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artficlly · 5 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.

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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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world-of-aus · 8 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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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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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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sebastianstansqueen · 9 months ago

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Lost in The Shadows Fifteen

A/N: This one is short, sorry, but two parts close together, hope you like it, If you want to be Tagged, either send an ask or comment on this or click on Taglist open.

Wordcount: 945

Warnings: Angst, maybe Guns, then obviously Brock, kid's, , If forgot anything let me know please!

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Taglist open//

Tags:@cherryblossomsky- @babylooneytoonz- @wonderlandfandomkingdom - @miraclesoflove - @amelia-song-pond- @leyannrae- @avengerlex- @pineprincess - @nik2write - @dorothea-hwldr - @rosie-posie08 - @scxrletrecsmarvel - @sebsgirl71479- @missvelvetsstuff- @hadesownhell - @casa-boiardi- @winterslove1917- @hallecarey1- @ash-craze - @barnesxstan - @unaxv - @bethexo07 - @itsmytimetoodream - @sebastians-love -@stoneyggirl2 - @ordelixx - @arunabrak - cjand10

Four Years Later

The war between Y/n and Brock had evaluated until, the two of them were the last standing, The Carter, and Rumlow names were the last that stood for the mob families. Brock began getting avantages, on killing each family head one by one. Most who had been friends with Y/n however and who still wanted to live decided to just hand it all to her and that was the same thing as what Thomas had to do for himself and his own family.

She stared at her computer, flicking through some security footage by the doc as to watch out for Brock's shipment. The large office door began to open with a small whine, her eyes flicked up wards to see who was entering. A mop of brown hair walked through the office, making its way behind the desk, and crawled on to Y/n’s lap. “Hey, baby.” Y/n combed through her daughter's hair with her fingers lightly, her voice filled with exhaustion. “Where's your brother?”

“Probably, sleep.” She mumbled out, Y/n hummed listening but still flicking through more cameras. “Whats you doing?”

“Working baby, and then mama is going to sleep, which you should already be.” Y/n looked at her knowingly.

“Can’ts sleep.” She shakes her head.

Y/n sighed. “Give mama a bit, and then we'll get hot chocolate, I promise Autumn.” The little girl nodded contently.

Y/n stayed there with the little girl who had slowly fallen to sleep for hours. Nothing came up on the Camera, eventually she called off her guys. Eventually lightly waking up Autumn. “Hey sweetheart, you want hot chocolate now?” Though still tired she perked up, getting off Y/n’s lap and leading the way down to the kitchen.

Aiden soon joined his mom and sister in the large kitchen, with a grumpy look on his face, his nose screwed up, he was Bucky’s perfect mini-me. “What got your face all screwed up?” Y/n laughed lightly.

“Mama and Autumn, too loud.” He complained.

“I’m sorry little man, but mama, and Autumn kinda pulled an all nighter, and are about to go back to bed with some hot chocolate, you want some?” Aiden nodded along quickly. “And then Mr. Grumpy, we'll all go to bed for whatever is left of the night.”

After taking both of her four year olds up stairs with her to her grand room, and finally being able to relax, her eyes shut.

Four Years Earlier

Soon after getting back, Y/n called Natasha and Wanda for support through the rest of her Pregnancy, and soon after getting back she was again forced to step out as head and put on bed rest, because she found out she was having twins.

When Y/n, Natasha and Wanda were having a movie night, watching the Princess Diaries was the Choice, soon after having Natasha and Wanda come to help, Y/n found out that Andy put them up to a mission of making her feel at least a little bit better after Bucky. So she tried to go along with it at least a little. While watching the movie just sitting in bed, her water broke. “Uh guy’s.”

_______

Y/n woke up to nothing. Autumn and Aiden weren't there, her brows furrowed. “Autumn Aiden?” She called out once she got to the staircase when she got no reply, that’s when she panicked, repeatedly calling their names and looking through every room in the house, until Natasha stopped her down a hallway. “Do you have to be so fast in this big of a house?”

“First off it's a compound, and next is do you know where Autumn and Aiden are?” She asked as she tried not to panic.

Natasha nodded, then led her to the kitchen. “Maybe don’t freak out so bad next time?” She offered.

“Not funny.” Y/n shook her head.

“I wasn’t laughing.” Natasha shook her head. “We got something.” Natasha went from Bartender to one of Y/n’s best assassins.

“What?” She asked.

“I’ll show you after breakfast.” Natasha said before opening the door to the kitchen, where Wanda was making Pancakes, and the kits sat at the island.

“Late shift?” Wanda smiles.

“Late everything, and apparently my closest friends know more than me?” Y/n arched a brow as she leaned against the counter.

Natasha rolled her eyes slightly in seriousness but there was more of a light hatredness behind it than anything. “Can’t ever be patient can you Y/n? Even when the kids are around?”

Y/n gave Natasha a stern look. “If my kids will do an overnight with me I can be impatient around them.”

Natasha sighed, walking over to the small kitchen table in the corner by a window looking into the back yard, grabbing something out of her purse, before walking over and placing the folder on the counter in front of Y/n, who opened it to skim the photos inside. “It seems that Brock has his own new assassin, he’s been on my radar for the last three years.”

Y/n looked at Natasha with a glint of something resembling anger or betrayal. “Why didn’t I know about this?” She tilted her head.

“Because, I didn’t want you freaking out about it, and besides, I didn’t know until now that he was even Brock’s.” Natash informed me. “I wanted to be sure before I brought it to your attention.”

“I’ll look more into it after breakfast.” Y/n sighed as she looked at the long haired man, but no one could make out who it was. The person's face was covered.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #marvel #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #mob!bucky x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #mob! bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader mob au #mob bucky x reader #mobster!bucky #bucky x mob!reader #mafia!bucky x reader

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spideyyboiirecs · 2 years ago

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Bucky Barnes Reblogs

A masterlist of my fav Bucky Barnes Fics

SERIES

A Maidens Tale 18+ @world-of-aus

pairing: Mob!Bucky x Dolores, Mob!Bucky x Maid!Reader

The Truth Will Set You Free @angstysebfan

pairing: Bucky x Female Reader, Thor x Reader

Bad Decisions 18+ @syntheticavenger

pairing: Mob Boss Bucky Barnes x Right Hand Female Reader

Monster In Law 18+ @holylulusworld

pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Chubby Bee 18+ @holylulusworld

pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Plus-size!Reader

The Annoying Guy @holylulusworld

pairing: OFC x fem!Reader, Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Every Other Day 18+ @holylulusworld

pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Teacher!Reader

Mr Grumpy and His Ex-mate @holylulusworld

pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Rebound 18+ @holylulusworld

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Unwilling Bride @holylulusworld

pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barney’s x fem!Reader

Howlin’ For You @invisibleanonymousmonsters

pairing: Biker!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Her soft animal 18+ @kinanabinks

paring: Dark Bucky x Reader

The Penthouse 18+ @kinanabinks

pairing: Multiple Characters x Reader

Two Thousand, Five Hundred and sixty nine 18+ @kinanabinks

pairing: frat!bucky x best friend!reader

Relax 18+ @kinanabinks

pairing: Nerd!Frat!Bucky x Reader

Best Friend 18+ @kinanabinks

pairing: Mob!Bucky x Best Friend!Reader

ONESHOTS

As In The Mother, So Is Her Daughter @suitk0via

pairing: Dad!Bucky x Reader

His Little Play Thing 18+ @bucky-barnes-diaries

pairing: Stepdad!Bucky Barnes x Stepdaughter!Reader

It All Belongs To You 18+ @angrythingstarlight

pairing: Beefy Biker Bucky x Reader

Rescuing Alpine @angrythingstarlight

pairing: Bucky x Reader. Alpine

Top Of His List @angrythingstarlight

pairing: Mafia Bucky x Reader

Don’t Make Me Wait 18+ @angrythingstarlight

pairing:

Thin Ice 18+ @angrythingstarlight

pairing:

Say The Word and It’s Yours 18+ @angrythingstarlight

pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

Cruel 18+ @kinanabinks