinner to be served. He shook his head then whistled loudly, making them all snap their heads toward him then run to face him in a single file line.

“That’s better,” Bucky huffed. He walked down the line, inspecting each of them carefully, adjusting their shirts or their hair. When he was finished his smirk grew on his face. “You little heathens been good for Mama?”

They all started smiling at him. “Yes, boss,” they all said in unison.

Bucky started to bend forward. “You sure?” He narrowed his eyes. They all started to lean away from him, fighting back giggles, until he jumped forward with a playful growl and they all squealed and scrambled away from him. They were all laughing as he chased them, trying to grab each one at least once, tickling them and kissing their faces. He finally caught the last one, the littlest and his youngest baby, Valentina, and kissed all over her face as she laughed and tried pushing him away. “Act like you’ve got some sense and sit down for dinner,” Bucky laughed as he led the kids back over to the long table.

“You and Ma take too long,” the oldest, Frankie, said as he sat down at his spot.

“Yeah, we were waiting forever!” the second oldest, Antonia said dramatically, her head rolling. “We’re hungry!”

Uuka, Beau, Lottie and Valentina all agreed with her until the clearing of a throat in the corner had them all stiffening in their seats and sitting up straight as Y/N walked in. She had changed into a different dress, one of Bucky’s favorites that she would wear around the house, and she was followed by the staff bringing in the plates for dinner. “Patience is a virtue, Toni,” she chastised. She sat at the head of the table and waited until the plates had been served and she thanked the staff that left the room before she leaned forward and smiled at each of them. “How were your days, my darlings?”

The room erupted with sound again as they each started talking about their day. Y/N listened to each of them, giving her undivided attention to what they were saying, no matter how mundane it was, asking questions and making sure they felt heard. Bucky always admired her way of parenting. Her father had been a bit of a hardass, and she was that way, too, demanding respect from her kids. But she was able to have fun and be personable with them, truly loving them each as their own person as well as in the collective of the Family.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off her. While they were separated, that didn’t mean that they didn’t occasionally enjoy each other. As he watched her interact with the kids, in that damned house dress, he felt that sexual tension from earlier return. Each child had made her curvier, plumper, and in his eyes, all the more beautiful. She caught his stare a couple of times over dinner, a twinkle in her eye and a playful smirk on her face. He hoped that meant she was feeling it for tonight, as well.

“Alright, my loves, time for bed,” Y/N announced, standing from the table. There was a round of groans from the kids, but at the rise of Y/N’s eyebrows it went silent immediately. “Bed. Now.” They all ran over to her, giving her hugs and kisses then doing the same to Bucky before quickly walking over to the nannies and body guards they had on staff that led them away to their rooms to help them get ready. Bucky stood and walked around the table to stand next to her.

“God, I love it when you’re bossy,” he said lowly, leaning toward her ear.

Y/N huffed a silent laugh as she watched the kids walk away. “I know you do,” she said.

Bucky moved to stand behind her, making sure the kids were all out of sight before he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, his head dipping down to the curve of her neck to her shoulder. His lips pressed firm kisses along the skin exposed there, subtly licking and sucking up to her ear. “You wanna boss me around tonight?” he whispered.

Y/N hummed, her head tilting so he could have easier access to her throat. “I thought we were separated,” she said teasingly.

Bucky nipped at her jaw, making her gasp. “So?” he asked.

She turned in his arms to face him, her hands settling on his chest. “What are you trying to do, Buck?” she asked, her tone more sober and upset.

Bucky frowned. “I…”

“You want me, then you don’t want me. You love the kids and you’re great with them, but confessed you don’t feel the same about all of them,” Y/N ranted, pushing away from him on his chest.

“Y/N–”

“No,” Y/N shook her head and stepped away from him. “I may want you, and god knows I love you something fierce. That’ll probably never go away. But if you’re not all in, with all that comes with me, then I don’t want it,” she said, tears starting to build in her eyes and her lips trembling. Bucky felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He’d made her cry. He’d seen her cry before, but it had never been his doing. How much had she cried since they separated? She always put on such a strong front, he thought she was doing okay overall.

“Mama–”

“Goodnight, Buck,” Y/N interrupted him, sniffling quickly and clearing her throat. She turned and swiftly walked out of the room, leaving him alone and even more heartbroken than before.

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 1 #mobster!bucky barnes #mob boss

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cynic-spirit · 2 months ago

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The Partner

Steve and Bucky were meeting with a new partner, another mobster named Ivanov. They had just finished negotiations, and the atmosphere had shifted from tense business discussions to more relaxed, casual conversation. Ivanov leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sipped his drink.

Just then, Yn entered the room. As always, she walked straight to Bucky, her presence commanding immediate attention. Without hesitation, she greeted him with a kiss, her lips brushing his with a tenderness that momentarily softened his usual stern expression.

Ivanov, watching the exchange with a curious gleam in his eye, leaned forward and made a comment, his tone dripping with amusement. "You know, she doesn't realize how powerful I am. A woman like that should know her place."

The room went silent, the casual conversation halting abruptly. The easy-going atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a palpable tension. Bucky's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with anger, but before he could respond, Yn's demeanor changed.

Bucky recognized the shift immediately. Her posture straightened, and her gaze sharpened. What he referred to as her "formidable" side had emerged.

Yn took a seat comfortably, her movements measured and deliberate. She crossed her legs, her calm and composed exterior belying the intensity that lay beneath. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to speak.

"Mr. Ivanov, I might not know much about power in the way you understand it, but I can tell a good story. Something from history that I find fascinating."

The room, already tense, grew even quieter. Everyone listened intently as Yn spoke.

"Let me tell you about Cesare Borgia, a man consumed by his quest for power. In the early 1500s, Cesare used his father, Pope Alexander VI’s influence to dominate Italy through cunning and brutality. He manipulated and eliminated rivals, consolidating his power without restraint."

Ivanov 's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he listened.

"However," Yn continued, "his obsession with power led to his downfall. When his father died, Cesare lost his key ally. The new pope opposed him, and his enemies rose against him. Stripped of his power, he was captured and died in obscurity."

Bucky watched Yn with a mix of admiration and awe. Her calm, measured tone and the intensity in her eyes made it clear she was not to be underestimated.

"Cesare's relentless pursuit of dominance blinded him to the need for stability and alliances," Yn said, her gaze unwavering. "In our own lives, we must use power responsibly, understanding that true strength lies in restraint and respect for others. By treating those around us with kindness and empathy, we can avoid the pitfalls of unchecked ambition."

Ivanov was speechless, his earlier bravado completely gone. The rest of the room was equally silent, everyone taken aback by Yn's unexpected but poignant lesson.

Bucky felt a surge of pride and a touch of amusement. He knew she had left a significant impression. He glanced around the room, seeing the stunned expressions on his associates' faces.

Yn removed her glasses with a measured, deliberate motion, placing them on the table. This simple act made the others exchange knowing glances, recognizing the shift in her demeanor.

"Power does not corrupt men," she added, her voice firm. "But only fools who keep displaying it, thus reducing the command it has."

The room seemed to shrink around Ivanov, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Yn. Her words had cut through his bravado, leaving him exposed.

The silence was thick with tension, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Yn's gaze never wavered, her presence commanding and authoritative.

Bucky could see the discomfort in Ivanov 's eyes, a stark contrast to the confidence he had shown earlier. It was clear that Yn had not only made her point but had done so in a way that left no room for argument.

The others, still processing what had just happened, felt a mixture of admiration and respect for Yn. Bucky's heart swelled with pride, knowing that she had, once again, shown her formidable intellect and strength.

Finally, Ivanov mumbled, "I see your point," though his voice lacked its earlier conviction. Yn simply nodded, her message delivered with precision and impact.

Yn's gaze remained steady, her voice smooth yet sharp. "I know you do. You seem like an intelligent man, not falling into the same trenches as Cesare Borgia did."

She took a moment to let her words sink in before continuing, "It was, however, nice to meet you."

With that, Yn walked calmly to the bar, where she poured herself a glass of water. Her demeanor was poised and composed, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere in the room. The others remained silent, clearly taken aback by the gravity of her words and the ease with which she had dismantled Ivanov ’s bravado.

As she sipped her water, the room was filled with a palpable respect for Yn’s ability to handle the situation with such grace and authority. Bucky watched her with a mixture of admiration and deep affection, knowing that her strength and intellect were unmatched.

"Well said, doll," he thought to himself. "You certainly know how to make an impact."

Ivanov glanced at Bucky with a smirk and asked, “So she’s your girl?”

Bucky’s chest swelled with pride as he replied, “No, Ivanov , actually I am her man.”

The room erupted in light-hearted chuckles, the tension from earlier melting away. Bucky’s statement, delivered with genuine affection, softened the atmosphere and highlighted the deep respect he had for Yn. The others, amused and supportive, shared knowing smiles, appreciating the bond between Bucky and Yn

As Ivanov exited the room, the door closing behind him, Bucky could no longer contain the swell of pride and admiration he felt for Yn. Without a second thought, he pulled her close and sealed his feelings with a passionate kiss.

#james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia #mafia bucky #bucky barnes mafia #mafia au #mob!bucky #mobster au #mob au #mob #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x y/n

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reigningqueenofwords · 6 months ago

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Dark Chocolate

Perfection Happy Birthday, Doll Biscuits and Gravy What's Going On? Mr. Barnes I Actually Can't Stand Him

#mobster!bucky #chubby!bucky #bucky x reader

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irelandking · 1 year ago

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mob au fic recs

bucky barnes x reader

❤️ = fluff 😔 = angst 🔥 = smut

multiparts:

family matters - @world-of-aus

You should have heeded your father’s warnings to stay away, now HIS demons have come to collect, and they come in the form of the Notorious mob boss James Buchanan Barnes, but is there more than meets the eye? - 73k words ❤️🔥😔

mafia masterlist - @angrythingstarlight

interconnected one shots ❤️🔥

ruin - @sinner-as-saint

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you. 🔥

one shots:

anon ask - @angrythingstarlight

but rlly… r telling ppl who cross her that “upsetting me upsets my husband, and trust me you don’t wanna do that” ❤️🔥

i will not give you up - @world-of-aus

My love can I request prompt 14 with Mob Bucky, please? You’ve started dating and his family don’t approve. You can’t take the snarky comments from his family anymore so you try to break up with him and he pushes you to finally break down and tell him the real reason why. ❤️😔

home again - @navybrat817

your husband opens up about his past as you fall more in love 🔥

harmonious - @navybrat817

part 2 & 3: husband and wife & honeymoon suite you may think you're a pawn in bucky's life, but you are his queen 🔥

thigh riding - @bucky-barnes-diaries

mob!bucky x wife reader 🔥

nights & mornings with mob!bucky - @bucky-barnes-diaries

How you and Bucky go to sleep and how you and Bucky wake up. 🔥

all that glitters is gold - @printedpeterparker

The one where Y/N takes a chance on the mobster. ❤️

night hours - @sinner-as-saint

Bucky wakes you up in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep, and he knows you can help with that. ❤️🔥

twilight moments with you - @sinner-as-saint

You were just an innocent girl who works in her family’s patisserie. You had an absolutely normal life, until the day you got tangled in the mess between ex-mob James Buchanan Barnes and one of his enemies who is still out to get him. Things changed after that. But not all changes are terrible… ❤️🔥

practice - @buckyalpine

Dark-ish Mob bucky barnes x virgin maid reader 🔥

#mob!bucky #mafia!bucky #mobster!bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader

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holylulusworld · 18 days ago

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Bucky & Ducky (2) - Warming up

Summary: Bucky Barnes. Ruthless mafia boss. Soft only for his wife and…well, Ducky.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Side pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Ducky the duck

Warnings: mafia business, fluff, unusual friendship

A/N: Thanks to @buck-star for the idea and brainstorming with me. I did it…😅

Bucky & Ducky Masterlist

Catch up here: Part 1

“Can you believe that punk dared to threaten my business, Ducky?” Bucky walked out of the bathroom to get ready to join you for dinner. After taking a relaxed bath, he hastily got out of the tub. He considered leaving Ducky alone in the tub but decided against it.

Only to make sure the duckling won’t poop into the tub or drown, he told himself.

He put the duckling on a fluffy towel and watched it clumsily wiggle on top of the towel, trying to escape while he got dressed. Bucky chuckled when the duckling started to tug at the towel angrily.

“No escaping, punk,” he said, and stepped toward the bed to look down at the tiny and vulnerable duckling. “You didn’t have an easy life, huh? They wanted to get rid of you because you were the weakest.”

Somehow, Bucky felt sorry for the duckling. No one gave Ducky a chance until now.

“You got lucky, punk. Y/N loves to save hopeless cases. She took me home too, one night, after someone stabbed me behind her bakery.”

Ducky lifted its head to look up at the tall mobster. It seems as if the little creature was listening to Bucky’s story. “It was only a scratch, but she turned full nurse, and that was when I fell in love with her. Y/N is too good for me and so sweet. So, if you want to stay here, you better not break her heart.”

“Buck? Baby?” You called from downstairs. “Baby, did you fall asleep in the bathtub? Do you want to eat in bed?”

“We are coming, doll,” Bucky immediately answered. You heard his footsteps get closer and hurriedly walked inside the dining room to check on the food.

“In here,” you called for your husband. He allowed you to keep the duckling so you would pay him back with a romantic candlelight dinner. “I got a surprise for you.”

“Uh—me too,” Bucky walked inside the dining room, Ducky in his arms. He put one of the fuzzy socks you bought for him around the duckling’s small body to keep Ducky warm. “I think he doesn’t want to be alone.”

“He?” You pressed one hand to your mouth to stop yourself from giggling. “Oh, the duckling.” Nodding, you pointed at the food. “Maybe we should find a box for him or…”

“No, no. I think he should sit with me. We don’t want him to believe we will abandon him too,” Bucky hastily said. He stepped closer to softly kiss your cheek. “The food looks good, baby doll. Thank you.”

You were stunned by his words. Bucky Barnes wanted to have dinner with a duckling by his side. “No, thank you, Bucky.” You return the kiss, giggling as he purrs your name. “You’re the best.”

Bucky smiled. He loves hearing you think highly of him. Not because it strokes his ego. No. It simply tells him that he’s not the bad guy he believes he is.

“Let’s eat,” you pointed at the food. “We don’t want the food to get cold.”

As you sat down, you watched Bucky claim his favorite seat. The one right next to yours. He carefully placed Ducky on the table. Bucky wrinkled his forehead as the duckling threatened to tip sideways.

“Punk, be careful,” he shrugged his jacket off to make a bed for Ducky out of the expensive fabric. Bucky carefully put the duckling in the middle, humming as Ducky quacked loudly. “Did you drink shampoo or something?” Your husband grinned. “I bet you tried my whiskey.”

You giggled at their interaction. “It seems you already became friends.”

“He’s cool, for a helpless duckling,” Bucky said and dug his fork into the food. “I guess we can keep him. Just to make sure he doesn’t end in a pan.”

“Bucky!” You scolded your husband. “Don’t say things like that in front of him. He’s a baby!”

“Ducky is a ruthless mobster,” Bucky retorted. He glanced at the duckling while chewing on the first bite of the food. “He only needs a chance.”

You smiled softly as Bucky talked to the duckling. “Hmm…we should get you something warm to wear. Maybe shoes too. Your feet will hurt if you waddle around barefoot all day.”

“Ducky got feathers. I don’t think he needs more, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded but glanced at the duckling. “No, I think he needs clothes. We don’t want him to freeze, right?”

“Right,” you giggled as the duckling wiggled on top of Bucky’s jacket. It seemed like Ducky tried to get closer to your husband. It made a fuss, quaking loudly, until Bucky carefully grabbed him and placed him on his lap.

“There you go, Ducky,” Bucky softly cooed to make sure to not scare the tiny duckling. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #mafia au #bucky barnes fluff #mobster!bucky barnes #Bucky & Ducky (2) - Warming up

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artficlly · 5 months ago

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smog & spirits [masterlist]

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, graphic wound description, blood/gore, graphic descriptions of stitching, religious punishment (lashings), angst, angst no comfort, comfort/fluff, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, mention of death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, bucky barnes needs a hug, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

main masterlist

CHAPTERS [4/10]

spirit-raiser pony club the premonition bloodties

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sjsmith56 · 6 months ago

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The Rules

Summary: One shot AU. A mobster’s daughter meets the love of her life but The Rules get in the way of it developing into something more.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes (at age 21, then 25), OFC (named), OFC’s parents (named), Brock Rumlow, John Walker, Loki Laufeyson.

Warnings: some cursing, rude behaviour and reference to mob life. Otherwise fluffy.

Author notes: This is my first attempt at writing a mob-themed story. Bucky is actually a sweetheart.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

The first time Tia fell in love was when she was almost 18. His name was James, 21, and he was one of newest men on her father's staff. The first time Tia fell out of love was two weeks later when she saw James kissing a woman staff member and allowing himself to be pulled into her room at the mansion where they all lived. This is their story.

Almost Eighteen

There were rules growing up in the house of a mob boss, particularly the man known as the Boss of Brooklyn, Jerome Brancato. Rule #1, If the door to his office was open, anyone could come in. If the door was closed, everyone had to stay out. Rule #2, Daughters of the boss were off-limits. Period. No exceptions, unless the boss approved of the relationship which sometimes happened if he was approached correctly and with respect. Rule #3, No meant no. Other rules came up but the big three were supposed to be obeyed by everyone, staff and family.

Tia, seeing the door to her father's office was open approached it, hearing him speaking with another man. The man, who said a lot of "Yes sirs" and "No sirs" seemed to be interviewing for a position with her father's "business," a business he took over from his father, and his father before him. But Tia's father, Jerome, had no sons to leave the business to and daughters weren't supposed to be in that position, at least not in his narrow world view.

She pushed the door open, catching the attention of her father and the man, who rose to his feet and turned towards her. He was tall, with short dark hair, and handsome, with eyes as blue as the sky. Tearing her eyes away from him she looked at her father.

"I'm sorry, but your door was open," she said. "I can come back."

"It was open," agreed her father. "Tia, this is James Barnes. He's here to join the security team. Barnes, this is my youngest daughter, Tia. She just graduated from high school."

He offered his hand, his white dress shirt peaking out from under his dark suit's sleeve.

"Pleasure," he said, in a voice that made a warmth pool deep inside her, his even white teeth showing in the smile he gave her.

Her voice squeaked a little when she answered. "Thank you."

Inside she groaned. What kind of response was that? James grinned a little.

"You're welcome."

"Why don't you give us half an hour to finish up," suggested her father. "I still have to make James aware of the rules."

She smiled at her father but inside she felt her stomach drop. The rules. The fucking rules. Rule #2, she was off-limits. Apologetically, she returned to the door, risking one more look at the man she had just fallen in love with, then closed it and ran upstairs to her room to fall face first into her bed and cry over the rules.

It was a week before she saw James again. James, Jimmy, Jamie, Jim ... all the variations of his name were written out on paper by her, as she signed her name with his. Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes. Jim and Tia Barnes. Then she tore the pages up into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet because if there was one thing her already married older sisters warned her about was to not leave any trace of having a crush on any of their father's "staff," for that could cause all sorts of problems, not just for her but also for him. In their father's line of work, that could result in serious issues for the male staff member but could also see her summarily married off to some business associate, which she didn't want. Not at 17 years, 10 months and 2 weeks of age. Besides, she was going off to college in a few months and the last thing she needed was a chaperone to make sure that Portia Isabel Brancato, nicknamed Tia, behaved herself. So, she kept her face and attitude as neutral as possible, and tried to make it seem like she wasn't looking for James on the estate. Which ended up being easy when she found out quickly that he was sent out to one of the satellite "offices," a warehouse at the docks to learn that aspect of the work.

Resigned to not seeing him again for the foreseeable future, Tia came downstairs the one day to be driven to the salon for her usual mani / pedi appointment, only to see James waiting at the bottom of the stairs. As she came down, he looked up and his smile lit her up inside once more.

"Good morning," he said, cheerily. "I've been instructed to drive you to the Bronze Goddess salon. Are you all ready?"

"I am, thank you," she replied politely, reaching the bottom step and looking up at him. God, how could anyone be so good looking? "Could we stop at a Starbucks for something?"

"I'm yours to command," he replied, then opened the front door for her, while somehow reaching the armoured Audi sedan first.

After making sure her seatbelt was in place, James closed the door and got behind the steering wheel. Tia could see the coiled wire of the earpiece reaching down into his suit collar. He checked in with his supervisor, likely Clint, then smoothly pulled out from the driveway towards the gate to the estate.

"I haven't seen you for a while," said Tia, tentatively.

"No, I've been elsewhere," he replied, pausing at the road and looking both ways before turning left, following the map on his dash display.

Five minutes later he pulled into the line at Starbucks, then looked at Tia in the rearview mirror.

"A white chocolate mocha Frappuccino, please," said Tia, handing him a Starbucks card. "Get something for yourself while you're waiting for me."

"Thank you, I will," he said.

He ordered a Caffé Americano, then offered them the card when they handed him the cups. Turning around he smiled as he gave her the Frappuccino, then the card. Ten minutes later he pulled up at the salon, then got out to open her door.

"I'm going to park then I'll be inside," he said. "Your father was very specific that someone be in view of you at all times."

"Is there trouble?" she asked, as it wasn't a usual thing for a salon visit.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, giving her that lop-sided smile again. "You let me do the worrying."

He came inside, carrying his coffee, walking in like he belonged, and settled himself on an empty chair near the pedicure station, but in a position where he could see the front door. He picked up one of the gossip magazines and flipped slowly through it. Every person who walked into the salon underwent his scrutiny. Everyone who came close to Tia, received even more attention. When she was finished, he waited behind her while she paid, then took her gently by the elbow, leading her to where the car was parked, seemingly staying acutely aware of their environment. On the drive back home, he looked at her several times in the rearview mirror.

"You planning to go to college?" he asked.

"Yeah, I've been accepted to Stanford, UCLA and Arizona State. I wanted to apply to something in the east, but Dad thought it was safer for me to be further away."

She didn't add the qualifier "from his business interests." There was kind of an unwritten rule that daughters were off-limits to action from his competitors but being on the other side of the country made that easier to follow.

"Did you go to college?"

He shook his head. "I joined the army right out of high school. Did one tour and realized I wasn't cut out for it. My dad knew your dad from some construction work he did for him and put in a word for me."

The gate opened and James drove up the circular driveway to the front of the house. Then he opened the door and offered Tia his hand to get out of the back. At that moment, her father came out and called to her. She smiled at James, then hurried to her father. That was the last she saw of him until the next week when she went out to the opera with her father and mother. Clint and Thor drove them. After they entered the house, Tia started up the stairs to the bedrooms. Hearing a sound, she looked up towards the third floor, where the staff bedrooms were and saw James kissing Sharon, her mother's social secretary. Then Sharon pulled him into her bedroom, and the door closed behind them, the sound of the latch coinciding with the feeling of Tia's heart breaking. Her mother, Liliana, who had also seen it, patted her daughter on the back.

"He asked for permission to take you out but your father said no, that you were too young," she offered. "He told James to keep his attention elsewhere. I'm sorry."

Rule #2 and 3, a double whammy. With a sigh, Tia went to her bedroom and cried for an hour. It would be four years before she saw James again.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

Almost Twenty-Two

Rule #4, If your father arranged your marriage the correct response was "Yes sir, thank you sir, for finding me a good husband," even if the last part wasn't always true.

There were several gatherings at the Brancato estate that May, after Tia graduated from college. Several different families who were in the same type of business as her father were invited to attend. More specifically, if the families had an unmarried son, anywhere between the ages of 21 and 40, they were invited. Gradually, over the month, the list of prospects was whittled down, until her parents hosted a dinner with the final four.

Tia was officially on the market, being dangled like a carrot in order to accomplish any one of the following objectives: settle a feud with a rival family, cement a business relationship between two families, provide a son-in-law able to take over the business from her father (because a woman couldn't do the job), satisfy a desire for grandchildren, specifically grandsons, just because that's what was expected of the daughters of a mob boss without a male heir, or a combination of several or all of the above. What Tia wanted in a husband was supposedly considered but its importance was so far down that she knew the decision was likely already made before the dinner even started.

Did it rankle Tia? Yes, but she had grown up as the privileged child of a wealthy and influential man. Now was the time where she had to satisfy the needs of his business empire, more than the needs of her heart. There was always a possibility that whoever won the "lottery" and satisfied her father's demands prior to approving the engagement would be a decent guy, one that she could grow to respect, if not love with all of her heart. Her two sisters had done alright. There was no reason to expect that she would end up with a creep, or someone who took the concept of marriage at its most basic, regarding her as property. Then she met the final prospects.

Prospect #1 (not arranged in order of preference) – Brock Rumlow, an almost 40 something, twice-divorced, son of a boorish man who ran the docks. Swarthy in appearance, with atrocious manners, and an almost permanent sneer. No thank you. Prospect #2 – John Walker, corrupt lawyer. Certainly, he was handsome enough, if you liked that blonde, all-American quarterback look. Smug, arrogant, and totally unaware that he rubbed people the wrong way. Nope. Prospect #3 – Loki Laufeyson. Charming on the surface and although attractive in a European kind of way, Tia wasn't sure that he wasn't bisexual which could mean he wouldn't be demanding on her. Certainly, he seemed to watch attractive men as much as he watched attractive women. A supposed financial wizard, she got the feeling that her father would have to settle a significant amount on him to generate an engagement offer. Prospect #4 – She blinked her eyes twice when she saw James enter with his father, George. He was a prospective husband? Yes, he had been at the other gatherings, but she assumed he was there as security. He was staff and there hadn't been a marriage between a daughter and a staff member since... well, years. Plus, he had broken her heart when she was 17 by going to bed with Sharon, the social secretary. She left the job while Tia was in college, her replacement, an older woman who wore sensible shoes.

Dinner was called and Tia's father offered her his arm, escorting her to the table, where she sat to his left, while her mother sat to his right. The prospects fathers were placed next, two on each side of the table, then their sons furthest away so that Jerome Brancato could observe them from a distance and see how they responded being grouped together. At the foot of the table was her grandmother, the family matriarch, Maria Brancato. She would be assessing the prospects up close, engaging them directly.

Right away the fathers, except for George Barnes, talked over each other about their sons, extolling their strengths, although only one of them said anything about how their progeny would be good for Tia. That was George, when he did speak, who brought up the fact that James had several sisters and had always looked upon himself as their unofficial bodyguard, even though he was younger than them.

"No one even stepped up to the door to take one of my daughters out unless Bucky (he had a nickname?) approved of them first," said George. "He kept the boys in line and made sure they were respectful of the girls and their mother; God rest her soul."

Tia's mother smiled. "Winnie was a good woman. She would be proud of the man James became."

Jerome gave Liliana a look, that saw her smile at her daughter, then keep eating.

"Well, Brock would have done the same," said his father. "Anyone who stepped out of line would see the business end of his fist. He doesn't put up with any opposition from anyone."

That raised her father's eyebrows a little as he rarely used physical force against any of his men, and often welcomed an opposing view if it was presented properly, with respect. Brock's father just kept rambling on about how no one intimidated his son. Then John Walker, Sr. cleared his throat and told a story of how his son completed a complex business deal by finding dirt on one of the principals. After setting up a honey pot situation, he managed to present the man with compromising pictures in order to sway him to their terms.

"Made his client an extra $10 million." He chewed with his mouth open. "That alone was enough for his boss to offer him a partnership in the law firm. Jumped right over several others who had been there longer. Johnny will do what is needed to increase profits and productivity."

Her father said nothing, but Tia could tell he didn't like hearing the other man brag about it. Yes, there were times when he employed similar tactics in dealing with certain people, but he kept his involvement in it to a minimum, as it was tempting fate to have the acts traceable back to him. That was just asking for trouble and a careful leader kept things looking legal.

At that moment, Tia noticed her mother looking down at the other end of the table, where her grandmother was. There was a look between the two women that seemed to be sending an invisible message between them. She just wished she knew what that look meant.

"Well, Loki has certainly done his share of cooking the books to improve profits and productivity," said Mr. Odinson, his stepfather. "The magic he can perform on the balance sheet would make your head swim. Every investigation against him has turned up nothing that can be pinned on him. Takes a genius to do that."

"Hmmm," was all her father said to that.

"One of these days his luck will run out," she thought, wondering if her father was thinking the same thing.

The rest of the meal progressed in a similar manner until dessert was served. Then Jerome finished his cake and coffee before he stood up, prompting the fathers then their sons to do the same.

"Gentlemen, let's go for brandy and cigars out by the pool, while my mother, wife and daughter confer," he stated.

All of them pulled away, then James offered his hand to Tia's grandmother.

"I have enjoyed our talk this evening, Mrs. Brancato," he said, warmly. "You've given me much to think about."

She smiled at him, then looked at her daughter, knowingly. George Barnes saw the look then faced Liliana, offering his hand to her.

"My compliments to your cook. That was a very enjoyable meal."

The three of them were left alone as the men filed out, and the two older women both looked at Tia.

"If it was us choosing, it would be James," said her mother, "but your father has other considerations, and his word is binding. You will be able to go on a date with each of them in turn then provide your opinion to your father but I'm guessing he already made his mind up."

An hour later the evening was over, and they said good night to everyone. James left with his father, being assigned to work in the warehouses that week. He was staying at his parent's house during that time.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

The Dates

Rule #5, No sex on the first date. Once an engagement was announced the couple could go at it but until that moment, any prospective husband of the boss's daughter who presumed to touch her in an intimate manner would deserve what happened to him later.

Two days later Loki Laufeyson arrived to take Tia to dinner. He pulled up driving a Maserati, wearing an expensive silk suit. He was polite, solicitous, and the perfect gentleman. The restaurant was perfect also, a two-star Michelin restaurant, whose portions were so precious that Tia almost asked if they could stop at a drive thru for some burgers. During the meal an older blond man stopped by the table to say hello, looking at Tia nervously.

"Mobius, this is Tia," said Loki. "She's ... um ... my date."

"Oh." The other man smiled slightly. "Pleasure to meet you." He looked back at Loki. "I missed you at the club on Friday night."

"Yes, there was a dinner party at Tia's parent's house. I was obligated to be there."

Both men looked very uncomfortable, so Tia did something kind to both of them and excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Loki stood up as she left. When she looked back, she could see both men speaking in whispers to each other and sighed. Definitely bisexual with a preference for men. Scratch Loki, which was too bad because he seemed quite nice. In fact, later, after she returned to the table, he announced that he would be withdrawing his courtship of her but wished her the best. They parted with a handshake.

Date #2 happened two days later when John Walker picked her up, driving a Mercedes SUV. His suit, also silk, didn't look as good on him as Loki's did. She attributed it to the fact that Walker was not used to working in a jacket. It always seemed to ride up and crowd his neck. They went to a restaurant, a steak house type, where he ordered a larger cut for him with all the trimmings and for her, a small cut, with a salad and minimal dressing.

"I'm sure you're always watching your weight," he said, eyeing her body. "You seem to keep quite trim, and I wouldn't want you to think I don't support that."

As she guessed, he played football in college, at the quarterback position, and proceeded to regale her with his exploits on the field. He didn't ask one question about her. When he kissed her goodnight, he attempted to give her tongue, but she successfully pulled away, waggling her finger at him, as if he should know better. Since a servant was already on the step, he took it with a smile, but she saw a darkness in his eyes that bothered her.

Date #3 was with James. He picked her up in a 1994 Mustang GT, wearing a sports coat over an open necked blue shirt and jeans. Somehow, he had told her mother his plans, so Tia also wore jeans and brought a sweater. They talked as he drove to Coney Island.

"This is your car?" she asked.

"Yup, restored her myself," he said. "Found her up on some blocks in an abandoned lot. No tires, stripped of parts but the body was good, and it kept me out of trouble when I was in high school and after the army. It was time spent with my dad. I've been offered good money for her, but I like driving her. Sorry, to talk about her as if she's real but I know every inch of her."

"I like her, too," smiled Tia. "Does she have a name?"

"Yes, but I can't tell you." He blushed. "It would kind of be inappropriate for our first date."

They drove a bit further then Tia looked at him again.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead, I have no secrets," he answered.

"My mother told me when I was 17 that you asked for permission to take me out, but my father said no." She looked out her window. "I saw you a week later kissing Sharon, then going into her bedroom."

He nodded his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "Yeah. Your father told me that you were too young and to set my sights lower. She flirted with me, and we did kiss. I didn't stay. She wanted more from me that night than I was prepared to give. I'm no saint and I have been with several women since then, but nothing serious." He took a deep breath. "I always liked you more. It's why I asked to be considered as a suitor. This time, your father agreed to let me have a chance."

"Oh." Tia swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. "What are your chances?"

He smiled a little sadly. "Not as good as the other three," he admitted. "My father is a construction foreman who did some work for your father, and they got along well, considering each other a friend. But he's not well off like the other fathers, nor is he in any position of influence. My only assets are my loyalty to your father, I'm a hard worker and like to think I do the job without letting my emotions get the better of me. Most of all, I pledged to be faithful to you always and to treat you with kindness and respect. I have sisters and expected the same from the men they all married."

Tia watched the beams of the streetlights come through the windows alternating between illuminating his face and leaving it in darkness. His strong facial features had matured in the few years since she went away to college, as had his physique. There was also a depth to him that the others didn't have. The fact that he didn't talk much about himself impressed her. This was a man looking for a serious relationship, not a business deal sealed with the acquisition of a wife.

The date was fun as they went on the rides, ate hot dogs and drank beer. He won her a large stuffed giraffe at the shooting gallery, christening it together as Walter. When they walked back to where the car was parked and deposited Walter in the back seat, James looked at her in the dimly lit area. Gently, he took one of her hands in his, then raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckles then turning it to kiss her wrist.

"I expect someone to be watching when I drop you off so if you don't mind a kiss here."

He didn't finish what he was saying as Tia raised herself up to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He enclosed her in his arms, and she felt the firmness of his body pressed against hers. His soft lips were perfect, applying just the right amount of pressure against hers, then she opened hers to allow their tongues to mingle. It was every bit as good as she imagined when she was 17, going on 18. When they finally pulled apart, he looked at her in a way that no man had ever looked at her before.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to kiss you," he murmured, his eyes taking in every part of her face. "You don't remember the first time we saw each other, do you?"

"I thought it was in my dad's office."

He shook his head, smiling. "My dad built your pool house. I was 16 and worked as a helper on the site. You were still a girl, just turned 13 but I thought that you would be beautiful when you grew up a little. I knew then that I didn't really want to look at anyone else. Sounds a little creepy but I was willing to wait until we were both ready."

"It's not creepy," said Tia. "We were both kids. I'm glad you waited." She looked down for a moment. "Are you sure this is the life you want? I know what my father is and the things that you've likely already done for him."

"I went into a combat zone when I was 18 so I have killed before," he said. "So far, your dad has kept me out of that part of it. I think he's looking to scale back that side of his business, be more legitimate. If it means that you and I can be together, it will be worth it."

"Okay. One more question. Your nickname is Bucky?"

He laughed, giving her that lop-sided smile. "Yeah, it's from my middle name, Buchanan. That was my mother's surname." He shrugged. "James sounds more grownup and mature. You can call me anything you want."

"Just the best date I've ever had," she smiled back.

They kissed again, then James opened the passenger door for her and drove her back to the estate. Before they got out, he gave her his cell phone number, entered it as Jane so her father wouldn't know it was his, then told her to call him anytime if she needed help. In front of the mansion, he was aware they were being watched so he gave Tia a respectful hug, handed Walter to her, then waited as she entered the house, before getting back into his car and driving to his father's house. Although he hoped it would be enough for her father to choose him, he knew his chances weren't good.

The final date, with Brock Rumlow, was everything that Tia feared. He showed up in a heavily customized truck that Tia needed a ladder to enter. Although dressed in a suit he didn't wear a tie until forced to at the restaurant he took her to, after verbally haranguing the maître d’ for the indignity of his money not being good enough for the place. His table manners were as atrocious as his regular manners, talking while chewing, burping at the table, and referring to his bathroom habits in crude terms. Excusing herself to the ladies' room, Tia texted James.

Tia: Help! I'm stuck with a Cro-Magnon man who's unbearable.

Jane: Brock? Yeah, he's a bit full of himself, isn't he? Do you need rescuing?

Tia: Possibly. I'll keep you posted.

She returned to the table where Brock was sprawled in his chair. Tia's plate was gone as was his.

"Good, you're back," he said. "I've paid the bill. Let's go to a club."

"I wasn't finished." He looked up at her surprised.

"Oh, I assumed you went to the bathroom to uh ... you know, bring it all up. That's what you chicks do to keep slim, right? My exes did that all the time."

She would have answered but he stood up and headed for the door, turning around to wait impatiently for her. With a sigh, she joined him, waiting as he tossed the valet his token. The truck appeared and he didn't help her in, although the valet did, giving her a sympathetic eye roll. The club, with a pounding bass that bled out onto the street was full of friends of his, whose method of communication seemed to be either a jut of their chin or a pound hug. He requested bottle service in the VIP area, then flopped down on the couch, pulling her down with him, and draping his arm over her shoulder. Sitting there like the king of his own kingdom, Tia had a vision of her life with Brock Rumlow and decided to end the date there. Of course, he didn't want to and kept trying to keep her sitting on the couch with him. Finally, she convinced him that she needed to throw up and he let her go. Exiting out of an emergency door she went to the nearest coffee shop that was open and called James, who told her to stay there and wait for him. He arrived twenty minutes later, entering the coffee shop with a worried look on his face. As they hugged, he stroked her hair and vowed that no matter what, Brock Rumlow wouldn't do this to Tia ever again.

At the mansion, when he pulled up, Brock was there, waiting angrily for Tia, as was her father and mother. He went to open the door for Tia, then growled when he found it locked. James came out of the driver's side door and placed himself in front of Brock, staring at him in a way that showed he had absolutely no fear of him.

"Move," said the jilted date.

"No, move yourself," replied James. "She called me to get her out of a bad date and I obliged. Now, I'm going to finish the job and make sure she gets inside the house safely."

"Are you saying I abused her?"

"I'm saying you wouldn't let her leave until she thought she was going to be sick. She told me you acted like a pig the entire time."

"She's lying. The little bitch is lying."

Jerome pulled Brock away at that moment. "What did you call my daughter?"

Liliana slapped Brock in the face. "How dare you. Jerome, if you even consider him suitable for Tia, I'll leave you. I swear, I will divorce your ass and take everything you own. It's all in my name anyway."

"No one's divorcing anyone," said Jerome, then he looked at Brock. "You have 10 seconds to get your ass in your monstrosity of a truck and get the hell off our property. You tell your father that if he even tries to retaliate it will be war between us. Now get."

Rule #6, Even a mob boss with only daughters does not take kindly to his daughters being referred to as bitches. Especially by a twice-divorced asshole like Brock Rumlow.

〰️〰️〰️

The Wedding, six months later

Rule #7, When marrying into the mob, let her family have their way. It's easier and lulls them into thinking you'll be a pushover.

This was it. Her father made the decision and now Tia had to live with it. She looked at herself in the mirror as her mother fastened the veil to her head. A knock on the door was opened by her oldest sister, acting as matron of honour. Her father walked in; his bow tie undone.

"Lil, can you fix this?" he asked. Then he stopped, seeing Tia's reflection in the mirror. "All my girls looked so beautiful on their wedding day."

"Men always have trouble with a bow tie," she smiled, turning towards him. "Come to the window so I have better light."

While her mother did her father's tie, Tia's phone, deep inside the pocket of her wedding dress (that she insisted on having) vibrated and she went to the bathroom to answer it, telling everyone she needed some water.

Jane: You sure you're going to do this?

Tia: Yes, it's what my dad wants. I'm a good mob daughter, you know.

Jane: Yeah, now you'll be a good mob wife.

Tia: If you mean pregnant on the wedding night, chances are good.

Jane: LOL. I hope you'll be happy.

Tia: Thanks to you, I know I will be. You'll be there, right?

Jane: Wouldn't miss it. I'll always have your back.

She smiled at that and put the phone away, then poured herself some water. When she came out, her dad's tie was perfect, and her mother was standing there with the bouquet of flowers. Grandma Maria beamed at her. The wedding planner fussed over her while the photographer took some photos of them all, including her six bridesmaids, well matrons as most of them were married. On the limousine over she thought of all her worries about the man her father would finally approve of. It was easier after Loki willingly took himself out of contention, then Brock showed himself to be a total asshole in front of her parents. She could live with the man who was chosen and make it work.

At the church, there were all sorts of photographers, some of them likely FBI plants as her father was still a person of interest, as were many of the guests. But he did promise Tia that he intended to bow out of that type of work and build up the legitimate areas, without even using laundered money. After all, he wanted his youngest daughter to be happy.

The walk up the steps of the church was interrupted by calls of the photographers to pose but she only slowed down, anxious to get this part of her life over with and begin her life as a wife, then mother. At the top of the stone steps, she looked back towards the street and saw James' Mustang, smiling that it was there. She stepped inside and the wedding planner took over, positioning the flower girls (a niece from each side), then the bridesmaids / matrons, a combination of one girlfriend, her sisters and his sisters, sending them down the aisle. One of her brothers-in-law escorted her mother to her pew. She had wanted them both to walk her down the aisle, but her father put his foot down; traditionally only the father could give the bride away. Then everyone stood up and she knew her moment had come.

Her groom came out from the vestry, but she couldn't see him over the number of people who blocked her view. Then Tia took her father's arm and began the walk towards the altar. It wasn't until she was three quarters of the way down that she finally saw James, in his black tuxedo, white shirt, and black tie, with a boutonnière in his lapel. He gazed at her with glassy eyes, then offered his hand to her when she was close. Her father kissed her cheek, then kissed James' before lightly slapping him on the cheek to get his attention.

"You do right by her," he murmured.

"Yes sir, that's my plan."

Finally, it was just them, in front of the priest, and he began the service asking if there was anyone who objected to this couple marrying. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence, then he smiled at them and began the service.

Rule #8, No excessive tongue in a Catholic wedding ceremony. It's not classy and even though the people in the church for a mob wedding might be considered criminals they aren't animals.

The kiss before they walked down the aisle as husband and wife was just as good as the kiss at Coney Island. They could both hear the sighs of delight from the women who were present thrilled at the absolutely perfect husband that Tia Brancato, now Tia Barnes had. When they exited the church, having rice thrown at them, because that was traditional, James opened the front door of his 1994 Mustang GT and tucked Tia's dress into the front seat around her legs. Then he went around to the driver's side, got in, and started it up, revving it a few times before he peeled away, with the sounds of tin cans rattling behind him. On the back window the Just Married that was drawn on with washable paint soon faded away from view. The limousine driver opened the door for the parents and the bridal party. They would meet James and Tia at Prospect Park for the photos.

In the Mustang, Tia looked at her handsome husband, James.

"You came," she said. "You brought Portia." She gestured to the car.

"I promised," he replied. "Said I would always have your back." He drove for another minute. "Did you mean it, about getting pregnant?"

"I'm off the pill and I might be ovulating," she said. "If it happens, it happens. I'll be happy either way."

"Are you okay that we're waiting until tonight?"

He glanced at her. It was something he suggested once her father announced that James could propose to Tia.

"If it's anything like our first kiss I won't be disappointed." She placed her hand on his. "Besides, there's always Rules #9 and 10." He laughed, having been briefed on the other rules already, especially the ones that were her rules. "Rule #9, No matter what, we'll make it work."

"And Rule #10?"

"Whatever will be will be. You knew when you first saw me when I was a kid that you liked me. I knew when I first saw you in my dad's office that I wanted you. It was meant to be."

"I love the Rules." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckle. "I love you."

That evening, their first dance was to Que Sera Sera, otherwise known as Whatever Will Be, Will Be. It always was Tia's favourite rule.

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One Shots Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #mobster #mob daughter

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world-of-aus · 1 year ago

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Never Been The Type To

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Mobster!Reader

Warnings: Cliff Hanger????

Author's Note: An accompanied piece to Tell Me I've Been Lied Too! I'm not sure where I will be taking these pieces but if y'all are interested I'll try and see where I can take this. Hope you all enjoy this follow up! Happy Readings Buns.

The shipment was torn into, bullet casings strewn amongst the wooden framing that adorned the floor of his warehouse. The longer he looks at the damaged goods the harder his jaw clenches, teeth grinding, as he looks over what will set him back months to replace. “Security’s been taken care of,” Steve calls from behind him flanking his side as he joins his boss, eyes assessing the scene.

“Cameras catch anything?”

Steve’s silence is enough to have Bucky sending his foot into the already damaged crates, the wood splintering further under his foot as the fire burns within him, rage all consuming. “What the fuck am I paying for then!” the brunette all but growls as he rounds on his best friend getting in his space. “No one,” he points to the doors behind Steve, “No one should have been able to get to these crates without a bullet between their eyes, do you know how far back this sets us? Do you know how much money I've lost to this? Give me something Rogers, something other than Security's been taken care of!”

Steves hard gaze is undeterred, “whoever did this knew what they were doing, they’re not some chump hired off the streets, it could have been a rat.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he glares his concierge down, “you telling me that you let a rat fly under your radar unnoticed,” he growls poking Steve in the chest, “don’t think Wilson would let something like that happen if he had your rank.” Steves features mirror his, “not what I'm saying,” the blonde grits teeth bared, “but this person knew what they were doing Barnes, they took out the cameras, took out our men and our cargo in a matter of minutes, whoever this is has it out for you.”

The brunette turns away from his friend, cold eyes going back to the problem at hand, “I took care of every last person who would even think of pulling some shit like this when I went after those who wronged my father.” Steve doesn’t have to say your name, for Bucky to know what he’s thinking, “she doesn’t have the drive to pull something like this,” Bucky lies turning away from his friend. “We can’t scratch her from the list,” Steve murmurs, “you lied to her, betrayed her trust, you murdered her father in front of her!”

Bucky’s on Steve in an instant his hands curled around the lapels of his collar, “I did what I had to do,” he growls, “she wasn’t made for this life Steve, couldn’t even see the corrupt shit her old man was doing behind her back, I had to do it! Her father was ready to sell her soul for the next big thing!”

“So you to lie to her, couldn’t be the bigger man and tell her what was going on? Had to be just like daddy?” Steve knows he deserves the fist to the face, but he also knows his boss needs to hear it, Steve had never agreed to what Bucky felt he needed to do you that night. Couldn’t stand at his best friends, stand at his bosses' side, the night he murdered your father. Steve knew your father deserved it with what he had planned for you, but he couldn’t agree with how Bucky went about it. “Feel better big man,” Steve spits, blood splattering the concrete, Bucky pushes him away, “Go home Rogers, you’re done here.”

“You think letting yourself into her home is going to make matters any better for you,” Steve calls after Bucky. “I’m getting answers Rogers, answers you all have failed to give me, go home to Peggy, you’re done.”

Your back was to the wooden oak doors of your office, cooled glass in hand as you look out the French windows of your home. It was dark out, your security having gone home for the night after inspection of your property, your father wouldn’t have agreed to the new change implemented, but they had families; loved ones who waited up for them, waited for their safe arrival home.

You swirl the cube of ice in your cup, bringing it to your lips as you swallow down the last of the amber liquid. You pretend not to hear the soft creak of your office door, the cautious steps into your office. You wait, “you have a death wish?” You chuckle placing the empty glass down onto your desk before you’re turning to face the man you once thought was the one.

You wondered if the ache in your chest would ever wane.

“If it’s my time, it’s my time,” you answer voice void of any emotion, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

In the dim of the office you catch the tick of his jaw, he’s annoyed, good. “Your dad’s gone and you just let your guard down? Anyone could just walk in and” he points his fingers at you in the representation of a gun going off right between your eyes. The laugh you let out is cold, “you’re the reason he’s gone James. Is that why you’re here asking stupid questions? You come to end my life the way you ended my fathers? Shame, was expecting you sooner than this, you’re slacking.”

The tick is more prominent, you’re getting under his skin, “I think you and I both know why I'm here.” You raise a brow, “no actually I don’t, care to let me in or are you going to leave me in the dark like you always did.” “Cut the shit y/l/n the cargo,” he grits, “you’re the only one who could have pulled an operation like that, you knew -”

You cut him off with a loud laugh, “you’re here because someone fucked with your shit and you think it was me?” “My men are dead because of you,” he growls. Your lips are set in a thin line as you stare the brunette down, “No your men are dead because of you. Not everyone has a vendetta to get those who wrong them Barnes, and my condolences to your men’s family but whoever fucked with your shit it wasn’t me. The day my father died was the day I vowed to myself never to be seen with the likes of you again.”

“If it wasn’t you then who was it? I made sure to take care of every last person who wronged my father, you’re the only one who could have -”

“Get out,” you grit, “I said get the hell out of my home Barnes!” you yell when he doesn’t move. “I want nothing to do with you, I don’t want to know anything about you, I hate you, I hate what you’ve done to me, who you’ve made me. I have lost so much because of you, I won’t let you take anymore.”

His lips part but you hold a finger up, head casted down as you will the knot in your throat away, “Get out. Please.”

The tick returns, but he doesn’t go against your word as he turns on his heel. It takes a lot of you not to crumble, your features stoned as you heave in shaky breaths. You turn to the desk picking up your burner unlocking the device as you pull up your messages. Opening the only message that sits there you draft up a reply, a file going attached with your warning.

‘This is all I know. Don’t let your guard down, he’s coming for all of you.’

With notification that your message had been received you're sending the device crashing into the floor, your heel cracking straight through the screen glass.

#mobster!bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #mobster!bucky x reader

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months ago

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Yes Mama Chapter 3

Summary: Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world. But he’s not the boss. Just the face of the Family.

Warnings: violence, subtle mention of drugs, murder, language, possessiveness, smut, mild choking, public sex

Kids: oldest (from Steve) Frankie 12, second (from Tony) Antonia 10, third (from T’Challa) Uuka 8, fourth (from Bucky) Beau 6, fifth (from Bucky) Lottie 5, sixth (from Bucky) Valentina 3

Previous chapter Next chapter

Something was wrong. Shipments were going missing. Weapons disappearing. And any operations or meetings they had planned kept being interrupted by a police raid or presence. Although Y/N had most of the state and local police force under her thumb, there were still a few gung ho prosecutors and officers who were trying to do the right thing that kept making life harder for them. Y/N’s people had clocked that they were being followed, a small detail of undercover cops around every corner. Bucky was investigating as best as he could, waiting for whoever the rat was to screw up and reveal themselves.

They started giving out instructions that were different from person to person in Y/N’s inner circle. All the lower level “employees” wouldn’t know some of the in depth things that had happened, so Bucky suggested setting up traps. They were zeroing in on who it was day by day, until their last two people were in position. They were followed by Y/N’s best spies, and finally, after what felt like months of confusion, distrust and surveillance, they had him.

“No,” Y/N shook her head as Bucky relayed the news. Her eyes watered and her brow furrowed deeply as she frowned. “No, not…not Johnny,” she breathed, her voice wobbling as her emotions overcame her.

Bucky nodded sadly. He personally was never a big fan of John Walker. John was always vying for a special relationship with Y/N like Bucky had, but he had always been a good part of the Family. And yet here he was, working as an informant to the FBI, leaking information about Y/N and the Family to them. She stumbled back onto their bed and Bucky quickly stepped forward, kneeling in front of her as she hung her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he said, his hands gripping her wrists and pulling her hands away from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where is he?” she asked, a venom leaking into her voice that always scared him. It was rare to hear it, but when he did, it meant death was coming.

“Downstairs,” Bucky answered, his eyes minutely widening.

“The kids?”

“At the second house with the nannies.”

“Good,” she said, her eyes closing as she breathed evenly. Her face twisted to a stony expression. “Let’s go.”

Bucky nodded and stood quickly with her as she got up and walked out of their room. He followed her to the house elevator that led into the basement, then they walked through a secret door that led to a lower basement to the same room he’d killed other rats in. Her inner circle were all there, each of them having taken a turn in beating John until he was bloody, swollen and bruised. He looked up at Y/N and Bucky when they walked in and tugged against the restraints that tied him to the wall. “Mama! Mama please! I’m sorry!”

Y/N moved forward at lightning speed and let out a guttural scream as she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. John cried out in pain as his head whipped to the side. “You fucker!” she spat, her voice low and gravelly. “You son of a bitch. All I do is care about you, take care of you, and those you love, and this is how you repay me?!” She slapped him with the opposite hand, making his head whip to the other side. “Why? Huh? Why would you do this to me? Making me have to spy on people I love and care about,” she gestured to everyone else in the room, “making me question my trust in others, in their loyalty. Putting others at risk. After all I’ve done for you. The chances I’ve given, the opportunities, the home, the family, all of it! WHY?!”

“Because of Lemar!” he screamed back.

Bucky shut his eyes and shook his head. Lemar was John’s best friend, and John had vouched for him to work for Y/N. At first Lemar had been a great addition to the Family, but his old army, do-gooder mentality came back to haunt his conscience, and he’d tried stopping Y/N’s operations as she was making a huge merger with an up and coming organization, nearly jeopardizing everything. Bucky had never seen her so livid, and she had given Lemar the full measure of her wrath that day, then killed him. She didn’t kill often, but when she did it was personal.

Y/N’s head tilted sharply as she stared at John. “Lemar,” she scoffed. “You know how this works Johnny, and he was well aware of the consequences of his actions. As are you,” she stepped forward and leaned down in front of him, then gripped his face tightly and made him look at her. John winced at the look she gave him.

“I know, Mama. But you didn’t have to kill him like that. He didn’t deserve that.”

“He deserved every…fucking…bit of it,” Y/N snarled. She looked him over, then shook her head as her emotions got the better of her and her eyes filled with tears again, her lips trembling. “Now I gotta kill you, you bastard. How am I supposed to look your parents in the face, knowing their son was a traitor and I had to kill him?”

John’s eyes widened and he inhaled shakily. “Please, Mama.”

“They won’t suffer for your sins,” Y/N said quietly, and she sniffled as her tears fell. “I always take care of mine. But you,” she paused, her grip tightening on his face and her voice wobbling, “are not my Family.” John was crying as he watched her, and minutely nodded his head in sad understanding. Y/N shoved his face away and stood up straight. She took a step back and then held out her hand towards Bucky. He pulled out her gun from his other side holster opposite his, loaded it with one bullet, and handed it to her. Y/N took hold of it, unlocked the safety and pointed it at John’s head. “Last words,” she demanded.

John shook his head. “I’m sorry Mama, I love you.”

Y/N’s face twisted in pain, her tears flowing even heavier. “No, you don’t,” she whispered, then shot him. John’s body crumpled strangely to the floor. There was silence as Y/N’s arm dropped and she stared at his dead body. She silently handed the gun back to Bucky, who quickly holstered it, watching her carefully. Then she leaned forward, her hands on her knees as she cried heavily, deep, body-wracking sobs and wails flying from her mouth. Bucky walked up to her to try and hold her but she pushed him away. She sharply turned to the people in the room, the people who she loved and trusted the most. “Do you love me?” she pointed at Wanda, one of her long time friends from her childhood.

“Yes, Mama,” Wanda immediately answered, her own tears falling at Y/N’s pain.

“Do you love me?” she demanded, pointing at Wanda’s brother Pietro.

“Yes, Mama,” he nodded. “You and Wanda are my family.”

Everyone else in the room all agreed, nodding and vocally affirming their love and support for her and the Family. Y/N kept crying as she looked at each of them. “You’re with me?” she asked the room.

“Yes, Mama,” they all said in unison.

She turned and looked at Bucky. “Till the end of the line,” he said quietly.

Y/N closed her eyes and hung her head. “You all know I love you, right?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Y/N inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Clean this up…please.” She started for the door but was interrupted by each person walking up and hugging her tightly. Once they’d all had a turn they quickly started cleaning. Y/N walked toward the door with Bucky right on her heels. She made it back to their room, and the second Bucky closed the door behind himself she cried loudly again, falling to her knees on the floor. He quickly joined her on the floor, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in his lap. He stroked her hair, wiping her tears as he whispered reassuring words in her ear.

Y/N’s hands were gripping his shirt tightly, her tears soaking his collar. She sniffled and wiped her face before pulling away to look at him. “Why does this keep happening?” she whispered.

“He was a traitor, Y/N. A rat is a rat. None of this is your fault,” Bucky said, cupping her cheeks and kissing under her eyes.

“Don’t I love my Family?” she asked, looking at him imploringly. “Don’t I take care of what’s mine? Why is it never enough?” She shook her head and shut her eyes tight. “I know I love hard. I wear my heart on my sleeve, which is ridiculous in this line of work. But isn’t it better to be loved than feared?”

Bucky shook his head. “You are loved and feared, Mama. You can have both, be both. You’re too big to only be one or the other. You are loved because you are so feared, and you are feared because you’re so loved. Like the perfect storm. Do you hear me?” he asked, shaking her face in his hands to make her look at him. “You’re my perfect storm. Don’t let the idiocy of a few let you think any less of yourself,” he said, kissing all over her face.

Y/N sighed as he held her and loved on her. “Are you afraid of me?” she asked.

Bucky huffed a silent laugh against her cheek. “Sometimes,” he smiled.

Y/N smiled at him. “Thank you, babydoll. I’m sorry I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“Don’t ever apologize for being a fucking human being,” Bucky said, kissing her lips quickly.

Y/N sniffed and wiped her face, giving him a sheepish smile. “You shouldn’t have to kiss me when I’m all gross and snotty. Let me clean up–”

Bucky kissed her deeply. “I’ll kiss you any and every way I can,” he said, kissing the lines of tears that still fell from the sides of her eyes. “Though if you wanna clean up, I can help with that,” he smirked suggestively.

Y/N’s smirk came back, her eyebrow arching at him. “Oh yeah?” she asked quietly.

Bucky nodded. “Let me take care of you, Mama.”

Y/N sighed, her smirk turning into an adoring smile. “Okay, babydoll.”

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 3 #mobster!bucky barnes #mob boss

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