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biteofcherry · 3 months

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Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; manipulation; blackmail; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; sexual tension; masturbation; sex; hint of choking kink;

word count: 12.5k

Author's Note: So this kinda got out of control. At first it took me so long to even start this chapter and then I couldn't stop writing 🤭 For me there are six hot pressure points in this part. I'm curious which bits you were screeching at, if they're the same as mine. Including one specific thing that is so outrageous! But also so fucking hot... And for that one you have to blame thank @buckets-and-trees, because she encouraged me to write it.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 7. Burning needles

~ * ~

The life after signing your soul to the devil shouldn’t be anything but thorns and turmoil, but your body felt so deeply, deliciously relaxed and warm. Cozy even, as morning light filled the spacious bedroom and brushed warm streaks on your naked back.

Hotter pressure was at your front, where your body rested sprawled halfway atop Steve.

It seemed neither of you moved much through your sleep. You chose to believe you were both simply too fucked out, than consider you may like being cuddled to him like this.

There was no sane way someone would enjoy the intimate, soft proximity of their captor; even if his body was big and warm, sinfully shaped and adorned with tattoos which called for admiration.

Steve had one arm thrown across his face, the other loosely draped over your thigh. Your leg was hiked across his hips. If you moved it, your calf would rub against the cock that was nestled against the curve of it.

Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s chest, one of your hands splayed on his inked pectoral. Diamond on your finger shone brightly, catching sun in its perfect cut.

With your sleepy eyes barely half-open, you stared at the sparkle that was so beautiful you had to remind yourself to hate it for what it symbolized.

Another glint caught your attention.

Your gaze shifted above the outline of Steve’s impressive body, landing on the blade laying at the edge of the bedside table. The sight of it evoked an immediate shot of heat as you remembered what Steve did with it. How the threat of it spiked your arousal so high you lost control of your body’s reactions.

You didn’t want to unpack that mess; not at the moment, possibly never.

A blade the bastard had custom made for you, to deliver torment that was a dark sort of pleasure, but which was, after all, a weapon. One you could use to defend yourself. Or to threaten in return.

You peeked at Steve’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, soft curve of lips that were as lethal as the rest of him. The arm over his eyes cast a shadow onto his cheeks. He appeared to be soundly asleep. His chest rising and falling in regular intakes suggested the same.

Slowly, you inched your hand further up his body, toward his shoulder. If anything, you could play it as your body’s unconscious movement in your sleep. Or curious exploration of dark, twisted ink. But Steve didn’t even stir.

You had to move your whole body to reach across the space between you and the bedside table. That didn’t rouse him either. Only the hand on your thigh squeezed your flesh as a small huff left his lips.

Though another part of him reacted to your squirming.

You gulped, feeling the twitch of his cock against your leg. For a long moment your attention focused on it and nothing else.

You had to snap yourself out of it, reminding yourself there was another task at hand; more important than reminiscing on how that velvety hardness felt in your fist. How unbelievably hot it was to stroke him into readiness as he watched your splayed, defenseless body, which he was about to possess thoroughly.

But there was something else that you needed to curl your fingers around. Holding your breath, you grazed the ornamental handle with your fingertips. The knife swayed, nearly slipping further away. Finally, you got a hold of it, without losing balance and waking Steve up.

The knife was surprisingly light in your grip. Used only to kitchen knives, you didn’t know exactly what to expect from a switchblade. The fact it was wielded by Steve made you imagine heaviness and cold, a dreadful repulsion. Instead, it was perfectly balanced and quite elegant.

You tilted it back and forth, watching the reflection of your own eyes in the polished blade. Then you moved it lower, sliding the silvery edge mere inches from Steve’s chest.

Slowly, you aimed it toward his throat.

You didn’t press it against his skin, but hovered so close to where his pulse point beat steadily.

He was a monster. He broke into your life with force and put you up on strings, which he planned to pull for the rest of your life.

“You have to put a lot of force into it, if you want to do a single, clean cut.”

Your eyes snapped to Steve’s face instantly. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his voice was clear. Not a hint of drowsiness, which meant he was probably awake for at least a few minutes.

Surely, when you were attempting stealthy moves to grab the knife.

Your hand trembled as fear shot through you. A ruthless mafia boss caught you holding a knife to his throat. There was no way anyone daring to do that would be left alive.

But Steve didn’t grip your wrist to prevent the strike. He didn’t throw you off, nor attacked you to choke the life out of you.

He was fucking sprawled lazy and content, with his hand still on your thigh and his dick growing harder against your leg. Not the least intimidated, or worried.

Perhaps, it was his confidence in being able to prevent a real threat, if you went to make that cut. Or maybe he knew that you didn’t really have it in you to go for blood.

Steve stirred, moving the arm that was thrown across his face. He stretched it out, then slid it down your back, boldly palming your bare ass. Your body’s reaction to his touch made your hand jerk, the blade almost nicking his unblemished skin.

He titled his head to look at you. Icy blue eyes held a light, almost warm reflection. Due to the sunlight, undoubtedly.

“Craving to do it? To kill me?” Amusement laced his tone, but there was also some twisted hunger for a bloodthirsty wrath on your part. Like he waited for you to snap.

You shifted your gaze from his eyes to stare at the switchblade in your hand. You reached for it in some desperate hope to feel safer with it, but you brought it to his throat more out of curiosity than actual desire to cut it.

A part of you wanted to find out how it felt to wield it, to find out if the rush of power at having someone at the sharp point of it was so addictive that conscience laid quiet.

Honestly? You felt nothing of the kind. Surprise at how light and smooth the handle was in your hand, yes. How it shone, nearly pretty like a jewelry accessory. But you didn’t feel any safer than you had simply laying in Steve’s arms.

“One, I’m not you.” You replied, partially resigned that you didn’t show a streak of courage to really threaten him. You couldn’t imagine yourself threatening anyone, much less taking someone’s life.

Steve seemed to have zero remorse in that matter.

It should repulse you. It did. At first, at least.

“Secondly, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shifting your gaze from the silvery blade back to Steve’s eyes.

“I’m your wife and the word of it surely got out to everyone, all your enemies included. If you die, I become an easy target. They will assume I know your secrets and find means to torture them out of me. You staying alive is my only security.”

It was scary to admit, but remaining at Steve’s side and under his care not only saved you from his wrath, but also from any other monster out there.

“Besides-” you couldn’t help the eye roll as you moved your hand away from Steve’s throat- “I’m sure if I maimed you, Bucky would introduce me to unimaginable suffering. And I don’t feel like being impaled on a hook in a meat freezer while he slowly cuts away my skin inch by inch.”

Steve snorted at that. A short huff of laughter that shook his chest and your fist holding the blade along with it.

“I don’t think he’s ever done that, but I’ll let him know you have ideas to improve his craftsmanship.” His eyes sparked genuine amusement.

Worse, it made the corners of your mouth itch to tilt up in a grin.

That mirth on Steve’s face morphed into something darker. Hungrier. The hand on your thigh started moving, sliding up your hip and further along your ribcage. There was no way to hide the full body shiver that rocked your form, or the goosebumps rising in wake of his touch.

His fingers skimmed down your arm and wrapped around your wrist.

Suddenly, he flipped you over.

His body followed, pinning you down across the foot of the mattress. He clenched his fingers on the wrist of your hand that was still holding the knife. He pressed his thumb into a point below your own and your fingers spasmed open in a short zap of pain. The knife fell out of your grip.

Steve picked it in a flash.

Air stilled in your chest, becoming a hot pressure that urged your heart into a staccato. You stared up at Steve, defenseless against the strong body and the blade that was now in his hand. Again.

“So soft,” Steve hummed, slowly gliding the back of his hand - the same one that was holding the knife - across your chest.

His knuckles pressed slightly into your breast. With his knee, he nudged your legs wider apart; settling his hips between your thighs. Pulsing warmth of his hardening cock pressed into your lower belly.

“You rather have me wielding the knife, Princess?” He asked, angling his hand so the wide side of the blade grazed your skin. “Do you want me to use it again?”

A shot of electric current flipped a switch in your brain, connecting straight down with your clit.

When you held the knife yourself, there was no such visceral reaction to its lethal potential. But as soon as the blade was in Steve’s hand, your blood was rushing. To your horror, you realized it wasn’t just fear that pulsed in your veins.

Your breath stuttered as Steve moved the blade down your side, making you feel the slide of it, but not even scratching your skin. As he reached your thigh, Steve changed the hold on the knife. Instead of the cool, sharp blade whispering against your heated skin, you felt the blunt, harder touch of the ornamental handle.

Its rounded tip touched your skin as Steve moved it along the juncture of your thigh. He dipped it lower. When he angled his own body to the side, you realized where his hand was headed.

Straight to your core. Not with the threat of the blade hurting you, but the shimmery handle the width of two digits which would press and slide between…

Oh God! Your brain screamed at you, all the while your pussy spasmed, priming itself for the wicked intrusion.

No! Remnants of your resolve tried to fight the reaction of your body, raging against the temptation to let him do it. But there was already so much that Steve took from you, you didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction of having you so willing and needy.

You wouldn’t let him reduce you to basic instincts, with no memory of morale.

Though your thighs were spread wide and your clit tingled, you pushed past that need. You shoved your hands between your bodies to form a barrier.

“No, I don’t.” You scrunched up your nose, bracing your half-closed fists against Steve’s chest, but not really pushing him away.

There was a pause; a shortened breath between one raindrop and another, as you waited for the pushback.

“Okay then,” Steve’s eyebrows arched in a semi-unbelieving grimace, but he pulled away.

Simply pulled away.

Your hands fell down onto your chest, having lost the warm, solid wall of muscles to press against. Steve sat back, resting against the headboard, with lazy bliss glowing on his stupidly beautiful face.

One of his legs was stretched forward, foot almost touching your hip, while he bent his other leg and rested one of his arms on the knee. Unabashed, Steve made no move to cover his half-hard, heavy cock. Only played with the knife in his fingers.

“Okay then?” You frowned, completely unprepared for the turn of events.

“Just like that?” You lifted your head enough to stare at Steve, without having his lower body in your direct line of vision.

“You said no.” Steve shrugged, tilting his face toward the sun filtering through the pearly white curtains.

“And you respect a no, riiight.” Where the snort came from, you had no idea. Instead of being relieved and thankful that the bastard let go, like you had asked, you were digging into the topic with near childish petulance.

Because this was some bullshit! To have him comply with your refusal, while he breached every boundary you tried to set before. A flash of suspicion rose that maybe he wasn’t pushing, because he already got what he wanted and there were other, very easy ways, to get his dick wet. Other women to use the knife on, or whatever other depraved tools.

“In my life I make people do many things they don’t want to, but I have no need to take your body by force.” Steve didn’t sound particularly guilty of the way he was reaching his goals.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curved - “Especially not when you give it so willingly.”

“Bullshit!” You jolted upwards.

Driven by the sudden annoyance, you forgot that you were naked and the way you braced your hands behind yourself only made your chest push forward.

“What about last night?” You glared at Steve. “There was nothing willing-”

“Princess,” Steve looked at you, amused, “last night you didn’t utter a single No.”

Your mouth opened to counter this outright lie, but Steve beat you to it. With a very pleased smirk to his equally irritating calm tone:

“You claimed that you won’t be wet. But you were. You argued that you won’t want me. You did. But not a single time have those sinful lips of yours formed the word No or Don’t regarding anything I did to your body.”

Lips still parted, you hoped for your brain to come up with any argument to topple Steve’s theory. Though last night wasn’t a haze, but rather a whirlwind of sensations and brain-melting pleasure, your mind had some trouble remembering exact words. The more you thought about it, however, the more Steve’s version appeared true.

Worse, even.

Because you had said Stop at one point. A pleading mess on the verge of cumming, you asked Steve to stop and put the knife away, too afraid it would really hurt you.

And he complied.

Like he stripped you of any defenses against his machinations, binding you to this dark life you never wanted to be a part of, he knocked away your argument about him brutally taking from you what you didn’t want to give.

Your fingers curled, gripping the sheets as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. At that smug smile and flickers of delight in his ice cold irises.

“Aaargh!” You let out an outraged shrill.

“I fucking hate you!” You scrambled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. “I should’ve stabbed that knife into your carotid!”

Steve’s low chuckle only added to your fury, making you slam the bathroom door so hard the mirrors on the wall wobbled.

There was this urge to smash something, break it into pieces and stomp on it over and over again. Preferably Steve’s dead, limp body. But there was no way that you would be able to deliver anything beside a meager punch, which he’d probably block anyway.

If he caught your arm as you tried to hit him, you’d feel even more anger. And he would probably be even more amused, keeping you caged in his arms while you trashed helplessly.

That’s what you were against him - helpless.

Not only regarding his power, with which he could wipe you and your family out of this world and not a single cop would investigate the disappearance. Steve also made you defenseless against your own body’s reactions.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when his actions rewired your brain, but never before him have you ignited for sexual acts so kinky.

Maybe it was some self-preservation instinct? Maybe your brain sent a signal to your cunt to get wet and horny for Steve’s dark brand of sex, because otherwise he’d get mad and kill you?

But he just fucking proved that he wasn’t pissed off with your refusal.

You decided to not think too much about it. Preferably, not to think about Steve and sex at all, not in one line of thought.

Since he, oh so magnanimously, stated that he won’t take you by force, you were adamant on saying no for the rest of your life.

Straightening, you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely stopped another curse from spilling from your lips. There was no other way to describe your look than thoroughly fucked.

And kinda itching for more, but thankfully your brain was back behind the wheel and there was no way it would let you dwell on the wetness between your legs and the cause of it.

You turned around, aiming for the impressive, luxurious shower stall. As you reached your hand to turn on the water, your gaze landed on the sparkling diamond on your finger. It truly was beautiful, but you wanted to flush it down the drain. It would be a pity, but you’d have a solid argument to why you weren’t wearing it.

Then again, perhaps Steve wouldn’t even care about it, since he had the paperwork and your last name changed to prove the marriage.

You took the ring and the wedding band off of your finger and left them on the counter.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, you tried to focus on things other than your evil husband. First, you did your best to stay in the moment and focus on each body part you thoroughly scrubbed - sensations and the scent of shower gel, not the memories of how Steve touched you, fucked you, filled you. Then you made a list of important tasks awaiting you at work: new projects, some meetings, lots of boring, but absorbing paperwork.

You were so successful in occupying your mind, you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening.

When you turned off the water a moment later and opened the glass door of the stall, the sound of flushing the toilet froze you in place. Your head snapped up.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched, trying to hide behind the shower casing, but since it was clear glass it gave you no cover.

Steve had already moved from the toilet to one of the two sinks at the long bathroom counter. With his back to you, he looked up into the mirror to meet your gaze in the reflection while he washed his hands.

He had to wait a moment for your eyes to catch up with his, since your gaze was elsewhere.

Because he was still fucking naked!

“Using the bathroom, obviously.” He said, tone light and highly amused.

You dragged your eyes up from his firm, perky ass and up the wide planes of his back. You noticed some scars among the splashes of tattoos.

“But I’m in it!” You protested, once you finally shook yourself from the daze.

Steve didn’t seem apologetic for his intrusion. But he was never apologetic about anything. He straightened, rolled back his shoulders - which resulted in your eyes greedily following the play of his muscles. Your thighs clenched.

He turned around and started walking towards you. Your skin was already heated up from the hot water and steam, yet it seemed a much hotter wave was still able to raise your inner temperature as he came closer. Shamelessly naked.

Your fingers clenched on the cutting edge of the glass as you tried your hardest to not drop your eyes lower and watch how his cock moved with every step Steve took.

“You already saw me naked.” He shrugged as he stepped right beside you.

You twisted, your back hitting the tiled wall as he leaned forward. Steve didn’t touch you, but you still felt his power pinning you in place.

“As I saw you, wife.”

He breathed that last word into your ear; a hot, seductive puff that threatened to weaken your knees.

His hand slipped into your wet palm, the pressure of something small and hard needling your skin. Your ring and the wedding band. A silent reminder, if the word wife wasn’t enough to put you back in your place.

Then he stepped away and into the shower stall, turning his back to you as he switched the water on.

You bolted forward, grabbing a fluffy towel and running with it out of the bathroom. You cared less about dripping water on the bedroom floor than about staying there and letting him watch you. Or maybe being tempted to look at him yourself.

You wiped yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body. Skipping over the abundant layers of your wedding dress that lay forgotten on the floor, you walked through the door opposite of the bed - into the huge walk-in closet.

You saw it before. When Steve made you pack and bring your belongings to his house before the wedding. Two of his men carried the suitcases and boxes, a housekeeper and another unknown person were waiting to help you unpack. It was weird and uncomfortable, having two strangers fold and hang your clothes. But it was efficient, at least.

Maybe they were also there to check, if you hadn’t smuggled in some weapon with which you’d kill Steve.

Now everything was perfectly arranged. Steve’s clothes on one side of the closet, yours on the other side. You noticed his side wasn’t very colorful, not that you dressed in all shades of the rainbow.

Again, it hit you how contrasting your lives were.

His dark, earthy and navy tones versus your whites and pastels and occasional pop of color. It was stark, the contrast. At the same time, it was in some way aesthetically pleasing. Intriguing, how that grim roughness fit with the soft lightness.

You put on a pair of leggins and a simple, cotton t-shirt with a faded Little My cartoon. Sparing one glance at the messy bed, you left the bedroom. You’d rather find yourself in a different space than one with sheets crusty with your mixed spend and the damn knife placed in an open velvet box on the bedside table.

There was no one else in the house, but you knew it was only for the appearance of the wedding night and the first day of being a married couple. Steve’s people were guarding the perimeter of his property, but no in-house staff was going to come today.

The next day, however? It was going to be a brutal return to normalcy, which you anticipated and loathed both.

You’d get back to work, which was a blessing as it gave you the opportunity to be as far from Steve as possible. It would also be awkward and hard, because you’d be learning a completely new routine.

Like waking up with Steve in the same room (unless, hopefully, his criminal work would keep him occupied for long nights).

Learning to function with household staff around - he had a housekeeper, a gardener, a private chef. Who, from what you read on the nicely scribbled note left on the kitchen counter, prepared a few dishes for you and left them in the refrigerator. Along with instructions on how to heat it up, so it tasted the best.

Being driven to work, because Steve already announced you wouldn’t be taking your own car anymore. You doubted he cared much for your actual safety, but it was important to maintain the illusion of a lovely husband protecting his wife.

Maintaining illusion would be a new skill you had to hone.

So many people expected to see a happy, newlywed wife. Your own family, most of all. They would already be suspicious that you got back to work so soon after the wedding, but you found it a true blessing that Steve didn’t come up with a honeymoon idea.

You couldn’t think about honeymooning with Steve. You couldn’t even think about the night and having to be back in that bed where he also would be.

With a properly reheated panini sandwich, you walked around the house; giving yourself a tour, before Steve would. No room was locked, so you assumed he kept his dirty work in another place.

A small blessing, truly. You weren’t sure how you’d react to dead bodies and blood in the house where you lived.

It was already hard, since it was here that you heard Felix’s last words and saw him being dragged out to his end.

One of the rooms on the ground floor was a spacious office. Quite surprising that it looked like an actual office, not a torture chamber. Despite being certain of bloody ways Steve gained some goals, you suspected that running a successful crime organization nowadays meant keeping a lot of civilized appearances and just being a beast at negotiation.

“There’s an unused room upstairs. You can turn it into your office, if you need a home one.” Steve’s voice startled you, but fortunately you didn’t let it show.

“That would be great, thanks.” You nodded, swiping your gaze around his office once more.

To have a room separate from his, where you could hide and bury yourself under work would be wonderful. Perhaps there would be a pull out couch on which you could sleep, instead of in your marital bed.

You turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had a plate of his own. Not with panini, though. No, he reheated himself some of those seasoned ribs from the reception.

And ate it with his fingers, winking at you as he sucked his fingertips clean.

You were damn proud of yourself for not reacting to his obvious provocation. You remained completely indifferent.

Somehow, you managed to keep it up even as Steve continued to follow you all around the house. Wearing only sweatpants and a white beater. You did not look at how the cotton stretched on his torso, or how his tattoos were on display, or at the outline of his cock.

“There are two guest bedrooms,” you pointed out as you walked downstairs after seeing the rest of the upper floor.

You didn’t think Steve was a man who often had guests over. He probably never had. Unless he was keeping those rooms ready for some kidnapping victims, to store them in human conditions until ransom was paid, or whatever.

“Yeah. But you don’t have enough stuff to claim one as your additional closet,” Steve snorted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And no, you can’t use one as your bedroom.”

You huffed, annoyed that he instantly figured out what you were planning on doing. Miffed that he didn’t agree with that perfectly reasonable idea, too.

“Why not?” You demanded, stopping mid step. “It’s empty. I could sleep there and you keep the master bedroom, we stay out of each other’s hair and no one from the outside would even know.”

“Married couples sleep together.” Steve continued walking.

You couldn’t see his face, since he was a step or two in front of you, but you were sure the bastard was fucking smiling.

“Married couples get divorced!” You countered, tilting your chin up and marching forward in a slightly petulant, stomping kind of way.

You were about to pass him when Steve’s arm was suddenly around you. He yanked you to his front and kept you to him, despite you trying to push away. A look from those blue eyes froze you in place. A promise of violence flashed in the frosty depths; though you weren’t sure which part of you he’d destroy in retribution.

“ ‘Til death do us part, Princess.”

Steve’s low voice not only reminded you of the vows, but was a new promise itself, which drove a dark, searing bolt through your chest. And into your pussy.

It was scary. Downright terrifying, to have this monster lay his possessive claim on you.

It was also exhilarating.

Your heart paused for a moment, then sprinted into aching pounding as Steve finally released you and walked away.

You were becoming more and more aware of the hard work you’d have to do to preserve your soul, as Steve’s darkness appeared to be corrupting you inch by inch. Such charismatic power was a deadly temptation, tricking certain unfulfilled needs with promises of satiating.

You haven’t yet figured out what exactly was missing in your life that your body so eagerly reacted to Steve’s magnetism. You thought yourself happy with the life you had. Content and proud, eager to deal with the new challenges that taking over the health center provided.

Perhaps you weren’t actively dating anyone recently, but you weren’t desperate for intimacy. You took care of your needs.

Besides, Steve’s kind of closeness was never your brand of preference.

There had to be something, however, that yearned to be filled and what Steve happened to accidentally ignite. If you found it, you could look for alternative ways of fulfilling them, efficiently cutting yourself from Steve’s influence.

Nothing came to your mind. Not in the long hours you spent poking around the mansion, rearranging your belongings, eating more leftovers.

There were moments when you had to postpone deep thinking, because your brain alerted your body of Steve’s presence. He appeared in random moments, slipping right next to you in the most casual way; not breaking the boundaries, but pushing against them with a brazen attitude. Increasing your irritation.

Or was it frustration?

No, it surely was annoyance and it flared when you exited the bathroom later in the evening.

You paused a few steps away from the bed (the sheets have been changed and since no one from the staff came that day, it had to be Steve who replaced them). Your gaze was drawn to the door, to the idea of finding yourself in a different room.

Steve was already in bed, his face pinched in concentration as he typed quickly on his phone. He didn’t even glance your way, but a breath before you even shifted your weight to make a step in the direction of the door he spoke up.

“You may hide in layers of fabric,” he jabbed at your long, silk pajama pants, “but you’re going to sleep in this bed.”

You turned your head his way, opening your mouth to reply, when Steve tossed his phone aside and looked up at you. Serious, on the very edge of impatience.

“If you try to hide somewhere else, I will simply drag you back here. So it’s best you lie down and snuggle up, since it’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

Unfortunately, you believed him. You’d test his words, if you had the slightest hope of him just getting tired of your rebellion and leaving you be. But you learned Steve wasn’t a man who gave up on his goals.

He simply switched from gentle methods to brute force.

You had no doubt that he would drag you back to this bed over and over again, no matter how hard you fought, how loud you screamed, or cried. So it really was best to not waste your energy on battles you couldn’t win.

Though it didn’t wipe away the need for huffing angrily as you curled on the far edge of the bed, wrapping the comforter around yourself like a shield. You almost lifted your hand and flipped Steve off, when you heard his snort.

Smothering him with a pillow, or reaching back for that knife and actually jabbing it into his heart, was becoming a very tempting course of action when you woke up the next morning - with his body too close to yours.

His arm was thrown over your middle, his hips touching your ass. And your nipples were painfully hard against the fabric of your top. You lost the protection of your comforter, but since it fell down on your side of the bed, it seemed that you were the one to have kicked it away.

The shower you fled into didn’t help easing your nerves, because once again Steve barged into the bathroom while you were still inside (even though you were sure you locked yourself in).

Then there were soft voices coming from downstairs as you descended after finishing your makeup and dressing for the day. A voice you didn’t recognize - possibly the chef, or the housekeeper.

And one very familiar voice. Which shouldn't be here.

Instant need to get Natalie right out of the house that was the beast’s lair, to protect her from getting tangled in this web of darkness and crime, died the moment you realized she was quite comfortable moving around the kitchen and talking to the chef.

As if she was familiar with the layout and rules of the house.

Your assistant opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of chilled soda, while exchanging some humorous comments about the chef's sister.

“What are you doing here?” You stared at her dumbfounded.

Before Natalie swallowed the sip of soda and explained, pieces had already fallen into place.

She was the one who told you how influential Steve was, how he had people in every place in the city and far outside of it. She rescheduled your meetings to disarm you of any arguments you might have had against meeting him that cursed day. She was the one who encouraged you to work with that cop and knew about the time and place of the meeting - which Steve interrupted right on time, saving you from harm.

She was his spy all along.

“You work for him.” Your tone was heavy with bitter disappointment.

Natalie didn’t seem embarrassed about the reveal. Nor apologetic for not telling you the truth sooner.

She was reporting to Steve all this time. Probably telling him all the fears and vulnerabilities you shared with her.

And you were such a fool, worrying for her the previous day when you saw her flirting with Bucky. Because you wanted to warn her of him, protect her from him. While she was probably already fucking him for who knows how long.

“Did he buy you when he came to me, or did he own you before?” So much venom poured into your voice, but the betrayal hurt too much to stop it.

The anger you felt at her was so much different from what gnawed at you with Steve. Him pushing your buttons and stripping you of defenses made you flame up. Natalie’s indifference to her betrayal of you filled you with so much cold.

“You forget-” her eyes were trained on you, her voice a stoic drawl- “if there’s someone he really owns, it’s you.”

The cut was well aimed. Lethal in its delivery.

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you. His hand a searing brand on your lower back. You wanted to jump away from his touch, but it was the only grounding you had at the moment as the rest of your safe world crumbled around you.

“You’re here, good.” Steve addressed Natalie’s presence.

His voice held no hint of that teasing, velvety caress that grazed your skin the previous day. He was the cold, focused king of the underworld again.

“Nat’s going to drive you to work. And from work.” He announced, pushing you slightly forward as he moved toward the kitchen island himself. “She’s your bodyguard.”

“She’s fired,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest.

There was enough control taken out of your hands; enough humiliation. To think you’d be forced to work with watchful eyes studying your every move and reporting to Steve of every misstep you took, every weakness you showed, was beyond what you could handle.

“She’s not.” Steve’s voice was so calm and confident, you wanted to grab the pan from the chef’s hand and smack him with it.

But you didn’t. You knew it was one of the games you wouldn’t win, anyway.

Weird, how Steve considered potential changes to his plans, including your determination to keep the center, but wouldn’t budge for things that regarded you directly. You wondered, if he relished in the torture he was putting you through.

“She’s already proven herself to be worthy of the task of protecting my wife.” Steve threw that word - wife - so casually, as if it was the most natural thing to say. As if he was ready to keep repeating it for the rest of his life.

His other hand glided along your arm, pulling it away from your chest where you held your arms crossed. His fingers circled your wrist and pulled your hand up. With a warning tsk, he slid the ring and the wedding band back onto your finger.

Because once again you tried to leave it behind.

You blinked, processing Steve’s words, as you allowed him to slide the golden brand of his ownership onto your finger without a fuss.

You didn’t think he meant the fact Natalie told him about the meeting with Duvall and Batroc. The word protection was deliberate here and there was only one other instance when it wasn’t Steve the one who came first to your aid.

“That night, at the parking lot-” you looked at Natalie, who presented the most chill, unbothered stance.

All this time you thought she’s so efficient at organizing and handling work under pressure, while she probably had the cold blood of an assassin.

She shrugged at your realization, but didn’t deny that she was the one to save you from the goons who tried to kidnap you. Since she didn’t see it as anything big, anything beyond doing her boss’ orders to keep an eye on you, you weren’t going to thank her for it.

“Come, eat some breakfast before you go to save the minds and frustrate yourself further,” Steve pointed to a chair by the kitchen island, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee for himself.

Your appetite was lost. You didn’t want to be here any second longer. While less than half an hour ago you dreamed of finding your solace in work, you didn’t want to be there either. Not after the newest revelation.

Turning on your heel, you marched upstairs to grab your handbag; only marginally caring for the awful impression you had to have made on the chef, whose name you didn’t even get, because you didn’t introduce yourself.

You didn’t spare a second glance toward Steve as you stormed downstairs and toward the door. You kind of hoped that Natalie would stay inside, treat herself to some breakfast and whatever morning briefings a mob boss and his people had. You’d gladly stay outside in the peace and quiet of no fucking mafia people.

But a car was already waiting for you; the back side door open.

You wanted to ignore Natalie all day, as well poor, confused Peter who didn’t do anything wrong, but who was, after all, hired because Steve demanded it. Unfortunately, beside being named your personal guard, Natalie was also a fucking brilliant assistant.

No, not Natalie. Natasha.

Which she mentioned so casually as she parked the car. Apparently she didn’t have a preference for what you called her and a vicious streak inside of you wanted to spit out the word bitch.

With anger constantly bubbling under your skin, you hissed your sharp answers to her questions and reminders.

The day was a nightmare. When you returned home, all you wanted to do was to unwind in some way. But you hated exercises. Well, maybe hate was a too strong word, but you weren’t a fan of those beyond going for long strolls and swimming.

You also didn’t want to get drunk. Not in a place where Steve would be and the alcohol would strip you of your perfect control over yourself; potentially enhancing uninhibited desires Steve’s brutal aura stirred.

As you walked into the bedroom, your gaze fell upon the big bed. Neatly made. Fresh sheets bearing no proof of the mess you made when Steve fucked your brains out.

Your fingers immediately started working on undoing your buttons and zippers, peeling off each piece of clothing at a rushed pace. The way Steve fucked you on your wedding night would be perfect for reducing your tension into a whocares puddle.

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Ever again.

But you could give yourself a release without the devil’s assistance.

The shower was truly blissful. Not only relaxing your muscles with heat, but your fingers brought you delicious pleasure. Twice.

Sparkling diamond of your engagement ring and wedding band were left on a pile of cotton pads on top of the bathroom counter. You refused to touch yourself with any remnant of Steve lingering.

Pleased with yourself (and with the orgasms), you rolled into bed before the sunset; falling asleep right as the sound of the door being opened downstairs announced your husband’s return.

You didn’t care. Your brain and body were too exhausted from everything that happened in the day. Too relaxed, as well. They shut down before Steve even made it upstairs, saving you from any interaction with him.

Unfortunately for you, your brain was well rested in the morning. Your body, too. So rested, it seemed ready to follow an urge that was supposed to be satiated.

You woke up with your body plastered against Steve’s. Your boobs were pressing into his chest, your nipples stiffening the more awake you become. His hand was splayed on your hip, his knee wedged between your legs.

Just between your knees, but you still felt it as if the pressure was right against your pussy, causing your clit to throb in desperate plea for attention.

If his hand moved between your bodies, those thick fingers dipping between your thighs to greet you…

A quiet whine nearly tumbled out of your mouth, but you quickly covered it with a fake yawn as you rolled away. He muttered something and in your peripheral vision you saw him rubbing his face and opening his eyes.

But you were already locking yourself in the bathroom.

And cursing in aggravation as you noticed the rings back on your finger.

Later that day, you used the handheld showerhead to allow yourself that nearly painful release, which seemed to shake your body to the very toes. Something your clit forgot astonishingly quickly when Steve’s very late return (it was well past midnight) stirred you from your slumber.

Just in time to see the outline of his body in the semi-darkness of the bedroom as he dropped his pants to the floor.

You kept yourself in a state of near-wakefulness that night, to hold your body in position on the far edge of the bed, so that you wouldn’t roll anywhere close to Steve's body.

It was a blessing when Steve didn’t come home at all the next night. The fact the image of his face was clear in your head as you closed your eyes to get yourself off, was a minor inconvenience.

As was the annoying realization that your fingers, which were the most skilled at touching you how you liked and pressing those good spots, suddenly felt disappointing.

Your confusion with yourself grew daily, especially on days when you had zero interactions with Steve, yet your body felt the most tense and out of control then. Instead of enjoying the freedom and comfort of his absence. Then on afternoons and evenings when he came home unusually early and joined you in whatever you were doing, your pulse picked up.

Sometimes you would sense the sweat and gunpowder still hanging in his scent, or notice a splash of dried blood on his clothes. Which should repulse you.

It didn’t. Quite the contrary, it made something in you tighten, your skin itching to have Steve’s merciless hands on you. Same hands which undoubtedly have delivered pain, or even death to someone before he returned home.

It took a lot of strong will to not press yourself against his side while you sat on the couch watching a movie, seeking a friction that would snap Steve into taking you ruthlessly.

You became more distracted at work. More restless at night. Regular orgasms brought pleasant relaxation, but felt somewhat… bland.

Restoring to your final resource, you took out a small velvety box hidden in the depths of the closet, under a bundle of winter clothes. The pretty, lilac bunny vibrator winked at you when you opened the box. You took it with you to the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor as you writhed in your first orgasm.

Blissed out smile didn’t leave your face as you got out of the bathtub two hours later - water gone cold and your skin pruned.

You almost giggled as you tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. You heard voices downstairs. Steve was talking to someone. Feeling a rush of adrenaline (a kick of thrilling excitement mixed with a shy kind of fear), you quickly put the vibrator back into its box and buried it under layers of clothes.

It should’ve been more than enough. It certainly felt like your brain was switched off completely, not a single care bothering you.

Yet, flashes of absolutely sinful, depraved images haunted you in your sleep.

You had no control over your body as it rolled onto your back while you slept. No awareness of your legs spreading and your own hand reaching down to touch your wet pussy. Which was as dripping and sticky as in your dream.

In which dead bodies of faceless men were scattered around the floor of some warehouse. While you were on the bed that stood in the middle of it. Steve was in front of you, standing at the foot of the bed. His rings-adorned fingers were curled around the front of your neck. His lips curved into a sinister smirk as he urged you on.

Urged you to move your hips and slide your wet pussy up and down the handle of the knife embedded into the mattress.

You woke up abruptly. Right before dream Steve was going to allow you to cum.

Your eyes opened wide, your mouth gasping for breath. You felt your own fingertips touching your sticky folds. Your nipples were hard, pointing towards the ceiling.

There was also another sensation; of someone else’s touch.

Steve’s hand had a strong grip on your thigh. His cock was throbbing against your side.

Holding your breath, you kept staring at the ceiling. As if suddenly you found yourself in a horror movie, you were too scared to turn your head and look in the devil’s blue eyes that watched you with hunger.

You knew that if you spread your thighs an inch more, if you let out any needy sound, if you turned your face to his, Steve would aid that burning fire.

His fingers would slip where your own couldn’t satisfy you. His mouth would close around your nipple, bite into your breast. He would roll on top of you and stretch your fluttering cunt on his thick cock.

The need for him was growing more maddening with each shaky breath. Still, you kept staring up and willing every part of your body not to move.

Steve squeezed your thigh and you bit your lip in time to stop the moan from spilling. A moment later his touch disappeared. He rolled onto his back, then sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and you sighed in relief.

Then you had to squeeze your thighs and roll onto your side, biting into your pillow to muffle the desperate, angry scream.

Because you heard the sounds of Steve’s pleasure.

A mixture of shameless grunts and moans, with the faint slick echo of a hand moving along a cock.

You should be disgusted by it, not wetter.

Not only was he jerking off a few steps away from you, but he left the bathroom door open so you heard him. And your traitorous body responded, eager to beg him for torment and release, just as your dream self had.

You avoided Steve’s gaze the whole early morning, despite both of you not catching any more sleep and pretending nothing happened. Well, you pretended. Steve strutted around like a peacock, with no care for your visible vexation. Your shower was on the cold side and your throat parched, even after gulping three glasses of orange juice.

Working seemed impossible, too. Every few minutes your brain would suddenly switch the channel from focused to flashes of the depraved wet dream. And your wet reality.

Because to your great dismay, Steve wasn’t only a demon from your dreams, but looked and acted the same tempting, dangerous way in broad daylight.

You spent the first ten minutes of your lunch break chugging cold water and pacing around your office, trying to at least reduce some of the physiological tension. Maybe you really should start running, or do some crossfit. Just so that your body would die from exhaustion and save you further humiliation.

You paused, seeing through the window a familiar silhouette cutting the inner courtyard of the center.

What the hell was Barnes doing here?

Your fingers clenched on your water bottle as you watched him stride through the sensory garden and toward the door in the far corner. It led to an old office. Or what used to be an office, but got flooded many years ago and now served more as a storage room, since there were more important rooms and projects to invest into than renovating one, single space.

“I swear, if he’s here to bang Nat-” you muttered angrily under your breath.

But when you yanked your office door open and stepped outside, Nat was sitting behind her desk. Pristine and sharp, like a blade herself. She arched her perfectly sculpted brow at you, but didn’t say anything when you grumbled that you’re going to the garden.

If Barnes wasn’t here to mess around with her, it meant he was here for business. His business meant Steve’s. Who was, after all, so very set on getting his hands on the health center and you still didn’t know why.

You marched through the courtyard, gaze laser focused on those doors behind which Bucky’s all black silhouette disappeared.

Admittedly, you were a bit scared of Bucky. Less than you were of Steve, but still. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you if you confronted him about any shady stuff (not without Steve’s permission), but it didn’t ease the pounding of your intimidated heart.

When you yanked the door open and stepped inside, you expected to see Bucky alone, or maybe with some henchmen that snuck in earlier, doing something nefarious. For a split of a second you feared you were going to see a dead body. But the room you walked into still resembled that old room with three different desks, some chairs, broken cabinets and various smaller items gathering dust. The only difference was that they were pushed against the walls, creating free space in the middle of the room.

However, you did not expect to see another pair of blue eyes beside Bucky’s.

Steve held your gaze once your eyes landed on him. And though a part of you screamed at you to turn around and run away, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even shift your eyes, ensnared by that dark pull.

The air seemed to thicken around you. A heavy wave of stifling heat rolled up, engulfing you in the clogging, sticky memory of your wet dream and the following mess.

The way Steve tilted his chin, how he looked down at you with an expecting challenge that slipped into boredom, because you weren’t picking it and thus wasting his time; it made you snap from the haze.

“What the fuck?” You frowned, stepping further inside.

You kept your shoulders pushed back, your hands at your sides, as you attempted to maintain the professional power of a health center’s director.

Neither of them responded to you. Steve held your gaze a moment longer, then turned to Bucky, who wasn’t even looking your way.

“Make sure it’s ready by Wednesday.” Steve gave him instructions, ignoring your presence and demand. “Barton will be back Tuesday evening, so he can start the next day.”

Barnes simply gave a nod and left. No more words between them, no gestures that would indicate Steve ordered him to leave, so the two of you were alone. Rather Bucky would be leaving at this moment whether you were there, or not. Your presence marked as insignificant.

It pissed you off further.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You stomped forward, not giving up.

“The center’s functioning won’t be disturbed.” Steve dragged his gaze down your form as you stood in front of him. His answer not an answer at all.

“With what?” You braced your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath to quiet the tone of your voice. It was unlike you to raise your voice and to hold it in rage for more than one outburst.

You were proud of your professional approach, even in highly stressful situations. Granted, you weren’t facing a benefactor, nor an official of any kind, but you were determined to remain in control with Steve, as well. More so than with anyone other.

But his mere presence had your neuronal system overheating, recording and sending signals from so many parts of your body at once.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

The way he said it… He wasn’t just avoiding the topic, he was dismissing you.

Then the bastard dared to step around you and walk away.

You snapped. There was no logical thought behind your actions as you grabbed a heavy, crystal ashtray from one of the desks.

You threw it at Steve.

Your aim wasn’t the worst, but the bowl was heavy and Steve was moving. It flew past his head, quite a distance away from causing any potential harm. It thudded against the door and fell to the floor where it broke into three chunks.

A blur of movement filled your vision, before you even registered what you’ve done. A hand was squeezing the front of your neck as you were forced to scramble back.

Air wooshed out of you when Steve slammed you against the back wall; with less force than you’d expect him to use on an actual enemy, but enough of it to remind you he was no gentleman.

His body pressed into you; massive, strong, terrifying.

He kept you pinned in place, one hand on your throat was enough of a warning for you to struggle only for breath and not fight him. Steve’s other hand squeezed your side, thumb pressing so hard above your hip bone you were certain there would be a bruise.

A flare of fear cut through your blood, but with it came another rush. A wild pulse of thrill.

“You best beg me to fuck that frustration out of you now,” Steve’s voice was a slice of heated scythe cutting through your composed walls.

“I’m not-” you stopped immediately when he clenched his fingers tighter.

“Princess,” he hissed in a warning. “I know you’ve been touching yourself. Playing with your needy pussy, using your pathetic toys. And still it was my name you moaned in your sleep, when you were dreaming of what you really crave.”

Tears welled in your eyes, only partially from your air flow being constricted. Most of all, it was the aforementioned frustration that squeezed salty drops.

You hated him; hated how he made your body weak and desperate for him.

You’d love nothing more than to deny any of his claims and walk out with your head held high. But your knees were too weak, your pussy already throbbing and primed for him. If you even managed to step out of the room, your frustration would bring you to a boiling point and make you crawl back to him.

“Need me to take out my gun?” His words brushed against your cheek like a caress.

Whether it was that contrasting softness of his voice, or the image of the deadly weapon being pushed under your skirt, it made you clench around nothing.

You shook your head.

“Need you-” you finally whimpered. “Need you to fuck me.”

Steve swallowed your next sound. He squeezed his fingers once again, forcing your mouth to open to gulp precious air. But he gave you none. Only the taste of him, the demand of his tongue that played against yours as his fingers would against your clit.

With his other hand, he yanked your pencil skirt up; sharp moves tugging the clingy fabric. Then air was swiftly filing your lungs and rushing to your head, as he released your throat and used both hands to turn you.

He pushed you forward and bent you over one of the dust covered desks. Splaying your hands on the hard surface, you pressed your face against one palm and arched your back, pushing your ass up. A streak of shame burned your skin, but the need for Steve’s cock was too great.

There was a jangle of belt buckle being undone and a cool wisp of air licked up your wet slit when Steve pushed the strip of your soaked panties to the side.

“Fucking drenched, Princess.” He groaned, most pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy.

“You did this to yourself,” he scolded you, dipping two of his fingers between your folds and smearing your sticky mess around. “Denying yourself, though you know how much your body loves what I do to it.”

“You won’t say no from now on, right?” A single digit pushed inside and your legs wobbled.

You moaned, trying to push back against his hand and get more. So much more. But he was unyielding, repeating his question in the same patient, merciless manner. Until you clenched your eyes shut, crying in frustration - “I won’t! Please!”

His fingers withdrew. A low chuckle responded to your whine. But the pressure of his cock against your hole rewarded your reluctant submission.

The moan that spilled past your lips as he sank deeper reverberated through the empty room. You shifted your head, biting onto your hand to muffle the sounds that Steve would undoubtedly cause you to make.

He wouldn’t have it.

Growling his displeasure, Steve gripped both of your wrists and pulled your arms behind your back. He crossed your wrists together and held them in one of his hands at the small of your back.

Then his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you bent and lodged on his dick while he took three steps back. There was no surface you could brace yourself upon, nowhere to press your face into to cover your cries and moans. Bent over, your legs shaking, Steve’s strong hold was the only security you had from falling.

It also allowed him to move your body the way he pleased.

One testing thrust had you jerking forward, your head bowed down and a cry spilled out along with a drop of your spit.

Steve readjusted his hold on your wrists then started pounding into you. It wasn’t the sinful, gracefully primal way he fucked you on your wedding night, but a forceful taking reflecting your frustrations of the past weeks.

And fuck you needed it exactly like that.

Each slam had you mewling, your pussy fluttering around him. Much to Steve’s delight.

“That’s it, Princess,” he goaded. “Let me hear you.”

The angle, the force of it, the sense of being completely at Steve’s mercy, had you coming sooner than anticipated.

Your walls clenched hard. Your whole body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed into you with the power of a sea storm. That was it - the pleasure you seeked for weeks, so numbing and good that nothing but a hum of blood filled your head.

No self-induced orgasm felt like this.

Steve’s hand moved from your hip to your neck, curling at the front of it and pulling your head back. His other arm released your wrists, but wrapped around your middle as Steve made you stand up and lean your back against his chest.

He was still hard. Still lodged deep in your quivering cunt. Fucking you through your orgasm.

He slowed, but in this new angle his cock seemed to sink even deeper inside. Crown of his dick brushed over that ultrasensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back. Your ass was squished into his hips, coarse hair on his thighs grazed your skin with each thrust.

“Is this what you dreamed of?” He groaned into your ear, filling you in a firm stroke.

You shook your head, unable to form a sentence beyond a breathy moan.

Cool metal of his rings was pressing into your neck, his other arm squeezing your breasts upwards, crumpling your pristine blouse. His heavy boots bracketed your pretty pink heels as his fat cock speared into your creamy cunt over and over again.

“What was it then?” Steve snapped his hips in a sharp move, making you cry out loud.

“The knife-” you managed to rasp out as you felt another climax coiling up low in your belly.

You didn’t tell him any of the sordid details, but revealing it was the blade you were dripping for in your dream was enough to make Steve laugh in triumph.

The vibration of it not only shook your chest, but seemed to jolt down to your pussy.

“My fucking dirty Princess,” Steve sucked on your earlobe, quickening his pace. “You won’t hide those dark needs anymore. I’ll play them all out for you. Show you new ones.”

“Now-” he kept his hand on your throat, but moved the other one south- “Cum for me again. Wanna feel it squeezing me as I fill this married pussy.”

Steve’s fingers slipped over your clit, drawing rough circles on your swollen nub. A shot of pressing pleasure made you arch against him, a gurgled mewl pitching in your throat. You gripped Steve’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex with each powerful snap of his hips.

A few sharp strokes more and warm, thick seed was coating your walls.

Steve’s moan was the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. Its deep, dark undertone tipped you over the edge.

Your head was spinning, though Steve didn’t clench his fingers on your throat too tight. It was the amalgamate of everything: his cock throbbing inside of you, spilling more cum and filling you; your pussy was fluttering like crazy, a fairy on a rush attempting to grab each drop and stuff it into the right place; your half-conscious mind registering that you were in your workplace.

Wrapping an arm around you once more, Steve moved your joined bodies a few paces backwards. Movement jolted his dick, causing your pussy to clench in response to renewed friction.

Then he was pulling you down with him as he sat on one of the forgotten chairs; the wood creaking from the weight. He kept you on his cock, splaying his fingers sticky with your slick over your thigh. A few breaths later his hold on your throat eased. But you kept your head tipped back on his shoulder, unfocused gaze staring at the white ceiling.

Until Steve used his fingers to tilt your face for a kiss.

Slow, but no less weakening.

His tongue teased your lips open. His fingers were a pressure against your cheek, reminding you of who held the reins, even if he coaxed your response with surprising gentleness. Shushing your tiny moan by sucking on your bottom lip.

Echo of your ragged breath mingled, your heart pounding in your chest as you stayed in Steve’s lap. You didn’t think you had the strength to stand back on your feet just yet. You also weren’t sure he would let you.

So you rolled your head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stared into the space, unfocused. His mouth pressed a kiss over your galloping pulse point, then he scraped his teeth along your shoulder.

“Smuggling tunnels.” Steve’s words stirred your post-orgasmic brain mush.

“Huh?” You lolled your head to the side to squint at his profile and try to make sense of his words.

“That’s why I wanted the center.” He explained, lazily roaming his fingers over your clothed body. “Entrance to the smuggling tunnels is exactly here. They were set up in the prohibition era, then supposedly locked. But not all of them. Not this loop. And according to the plans Tony provided, the web of tunnels stretches to the very harbor.”

You blinked, processing his words. It was quite hard to take the seriousness of this information while your pussy was still pulsing and leaking cum. And while Steve’s hand was fondling your breast.

“Tony? As in Tony Stark?” Your mind shook off remnants of haze.

“Mhmm,” Steve nipped your shoulder. “Howard never uttered a word, though he knew of the tunnels. After his death, Tony went through all of his old man’s secret nooks and found those plans. Among other things. Tony knows how to make good deals and he’s going to gain a lot from giving me the information about the tunnels.”

You wanted to rage, because it sounded so… insignificant. So small. Smuggling tunnels being the reason why Steve Rogers turned your life into a neverending torment.

The logical brain knew that for a mob boss, an unknown to the police route of smuggling that would provide unlimited profits for decades, was worth one meager life. It was worth much more. He would really have killed you back then, if you didn’t comply with his marriage whim.

“Why do you tell me this?” Your nose scrunched up and a displeased whimper left your lips when Steve’s softened cock slipped out of you.

His fingers touched your cheek as Steve’s cold blue eyes seared into yours.

“Because you’re my wife and you asked.”

You didn’t read it in any falsely romantic way. Steve wasn’t going to be sharing his feelings and burdens with you. But he knew the power he held over you and had the privilege of being blunt, certain that you wouldn’t spill his secrets anywhere. Because he owned you.

“Speaking of which,” he lifted you up easily and put you back on your feet.

Which shook slightly, your pink heels barely holding you upright.

A dollop of cum dripped down from your pussy and splashed on the floor, before you reached between your thighs with a grimace and adjusted your soaked panties back into place.

You quickly pressed your thighs together and rolled down your skirt. Steve was tucking himself back into his pants and you tried not to glance at his cock shiny with your juices, nor at his fingers that smelled of your arousal when he pressed them against your cheek earlier.

You were adjusting your blouse when Steve caught your wrist. His irises reminded of a cold, but clear mountain lake - as disquieting as tempting to dip in it. It was a depth from which you’d never breach the surface.

“We have an appointment at six. I’ll pick you up myself.” He announced.

“Appointment?” You frowned.

“Since you keep losing your ring-” Steve lifted your hand up to your face, your finger bare where the sparkling diamond and wedding band should be.

You left them in your office, taking them off as soon as you walked in. Just to feel the victory of not wearing them for a few hours.

“- I’ll get you a permanent brand.”

Your frown deepened. Your gaze shifted between your finger and Steve’s face as you tried to decipher what he meant. What was he going to do? Hot-glue it to your finger? You didn’t think it was possible to nail a ring to a bone, or was it?

Steve’s thumb rubbed your bare knuckle. His low purr, as sinfully sounding as it was, scared you.

“My name is going to look so fucking good on your skin, Princess.”

It took you a moment. Mostly because your mind couldn’t simply accept the idea that your husband would do something like it. But you quickly realized that he would. Considering everything he’s done so far, this was the smallest of crimes. Like nothing.

“I’m not getting tattooed!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp.

He didn’t budge.

Stepping even closer, Steve held your hand trapped between your bodies as he gripped the back of your neck with his other hand.

“Yes, you are.” He stated calmly.

“You will be a good girl and sit in the chair while my name is branded into your skin. Or-” you never knew threat and amusement could combine, but Steve’s eyes glinted that exact, lethal combo- “I’ll drug you and have it done while you’re out of it.”

Your own eyes widened, fear muffling any outburst of rebellion that you might’ve dared to voice.

Somehow the idea of being drugged and having something done to you, while you were unconscious, terrified you more than having a loaded gun pressed against your cheek.

“Either way, it’s happening. But I know your stance on the substances messing with the brain, so I’m sure you prefer to be conscious.” Steve’s mouth curved into a smile of a predator that knew his prey had nowhere to go.

And he was right. You would fight him, but the threat of being pumped with some unknown drug stopped you from trying. Even if Steve made sure to apply the cleanest anesthesia medication, you wouldn’t want to risk it. You knew too well how the smallest doses of narcotics and psychoactive substances influenced the brain. Or rather massacrated it.

“I’ll wear the fucking ring,” you pleaded, though rather petulantly.

“Great!” Steve flashed you a smile and kissed the knuckle of your ring finger. “But you’re still getting that tattoo, Princess.”

No amount of glaring and arguments worked to even irritate Steve as he took you to the tattoo parlor later that day. He was so set on his decision, nothing would deter or delay it. Not even your fear as your hands visibly shook when he accompanied you inside the empty tattoo shop.

Judging by the address and the interior, it wasn’t a random place either.

It seemed like one of those tattoo shops that require booking half a year in advance. It wasn’t a bright, safe space, either. Nor the typical rock and heavy metal design. Dark; a mixture of wood and leather. But no harsh tones, no collages displaying various works, no neons. Almost like a spa.

A very intimidating spa.

This place definitely didn’t do butterflies or overused tribal tattoos.

It would, you thought, be a place where people working for the most dangerous branch of the mafia had their skin inked.

“Rogers.” A gruff voice greeted as you followed half a step behind Steve.

Your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s. At first because he made you hold his hand as he helped you out of the car, but as you stepped into the parlor you felt fear of pain spiking so high you needed to lean against something.

Unfortunately for you, Steve was the only solid rock you could lean on at the moment.

A big, rather scary looking man walked out from a darkened backroom. He was a few inches shorter than Steve, but no less broad. Wearing black head to toe, his tattoos were like a refreshing splash of color that instantly drew attention.

Steve had quite a few tattoos. A lot of them. But this man was covered in ink.

His whole hands, sleeves of his arms. Vines stretched even up his neck. Only his head was clean of any print. His hair was buzzed, his dark beard trimmed. Yeah, he definitely could be a mafia’s tattoo artist slash silent killer.

“Will this do?” The man showed Steve a design on a small piece of paper, not glancing your way even once, even though it was you who was going under the needle.

He either didn’t care, since you weren’t the one paying for this whole ordeal, or he didn’t want to piss Steve off by looking at the mob boss’ wife.

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Steve nodded his approval then tugged on your hand. “Come on, Princess. Get up on the chair.”

There was no point in postponing the inevitable and you’d rather save yourself the humiliation of Steve putting you in the chair by force. Which he would. So you complied, though you still glared daggers at him.

He remained indifferent, taking a seat on a small rolling stool and staying at your side. If it wasn’t to ensure you wouldn’t bolt, you might think he did it out of care.

Turning your head away from Steve and the spark of delight in his eyes, you focused on the gloved hands of the tattoo artist. Fingers of your other hand squeezed into a fist as the man prepped the skin of your ring finger.

“I suppose you don’t care that the bastard is making me do it?” You dared to ask right as the man was about to transfer the drawing onto your digit.

He paused. With him paused your heart, waiting for reaction. Waiting for salvation, though you suspected it was a fool’s hope.

The man’s eyes lifted to your face. He watched you for a long, silent moment. Then huffed a short laugh and smirked.

“I get why you picked her,” he addressed Steve. Who was sitting beside you, completely unbothered and now grinning smugly.

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked down at the outline of the tattoo that was being transferred onto your skin. Not a drawing, but words that would wrap around your knuckle the way a ring does. Though most lettering would be visible on the outside, like a diamond would, ends curved into the inner side of your finger.

A bold, but neat cursive. Big letters.

Steve

And above it, slightly smaller, but equally brazen reminder.

‘Til death

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #dark mafia!steve rogers #chris evans smut #steve rogers imagine #dark!mafia Steve Rogers #touch the darkness

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buckets-and-trees · 5 months

Text

Prepare For Takeoff

Title: Prepare For Takeoff Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: vaginal fingering, dubious existing engagement

Logistical Notes: Another piece early in the days of the I'm Your Man AU.

Author Note: I started this AU when I was at an airport, and my recent trip had me thinking of these two again, and it had me wishing I were Andy's to spoil.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

While you aren’t used to being chauffeured to every aspect of your life (nor did you want to get used to it, the driver and vehicle yet another element that Andy insisted on in the new life he inserted you into), you know a security checkpoint where your driver had to stop and speak to someone else is not part of the typical route back to the palatial Barber Estate. You sit up straighter in your seat, looking first to the men in the front, but neither of them give anything away, your bodyguard Shep’s face is the same stoic expression as ever, and your driver Mark only glances into the rear view mirror to meet your eyes briefly.

Your brows furrow and you look out the window. You can only see large white buildings on either side of the SUV, and the overwhelmingly industrial feel has you at a loss for guessing the where and why of your location.

That is until you reach the end of the building and the car pulls around the corner. Now you see these large white industrial walls make up the sides of a row of aircraft hangars. While your jaw doesn’t drop, your mouth opens slightly. The jaw dropping moments as a character in the life of Andy Barber are so frequent, but you are starting to control your reactions a bit more.

The SUV pulls up smoothly to the side of a private jet, sleek and black, the late afternoon sun shining off its metal sides. Mark stops the vehicle, and as Shep opens your door, you are not surprised to see you are stepping out exactly onto a long, blue carpet that leads from the SUV to the bottom of a set of white stairs. At the top of them, Andy emerges from the plane, nodding to you. You smooth down the front of your clothing and glare up at him.

“What is this?” You call up loudly.

“You know what it is.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away for the weekend. Now, don’t be difficult, sweetheart, you’re going to love this.”

You feel a sting in your eyes but quickly blink it away.

You hate this because you know he is right.

Yet again he will undoubtedly give you exactly what you want and go beyond what you could even imagine for it, but because he wants to, not because you want any of it.

That is the constant curse in this relationship.

Everything you want, but all your choices stolen from you before you can make them.

You concentrate on taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase, mustering the strength that you will need for this. You have to armor yourself against his charm and his cunning. Every moment with him is dangerous.

“I thought it was time to take you away, make you forget the everyday. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

You blink, open your mouth, then shut it again. He is the source of the stress, but you don’t trust what would happen if you said that.

He smirks, then sweeps you into a kiss that immediately sends tingles all through your body, from where his lips press insistently against yours, tongue teasing into your mouth, to the hand he plants possessively onto you hip and the other on your back, pressing you flush against him, down to your toes, legs feeling unstable as he takes your breath away. You are helpless but to cling to his shoulders and kiss him back, because your traitorous body willingly surrenders to him, damn near craves him.

He finally lets you breathe again when you tap against his chest and turn your head, gasping for air.

He kisses your cheek, then your neck just beneath your ear.

Getting your breath back, you give a small huff. “So, what? I don’t even get to pack? You just have whatever I need for the flight and when we get wherever we’re going, I’ll just arrive to a closet full of new clothes and accessories?”

“Naturally.” You can feel his smirk against your skin for a moment before he bites at your delicate flesh.

“This is insane.” You push away from him and step through the open door of the jet.

“It’s not insane,” he says, stalking close behind you.

The interior of the plane is sleek, minimal, but the flavor of the furniture and decor evoke the same feeling as the common spaces of his estate with lush leather and dark wood.

The fact that there’s furniture…

“It’s not normal.”

Hand to your back, Andy ushers you further into the plane. “You’re never going to be subjected to normal again in your life.”

“But what if I liked normal?”

He sits on a leather loveseat and pulls you down immediately next to him, nearly in his lap. He counters, “You liked needing to get to the airport early, check your bags or haul them through security with your three-ounces-or-less limit on liquids, take off your shoes, and trek through the terminals to your gate?”

You sigh and look straight ahead.

He chuckles and beckons over a gentleman who offers a tray of drinks.

“Bourbon or champagne?”

“Thank you,” Andy says, and takes a glass of the dark bourbon.

“No, thank you,” you decline.

“The captain says we are clear for take off on your word, Mr. Barber.”

Andy nods. “Wheels up then. We’ll take dinner in ninety minutes. You can leave us until that point.”

“Call if you need anything, sir.”

You hear the click of a door as the man disappears. Andy takes a slow drink, then presses the glass to your lips, forcing you to take a sip before he sets the glass aside.

You feel the jet begin to move and then turn toward the runway.

“You deserve more than normal,” Andy says, eyes on you, returning to your conversation from moments before.

“Andy…” you hedge.

“I will whisk you away anywhere in the world. I’ll give you everything you want. You’re mine to spoil. You’re going to live a beautiful life with me.”

“Andy,” you start again, but unsure how to counter.

He growls your name and yanks you abruptly into his lap. He cuts any argument you were about to launch into by biting at your lower lip and grinding you down onto his hard bulge.

You whimper and throw your head back.

Andy assaults your bared neck with heated kisses. He knows he’ll have you a pliant mess for him to slake his lust in a matter of moments.

You know it, too.

And you know he’ll overwhelm you with pleasure of your own, never a selfish lover even though every other bit of him is selfish.

His fingers slip under the fabric covering your core without hesitation, and he strokes your labia, gathering more and more of your arousal as the plane picks up speed. Slow strokes back and forth, back and forth. The pad of his forefinger circles your clit and you bite back a whimper.

“Mmm, you know I love those noises you make.” He circles your bundle of nerves again, this time with his thumb, letting two of his fingers dip just slightly into your slick channel. “Give me what I want,” he coos, coaxing with another circle, and another, and you finally break, moaning openly for him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me know how good I make you feel.”

He pumps his fingers full into the knuckle now, and not like anyone else you’d ever been with intimately before. It’s only been a few weeks, but Andy has taken every opportunity to become a master of your body and coax and command pleasure out of every inch of you. He knows just how much pressure to apply when fucking you with his fingers, and he pushes into that spongy spot at the front of you walls insistently, repeatedly as the jet leaves the ground, making you cry out and shake on an abrupt orgasm.

You sink forward, hanging your head on his shoulder, but it’s only the first orgasm he plans to ply from your body on this flight. He draws your left hand to his mouth, and hums as he places a kiss first against the band of your engagement ring on your finger and then into your palm, before trailing his lips to your wrist. He eases you down to the floor, and you lay back and watch as he shucks off his pants above you before descending down to sheath himself inside you next, demanding more.

And as he fucks you there, then on another of the chairs, then takes you back to the sleeping quarters for yet more, you bend to his will and his demands and his lust, overcome with everything he is and everything he makes you feel, lost in the complexity of what he’s confined you into. His spoiled and ruined sweetheart.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

go to the next part: DON'T LOOK TOO FARI'm Your Man Collection Masterlist

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #mafia au #chris evans characters #soft dark andy barber #I'm your man #aspen wrote something

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stuckyslut8 · 3 months

Text

I'm so very tamed now

summary : your two ' scary ' mob boyfriends interrogate you after finding out you're a double agent.

Pairing: mob stucky x reader (poly)

Warning : 18+ mentions of smut, innuendos, use of gun in a way it's not supposed to. angy steve 😡, sappy bucky. Poly relationship. .Typos

"You're not coming in." Steve told bucky as they stood in front of the room in which you were kept.

"Oh come on sweetheart i need-"

"Last time you came in here to interrogate you ended up fucking her on the table." He said with a dissapointed look on his face.

"That was one time, it wont happen again." Bucky said opening the doors and bursting through, to see you there seated in the interrogation chair, looking at bucky with those eyes.

"Don't give me that look.." bucky warned you." "Whatever happened last time is never gonna happen again."

"And why is that baby?" You asked smirking.

"Because...becuase-" bucky stumbled over his words looking for a good reason.

"Because I'm here with him." The blonde that emerged from the doors just then said with a cold expression on his face.

"We'll see about that rogers. " you gave him a wink.

"Enough with that. " steve said nearing you, using all of his intimidation tactics, which you've seen over a hundred times, "tell me who you work for."

"Right tell him who you work for or I'm gonna have to punish you sweetheart. " the brunette intervened.

"Punish me?" You said with a laugh. "By making me suck on your cock daddy?"

"Really?" Steve asked bucky , almost knowing that's exaclty what bucky would've done.

"What? That usually works with her and you." Bucky said pointing at his boyfriend.

"Grow up bucky." Steve said in an irritated tone, while you were clearly enjoying their banter.

"Now you" steve turned to you, grabbing the gun from his pocket and pointing it under your chin.

"Hey hey hey, what the hell steve, you're gonna hurt her-" bucky said in a panic.

"Shut up barnes." Steve cut him off and looked at you, giving you his most terrifying look.

You looked back at him with a smirk as you moved your jaw and took the tip of the gun in your mouth, sucking on in seductively, almost changing Steve's mind for a second.

"Oh fuck you're getting me so hard sweetheart." bucky said palming his erection, earning a glare from steve as he pulled the gun away from your mouth, muttering curses under his breath.

"What now stevie? You gonna go down on me amd edge me till i answer you?" You said with a innocent look on youe face, "that's what bucky did."

"Hey you're not supposed to tell that to him."

"What the hell barnes, is this how you're gonna interrogate all our suspects from now on? You're gonna suck rumlow's dick too?" Steve questioned his guilty as charged boyfriend, who was looking for another excuse to say.

"Hey in my defense, it almost worked, i would've gotten the words out of her if she hadn't passed out from the edging. " bucky said putting his hands up as if trying to surrender his case to steve.

"God you're an idiot, why am i still with you?" Steve asksd the million dollar question.

"Cuz you love me ." Bucky said as a matter of fact.

Before steve could yell at bucky for turning sappy in the middle of an interrogation, someone knocked at the door.

"Come in."

"Uh sir it's stark he's waiting for you."

"Oh fuck i gotta go, don't screw this up buck." He said giving a warning glare to his lover.

"Don't worry steve, i know how to make our girl talk."

Oh boy you were in for a good time.

A/N : this fic idea just came to my sleepy brain first thing in the morning, I'm thinking of turning this into a fun series uh i mean fun for bucky atleast 🤭.

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jtargaryen18 · 5 days

Text

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 35

A/N: The center photo is indicative of the reader's gown only. Not her appearance which isn't defined.

Part 35: Dance with the Devil

Series Masterlist

Words: 5.2k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, intimidation, dark seduction. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

"You are almost ready," Yelena said with a smile, just after the stylists left. "Now the jewelry."

You paused, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your gown was an exclusive creation by a top designer, a beautiful sleeveless, a-line creation in layers of tulle, sequins, and matte satin. Shades of pale blue and gold transformed you, enhanced by the ornate way your hair was done, the subtelty of your carefully applied makeup. Beneath you wore the most elegant little gold heels that were surprising comfortable despite their minimal style. The stockings were sheer, hugging your upper thighs just below the skimpy ice-blue panties you wore.

The mention of jewelry brought up an unhappy memory and you knew Yelena recalled it too when your gaze met hers. How your husband's ex-mistress smuggled her necklace in for you to wear on another special occasion had never been solved.Had it been Neal? Hansen? A reminder from the not-too-distant past that your enemies could reach you at any time. A reminder to be vigilant.

"What jewelry?" you asked carefully.

Yelena smiled. "I picked it up myself," she told you, lifting a delicate strand of diamonds set in gold from a black velvet box on the bed.

When she draped it around your throat, you smiled at the way it completed your look. There were matching earrings, diamond studs each with a teardrop diamond dangling and catching the light. The set was exquisite.

"Harry Winston," your friend told you, admiring how they looked on you.

"Nice of them to loan these for the ball," you told her, grateful you got to wear them.

Yelena reached for the golden mask on the bed, holding it to you. "No loan. Steve bought them."

What?

"These must have cost a fortune," you mused. They probably cost more than everything else you owned combined. "Glad you're going with us. I'd hate to get mugged for these."

Yelena grinned. "Security is going to be tight already with so many important people there. The mayor will be there. One of the state senators."

You scoffed. "Why am I going? I'm no one special."

"But you are," Yelena told you. 'The fact that everyone wants you has been a powerful motivator in this game of chess. Your husband is completely devoted to you. Barnes would love to get his hands on you."

"Barnes would ring my neck the first chance he got," you pointed out.

Yelena's expression was difficult to read. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hansen would for sure kill me," you said, putting your mask in place carefully. The soft mask of golden sequins fit over your eyes.

Yelena's gaze dropped at the mention of the name and you were ashamed. You needed to work harder not to bring that up to her. And you needed a subject change. Fast.

"Who's going to be here with Nat tonight?" You weren't surprised Nat didn't want to go. She'd been through so much between the horrific end of her abusive marriage and all trauma of years being left to the sadistic nature of Banner. You wanted to make sure she was well looked after while you and Steve were gone.

"Clint is staying here of course," Yelena said quietly. "Dyson will be here too. He's arranged for extra security for the house tonight."

You nodded your approval. "What about Scott?"

"He's coming with us," Yelena explained.

You smiled. Scott going had little to do with keeping you and Steve safe and everything to do with spending time with Yelena. You were pretty sure Yelena was aware of Scott's infatuation with her. Would she ever return his affections? You didn't know. Considering her tragic history, you weren't sure she could feel the same way towards him or anyone. But in the time you'd known Scott, you learned he was a good man who always had your back and never once questioned your authority. You trusted him with your life. You trusted him with Yelena too.

But would she ever give him - or anyone - a chance after all she'd been through?

You blew out an exhale, preparing yourself for the night ahead. "I guess we should let Steve know I'm ready."

"He knows," a deep voice caught you and Yelena both off guard.

Your husband strolled into the bedroom and Yelena stepped back to allow him a clear path to you. He looked breathtakingly handsome in the classic black tuxedo he wore, tailored perfectly to fit his tall, broad-shouldered physique. His tawny hair was perfectly styled, diamond cufflinks winking in the light. His tie was shades of gold and blue to match your gown, a subtle touch but one you appreciated.

Steve moved to stand behind you in the mirror of your vanity, bending to fit his handsome face in the reflection with yours.

"You look so beautiful," he said with something like reverence in his voice. "I can't wait to show you off."

"I'll be downstairs," Yelena said, making her way out to give you some privacy. "We worked very hard on her, boss. Don't mess her up."

Steve smiled at what he took as a playful warning, his large hands smoothing over your bare shoulders. Slowly, you removed the mask, placing it in your lap with your hands. His watchful gaze didn't miss the slight tremble of their movements.

"Everything is going to be fine," he explained. "I've been to this event before. All the rich, politic elite of Boston come out to dance and drink the night away and wallow in excess. It's probably Tony's favorite night of the year."

You could see it. And you were excited to go to the annual masquerade ball, as Steve's wife and not his trophy, and to enjoy a fabulous night on the town. You felt like Cinderella, going to the ball in the gown that truly looked as if magic had created it.

But you couldn't fight back an impending sense of dread. It had been so quiet in the weeks of your recovery and Steve's. Life went on. You were included in all the family's business meetings. The family business had recovered and was branching out, deals with three of the other four families made things even better.

Not that you agreed with all of it. You weren't crazy about the loan sharking or protection deals the family made. The casinos and restaurants didn't bother you as much. And at least the family wasn't making any money off drugs or trafficking. Some of the stories about the business and how other families operated you heard now were just horrific. You made up your mind early that no matter what, you'd never allow the family to make money off the misfortunes of women and children. Never.

It had been very quiet where the Barnes family was concerned. Too quiet.

"I'll be the envy of every man there tonight," he murmured, pressing a kiss into your neck. The soft brush of his beard made you shiver. A sensual smiled curved Steve's lips. "Are you ready?"

You nodded. You trusted your husband. You were going to do your best to have a wonderful night, just like he intended.

And still that little kernel of dread lingered.

You felt like you were in an old Hollywood movie to walk down the staircase on your husband's arm with the gown flowing softly with your movements. Honestly, you were grateful for Steve's help in keeping you balanced, relieved when you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Dyson, Yelena, Scott, Clint and Nat were a small crowd, watching in admiration as you approached. Nat's smile was all you needed to feel like a princess. Her lovely green eyes lit up as her gaze swept over you.

"You look perfect," she exclaimed, carefully hugging you. "I knew that gown was the one."

Nat had been the one to find it when the two of you went out shopping for it. And you were all too happy to give her the credit. You knew very little about fashion. You would learn. Until you did, it was nice to have the advice of someone who already understood it.

As Nat stepped back, you forced yourself to smile. She still looked so small, so frail. She had yet to gain weight and regain her amazing figure. Your sister-in-law seemed fragile, even with the protection and love of the man she'd always wanted. Even with the full support and love of her brother. It worried you.

Dyson looked worried too, but as you did, he put on a quick smile. "You two had best get going. The line at dropoff takes forever."

"True enough," Steve said, nodding to Yelena and Scott.

You stopped to hug Dyson. "Keep her safe for me," you whispered.

"You know I will," he muttered.

Steve whisked you away to the sleek black limousine waiting in the driveway. Its glossy, jet-black exterior reflected the fading sunlight with a mirror-like finish. The long, streamlined body stretched gracefully, its tinted windows offering privacy and adding to its air of mystery. Scott climbed in behind the wheel and Yelena rode shotgun as Steve got you into the back seat, helping you keep your gown away from the doors. Once you were settled, you studied your husband. Something was missing.

"Did you bring a mask?" you asked him.

Steve smiled, pulling a small black mass from inside his tuxedo coat. No sequins, just a matte black mask he could wear. But he wasn't interested in the mask as he fidgeted with it. He was too busy staring at you.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

You couldn't help the smile the question brought on. "Yes."

Steve looked pleased. "As time goes on and things settle down, we'll get out more. Do more things like this. You look like a princess tonight."

Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes at his heartfelt words. He meant them. He was taking you out to a society function, dressed you up like you were going to the fucking Oscars. A night out like nothing you'd ever experienced before. You'd been excited since he told you he got the tickets a few weeks ago.

"There are going to be a lot of people there, sweetheart," Steve explained quietly. "I'm sure Belova went over everything with you. But I need you to listen. You are going to be with me at all times. If you're not with me, you'll be with Belova and Lang. No wandering off to talk to people or sightsee. Okay?"

You nodded. Yelena had covered the plans thoroughly while she helped you get ready for the evening.

"If I have to talk business for a moment, Belova will be with you. You have to go to the ladies' room, Belova will be with you," he continued. "Take it easy on the drinks. You're not used to alcohol and I need you vigilant tonight. We're going to have a wonderful time but..."

"I understand," you told him. "Besides, I don't want to miss any part of tonight because I'm drinking. It's my first masquerade ball. I'd like to enjoy every minute of it."

The smile Steve flashed you had your heart fluttering in your chest.

"There will be dancing, right?" you asked.

"Of course," he told you.

"You'll dance with me?" Would Steve dance with you to a beautiful ballad or classic song?

Reaching over, he tipped up your chin with his fingers, his touch careful. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you when you smile at me like that. I love you."

"I love you, too."

His lips were a teasing brush against your own but in seconds it deepened, filled with longing and need.

The sharp wrap on the dark glass that separated the two of you in the back seat of the limo from Scott and Yelena up front scared you. Then the glass slid down just a couple of inches.

"Later," Yelena admonished. "I worked too hard on her for this party, boss."

You froze thinking that was going to piss your husband off but he laughed. "Okay, sorry," he called back to her.

It made you happy. Ever since everything happened that day between your family and Barnes', your husband and your best friend got along a lot better. Steve was kinder to her, treated her with the same respect as he would any of the men in his employ. That being the case, Yelena felt comfortable enough to tease him about things like tonight. She worked hard on carefully picking her moments with him to tease. She did even better at being thoughtful when offering criticism or advice. The fact that they were getting along better just made your life easier.

"That's supposed to be privacy glass," he said, still grinning.

"Or she's just that good at her job." Honestly, she was.

"After the ball," Steve said once the privacy glass has slid back up, "I want you out of that dress. Especially if you want to keep it."

The sly warning had you grinning. "I would like to keep it. It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

"Noted," your husband said. "I'll do my best to contain myself until you get the gown to safety."

The heated looks he cut you the entire way into Boston made you wonder if he'd be able to. You couldn't wait to find out.

Once you reached the venue, you saw there was indeed an endless line of limos in the que leading up to the door. It moved surprisingly fast. Within ten minutes, Scott pulled up to the door and Yelena darted out to open the door for you. Before you could reach for her hand, Steve was there, helping you out of the back of the car with ease and ushering you up the carpeted stairs with Yelena behind you. The decorations and festive lighting dazzled you as you moved along on Steve's arm. The way the soft light reflected off the gown you wore made you feel like you were in a fairytale.

Steve stopped and greeted more than a few gentlemen on the way into the venue. One man you recognized as a senator and the easy way the two men spoke had you curious. Did the senator know who Steve was? Were they old friends? For a moment, the two of them seemed to forget all going on around them. Just as quickly, the senator's gaze fell on you and the handsome older man smiled.

"Is this your new bride?" the senator asked.

"She is," Steve replied, introducing you with obvious pride. You meant to shake the man's hand. He kissed the back of yours in an old fashioned gesture. You found him completely charming.

"Have you been to the masquerade before?" the senator asked.

You shook your head. "This is my first one."

The man smiled. "I hope you enjoy tonight. If I get the chance, I'll introduce you to my wife. It's one of her favorite nights of the year."

"I'd like that," you told him. "It was nice to meet you."

Was it your imagination that Steve watched you with such wonder? Once his conversation with the senator ended, he led you further into the venue where the main ballroom was all prepared, looking like a view from a movie set.

Clusters of elegant tables arranged in a wide horseshoe shape framed the dance floor, each adorned with lavish centerpieces sparkling beneath the soft glow of the majestic chandelier overhead. The chandelier's light cascaded down like a shimmering waterfall, casting a warm, golden hue over the room, making every surface gleam. A full bar stood ready, offering the finest drinks, while an orchestra played a symphony of enchanting melodies, weaving through the air like a spell. The room was a sea of Boston's political powerhouses, movie stars, and the wealthy elite, all dressed in exquisite gowns and tailored suits, their masks concealing only their identities—not their status. As you paused to take it all in, your husband's familiar warmth pressed against your back, grounding you in the moment as the dazzling scene unfolded before your eyes.

"What do you think?" Steve's whisper at your ear made you shiver.

"I love this," you told him with enthusiasm. "Thank you for bringing me tonight."

"You don't have to thank me." Your husband took your hand, looking like a tawny-haired prince in his tuxedo and black mask, and led you to the dance floor. Your surprise must have shown on your face because he laughed as he swept you into his arms at the edge of the dancing crowd and led you in an easy waltz.

Steve was a wonderful dancer much to your surprise. He led you with an easy grace that you delighted in and found easy to keep up with given your own love of dance. You knew you had to be staring at him but he kept you close, enjoying your surprise.

"When did you learn to dance like this?" you had to ask after he twirled you around gracefully.

"It's not so hard," he said, his attention solely on you. "Not nearly as hard as your type of dancing."

Ballet was discipline but dancing a perfect waltz wasn't easy either. You were impressed.

"Is this why you got us all dressed up?" you teased. "So you could show off your dancing skills?"

Steve chuckled. "Is there something wrong with wanting to have a magical night with your wife?"

You were delighted. But you knew it wasn't the only reason Steve brought you here. And now that you were involved in the family business, you weren't offended by the other reason the two of you were there.

Not long before he married you, Steve had acquired a prized property on the outskirts of Boston. He'd been so involved with marrying you and taking over the families he'd neglected it for a time. Now his attention was back on it, plans were being made to develop it. Together, you'd decided on an exclusive resort with fine dining, glitzy nightclubs, and a casino for the wealthy. It was a massive investment and to make it work, certain permits would need to be acquired. The senator and a few key businessmen there tonight could make or break the project that would expand your family's wealth.

It was a very important night for Steve.

He'd be spending some time talking to these gentlemen tonight which is why Yelena and Scott were there, to keep you safe. You really didn't mind. You felt like Cinderella at the ball in the beautiful gown that flowed and captured the light with your movements as you danced with your husband among the wealthy citizens of the city. As the two of you moved through the dance, you caught a glimpse of Yelena, dressed in her dark suit and standing next to Scott, blending into the background. Your best friend's gaze never left you. Scott's never left her. You smiled, enjoying the beauty of the moment, dancing with your husband at your very first masquerade ball.

When the dance came to an end, it took you a moment to realize it. One of the musicians announced the band would take a short break and be back in just a few minutes. Steve's hand at your lower back urged you to turn. The senator making his way towards you with a lovely older lady at his side.

The senator's wife was polished from head to toe. Her gown was bright pink layers of satin that matched her lipstick. Otherwise her white hair and face gave her a cold countenance, like she was an ice queen dressed for her best guess at spring. Her eyes were dark, small and mean as her gaze swept over you. The senator assured you that you and his wife would have plenty to talk about. As the woman stood there studying you with pursed lips, you decided talking to her probably wasn't the best idea.

Steve's gaze met yours and he nodded as he let the senator lead him away, leaving you with the judgy woman before you.

"This must be a special night for you," she said tartly.

Straightening your spine, you smiled. "Why is that?"

The woman's white brows rose slightly but a smile played about her lips. "You don't belong here."

"Excuse me?" You kept your smile in place.

"My father was a direct descendent from The Mayflower," she informed you. "We're practically royalty here. We built our fortune through hard work and our good name. You, on the other hand, come from poverty and crime. You father crawled out the shadows and robbed good people blind. That's why you have the money to play dress up and act like you belong here. We all know your husband fancies himself some sort of underworld prince. But he doesn't belong here either."

Oh, no, she didn't just put you and your husband down. Lifting your chin, you looked her in the eye.

"Your ancestors came over on a ship over four hundred years ago and nobody cares anymore," you told her. "You can pretend to be royalty, and tell yourself you made your money working hard and protecting your good name. But the sad truth is, your family made your money the same way mine did. In fact, your family probably paid mine to keep from getting your hands dirty or to protect your interests. And my husband is the king of Boston's underworld and so was my father before him. You may be someone in society right now, but your husband is currently anelected official. If you were smart, you'd spending a little more time being respectful."

Gracefully as you could manage, you turned your back to the rude woman and marched off. Yeah, maybe you hurt your husband's chances of getting the permits you needed for the project development once she talked to her husband. But you weren't about to put up with someone like that.

You looked all around for Yelena. You were dying to tell her about the conversation you'd just had. But you weren't watching where you were going and you collided with someone hard.

And whoever he was, he caught you in his arms, sweeping you out onto the dance floor as another waltz began. He was as tall as your husband and the scent of his expensive cologne was familiar. You realized who held you a beat before he spoke, a low purr by your ear.

"Did you miss me, beautiful?"

Barnes.

Easing back, you glanced up at your uninvited dancing partner, wearing an aura of allure and danger with ease. Barnes' chiseled jawline was partially obscured by the intricately designed black mask he wore, adorned with silver accents catching the light. Those steely-blue eyes were shadowed but still piercing, glinting with a cold intensity as his gaze met yours.

His tuxedo was entirely black and tailored to perfection, hugging his muscular frame effortlessly. His attire seemed to absorb the light, creating a sense that he came from the shadows. Even his shirt was dark onyx, subtle embroidery only revealing itself when he moved. And he felt strong as he held you, solid and healed.

Stop staring at the man and answer.

"I haven't thought about you at all," you told him, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite hitting that note.

As much as you hated to admit it, Barnes was undeniably handsome. From the way his hair was slicked back with precision to the confident smirk curling his lips, the man was... magnetic. But there was a sinister edge beneath the polished surface. There always had been. Barnes' posture was too poised, his movements too calculated. Every inch of him whispered danger, a wolf in the presence of unsuspecting lambs.

Pulling you close to him, Barnes chuckled. "I don't believe that. I think you I live rent free in that beautiful head of yours."

"Maybe," you said, feeling his smile widen. "I do think about how I wished we'd used more poison."

Now he laughed, a deep rich sound. "I don't doubt that."

"What do you want?" You looked anywhere but at him. Still, you were so focused on the predator that held you, you weren't really seeing your surroundings. The music, the lights, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

"What do you think I want?" Barnes asked.

As Barnes swept you around the floor, your mind scrambled for a comeback. "Your hands around my throat," you said, going with honesty. "And me dead?"

Leaning in, he ran his nose gently up the column of your neck, making you shiver. "Oh, I did. I really did. And I could have made that happen."

You were dangerously close to having him think he had the upper hand here. "No, you couldn't."

Again, he chuckled. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" Releasing you only long enough to spin you in the dance, he pulled you back into him tightly. "You made peace with your husband. You're now involved in the family business. I would call Steve a pussy for even thinking about that if it were any other woman. But you're not just any woman. But you're special."

You missed a step in your alarm. How the hell did Barnes know you were in the all the family business meetings now? And that you and Steve had made peace? The questions triggered your anxiety, reminding you of the days early in your marriage when Neal had been Barnes' rat and you were always looking over your shoulder. Was someone else talking to Barnes?

"A long time ago, your mother seduced my father," Barnes whispered. "She tore my family apart. And when you came along and you weren't the poor disfigured little girl we were told you were, I assumed you were a little whore like your mother. You look almost exactly like her. Has anyone told you that?"

You didn't answer, trying hard to put a little space between the two of you. Where was Steve? It wouldn't be too conspicuous if he broke in on the dance. If Yelena or Scott came to save you, it could create a scene and unwanted attention.

"I even thought maybe, horrible thought I know," Barnes went on, "that you might be my half-sister. But it didn't take me long to realize that wasn't true either. Besides, that devious little mind in there, hidden behind all that beauty? You didn't get that from your mother. Or my father."

"What's it to you?" you snapped at him, trying to pull off pissed even though you held anger and fear in equal measure. "I'm Steve's wife. He's your boss. You'd do well to remember that."

Barnes was unfazed. "You're Steve's wife. For now. But he can't handle you." Barnes leaned closer, his gaze locking with yours. "You should belong to someone stronger."

Now you really were getting pissed. "I don't need you or any man, including my husband, to tell me who I am and what I should be doing," you said.

"You may be right," he purred. "But it's that attitude, that fire. It got me thinking... I had the wrong idea about you from the beginning. Yeah, all the bitterness from the past clouded my judgment for a while. I wanted you dead and buried next to your loser husband." When you tried to pull free of him, he tightened his grip. His grin widened. "Now I realize you're exactly what I need."

"For what?" You didn't know how much of your glare he got from behind your mask.

"To finally take my rightful place," he said as if it were gospel. "The position occupied by your current husband."

Current husband? Who the fuck did he think he was?

"Our children will be kings and queens," Barnes went on. "That dynasty would rule Boston for decades."

"My children with Steve will rule Boston," you told him angrily. "And when we're done with you, no one will even remember the Barnes family."

"One day," he said with meaning, leaning closer, "you'll be mine."

Despite yourself, you shivered. Barnes caught it.

"You want me too," he whispered. "I'll make you admit it."

As the song neared its end, you were prepared to do whatever you had to do to get away from the bastard, the man who'd done so much damage to your family. As the last strains of the symphony ended, Barnes released you to bow. You did curtsy to him, then you straightened.

"I will never be yours." You meant it with every fibre of your being. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my husband."

Barnes' grin didn't fade. "Better find a way to keep him safe."

You spun on your heel, marching off the dance floor. You needed air, and a moment to calm down. You were blinking back tears, you were that angry. You felt someone on your heels as you made you way out of the main event room out ornate glass doors left open. It was chilly out there but you welcomed it, fighting back anger.

"Are you okay?" Yelena asked, her hand at your back as you gripped the railing and hung on.

"No, I'm not... o-fucking-kay," you said, trying to regain your composure. "He came out of nowhere."

"He did," Yelena said. "He got to you so quickly after you talked to the senator's wife."

"Where's Steve?" you asked.

"Talking very intently to the senator," she replied. "It appears to be going well."

You had to wonder if that would still be true once the senator's wife caught a moment to tell her husband and your little "talk."

But you had bigger problems right now. Barnes.

"Barnes is all healed up," you told her. Looking beyond her, you saw Scott by the entranceway back into the ball. "And he's got big plans."

"He wants you," Yelena said it. "That much was obvious. It gives me some idea of his plans."

You nodded. "Don't say anything to Steve or Scott right now. I just want to find a glass of champagne to take the edge off and get through the rest of the ball."

With any luck, you could maybe enjoy one more magical dance with Steve before the evening ended.

You couldn't, however, complain. You wanted to be in on the family business and this was part of it. Barnes, unfortunately, was also part of it. And he'd just announced his intentions to you and you realized now it was the pit that had been in your stomach the entire evening.

Barnes would keep tearing your life apart until he was stopped. Somehow between his drastic plans and the animosity between you and your husband, you'd found your way to a happy marriage. A path to be queen in this world. And you'd be damned if you let Barnes threaten that future.

"You're going to tell Steve, right?"

"I am." You didn't miss the concern in Yelena's voice. "I'm telling all of you. But not here."

Nodding her agreement, Yelena watched as you straightened, steeled yourself to return to the event.

"Let's find you a glass of champagne, boss," she said with a wink.

Boss? Now that put the smile back on your face.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989 @curiousandjoyous @marvelouslyme96 @patzammit

#his inheritance #steve rogers #chris evans #bucky barnes #MCU AU #Mafia AU #Mafia!Steve Rogers #Mafia!Bucky Barnes #Mafia!daughter #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Yelena Belova #Scott Lang

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onsunnyside · 2 years

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🍓° 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Mafia!Ari Levinson x lovesick!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, sweet soft!reader, she’s a little oblivious. size difference: 6’8!Ari, he’s a total beefy hunk. neighbours au, a little tumble, stripper!reader, brief mentions of mafia business, undeniable daddy energy.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It was a little ridiculous how in love you were… With a single glance, he could make you melt until you’re a pile strawberry ice cream, tied with a pretty ribbon, and sitting on his doorstep.

𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝗪/𝗖 | 2.45K

𝗔/𝗡 | just a little something I wrote inspired by Melting by Kali Uchis (also where the title is from). this is my first mafia fic but there isn’t much detail since this is a real itty bitty au. as always, all mistakes are my own. [all posts/asks]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Time seems to slow when he jogs by, clad in shorts and a loose tank top with sweat seeping through the grey. His tan skin is covered in a light sheen, making the dozens of tattoos appear darker. From your seat on the porch, they still look like black blobs and lines stretching from his broad shoulders to his hands.

You’ve never seen them up close, but you have a few ideas of what they might be—a whole page in your diary to be exact.

Your eyes fall to his muscled legs, firm and thick thighs strain his shorts and just the beginnings of dark ink poke from underneath the fabric. You barely notice the ice cream melting down the cone to your hands, too deep in a daze when tingles blossom from your chest to your toes. A dreamy sigh flows from your lips as the wind flutters through his long brown hair, brushing along his bearded cheeks.

He turns to you and flashes a bright smile before turning the corner and disappearing down the street. That single glance makes your heart pound ten times faster, and all of your thoughts tangle into one ball of ribbons, varying in colours, prints and lace, but so evidently you.

If you could, you’d gift him that mess just so he could know how much he affected you without even trying.

"Oh no!" You quickly wipe your hands from the melting strawberry ice cream but it's useless, the pink stains your white dress and drips down to the ribbon around your ankle.

It’s almost too symbolic—the pretty pink bleeds all over your ivory clothes, ruining your life just like the fluttering trapped in your rib cage.

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to hate him, but he was so damn big that you didn’t have any space left in your heart to hate him.

To say you're in love would be an understatement. In every fantasy and daydream, he's the main focus, your co-star, your lover, your saviour draped in silk button-ups and silver rings. Oh, he's everything you've ever wanted! As if you manifested him when you were a young child and wrote about the perfect boy to sweep you off your feet and make your life a living fairytale—everything you scribbled in glittery pen has come true before your very eyes.

You don’t even mind that he and his biker friends rev their engines at three in the morning, but your roommate doesn’t agree, she’s never agreed.

The front door slams shut and you stiffen, hurriedly flipping through a random page in a magazine and desperately trying to act like you were not staring at his house next door.

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, voice already on edge. Vibrant red hair comes into your peripherals, as well as a pair of angry green eyes.

Natasha groans, setting down her bag on the kitchen counter. "You chickened out again? I need my sleep before I lose my mind. I can’t get any if he and his dumbass friends treat this street like a fucking race track!”

“They aren’t even that loud—and I bought you earplugs.”

“I am not touching those things until those assholes learn how to be decent human beings!” She rolls up her sleeves and grabs your arm, yanking you from the barstool.

"Wait! What are you doing!"

Her heels stomp on the hardwood floor, nearly shaking the picture frames on the walls, “I messed up five drinks today, do you know how bad that looks when they’re my recipes?” She huffs, "he's out there right now mowing his lawn and you're gonna talk to him."

You grab onto the nearest thing which happened to be the couch and clutched it for dear life. “No—you do it!”

"He doesn’t listen to me!" She digs her fingers into your sides making you yelp and feebly swat her away, but you just screwed up big time. “Just try, baby, please! For me!”

That’s the last thing you hear as you stumble out the front door, tripping over the damn welcome mat and tumbling down the stairs. It’s only a few steps, but it stings when your back thumps onto the stone walkway, your poor elbows cushioning your fall.

You barely catch the engine cutting and rushed footsteps before he appears.

He stands over you with sweat brimming at his hairline, a deeply concerned expression etched onto his face, "awh shit, are you okay?"

As always, the air goes thin and you’re under that dumb lovesick spell again. The sun glows around his head like a halo, melting you to the bone, and leaving a mess on the stone in the same shades as your love—strawberry ice-cream pink.

It’s terrible that you don’t know how deluded your tender heart is.

"You're bleeding," he crouches low, gently examining your elbow, "did your roommate push you down the stairs?”

"No! No, I-I fell.” Obviously! “But I'm okay." You utter, avoiding the peeping redhead through the curtains. Your gaze lands on his long fingers wrapped around your arm. He’s warm, warmer than you thought. Heat radiates off his body and envelops you like an old friend, familiar and calm.

"Are you?" He inquires unconvinced, "here, let me clean you up." He leaves no room for protests as he helps you up and leads you to his porch.

After you sit on the couch, he disappears inside the house before emerging with a large white case. He sits next to you and opens the kit on the table.

"That's a lot of stuff." You note, staring at the packed first aid kit. There are various rolls of gauze, different ointments, and bandages, far more things than your tiny plastic box under the sink.

Judging by his shiny sports car, and his collection of perfectly tailored suits and watches, Ari lived a very different life than you and you’d do anything to know about it. Your naive heart aches for him so badly it almost hurts.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Can I touch you, sweetheart?”

You watch him tend to your injury with slow and careful movements, his dark brows knitted in concentration. You’ve never been this close to him, the sudden rush of blood almost makes you lightheaded, but his scent brings you back down. The woody cologne floods your nose, followed by a dash of vanilla with underlinings of musky spice.

“What happened to your other dress?” He glances up, eyes shaded under his thick lashes.

“Oh… It got dirty.”

He hums, “what a shame.” He delicately presses down the edges of the bandage. “That’s one of my favourites. It always makes my day to see you wearing it.”

You swallow down a whimper and clench your thighs, seconds away from dropping to your weak knees. Embarrassment fills your chest, tinged with guilt, “I’m sorry, sir.” The words slip out before you could think.

He cracks a small smile, shaking his head, “it’s okay, just be more careful next time, yeah? Can’t have you ruining the little purple one too, that’s my second favourite.”

Dull thumps hammer inside your head, muffling his raspy voice. You nod silently, digging your sock-clad feet into the concrete.

You take the chance to memorize his tattoos, from the intricate rose by his wrist following the thorn stems up his arm where they entwined with a heavily shaded skull. Thin script is scattered along his skin, you can’t make out the exact words but they’re in swooping cursive, clinging to his flesh like wet chiffon.

His arms tighten as he cleans up, the muscles shifting under his paper-thin t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Every unconscious flex clouds your head, tunnelling your vision until he’s all you can see. A small whine sounds from your throat and his eyes flicker to yours, blue as can be.

“I don’t see you leave very often.” You were either inside or sitting on the front porch with a treat and a magazine, or in the backyard tending to that small garden. “Do you work?”

“I… I did, then I got fired.” The wound was still a little fresh. “But it wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

Ari perks up in interest, although he knows plenty about you, this was strikingly new. Aside from your basic profile, he knew about your past as well, including where you grew up, where your parents lived, and how long you’ve been in this city.

It was only right to know about the two girls living next to his late grandmother’s house. Curtis insisted since Ari wouldn’t let him stay in the old two-storey home, but instead the house down the street.

He came here to be alone and mourn, but that was hard to do with a cute neighbour always staring at him. Yet he stopped caring after you left a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers on his doorstep and an adorable ‘welcome to the neighbourhood!’ note.

He forgot how good it felt to be sought after, rather than feared and honoured like a living legend. You gave him that sliver of normalcy with your longing loved-up looks and quick dashes inside when he pulled into the driveway. To you, sweet-spirited you, he was an ordinary guy, not someone with a history coloured in hues of red and dripping all over his shoes, smearing the black ink of his future; an eternity tied to his family’s glory that’s now his.

“This customer was being so mean and I know I should’ve stayed professional but I was havin’ such a bad day already.” Your bottom lip trembles, flashes of that terrible day flickering through your head, “first I slept through my alarm, then I missed the bus, and my make-up broke in my bag a-and everything was all ruined.”

He reaches out, rubbing your knee soothingly. Poor girl, if it was up to him, you’d never be mistreated. “Where did you work?”

“Venom Vixens.” You sniffle, hoping he isn’t the judgemental type, you’ve known too many people who would humiliate you for your chosen career. “I, uh, I wasn’t one of the girls on stage since I was still new but I liked it there. My coworkers were nice, I got free drinks, and…”

“And?”

“I felt,” you look down at your hands, they were so much smaller than his, “I felt pretty. People go there to look and flirt, and I didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it.”

Ari wouldn’t mind giving you all of that instead.

He licks his lips, imagining you in a tiny lace set, the sheer fabric clinging to your figure while you swayed around the dimly lit club. A piece of art in the sea of ogling and drooling patrons, blooming beautifully under the flattery.

“You liked the attention.”

You giggle, “Yeah, a lot. Sure, some customers were gross and would say nasty things, but others were nice, real nice—they’d tip a lot and compliment me. Most of them were just lonely, they wanted someone to talk to or someone to spoil.”

You don’t regret accepting their fawning or expensive gifts, hell, most of your jewelry was from your loyal clients. Sparkly things paired with sweet words were a one-way ticket to your good books.

“How about your boss?” Ari asks, “how did he treat you?”

Venom Vixens wasn’t only a haven for the lonely or where perverts got their fill, but of course, you wouldn’t know that. You’d have a heart attack if you knew of the shady people who walked in and out of those doors, you’ve probably served a few of them, flashed that bright smile and earned yourself a big tip—unknowingly pocketing the filthy, blood-stained money.

“Mr. Hansen was very friendly, but everything went through him. If we wanted to change a routine, we had to perform it for him first and get his approval. He said it was protocol.” Ari snorts but you don’t catch it, all too distracted with twisting the ring on his middle finger. “He was nice when you were nice to him.”

“So he must’ve always been kind to you. You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever met.”

You preen under his praise and nod happily, questioning why you were so nervous around him in the first place.

Ari was a flirt—and you loved being flirted with.

“Mr. Hansen called me his favourite before he fired me. That was over two weeks ago, and Nat said I could take my time but,” you sigh, “I feel like a bother.”

He wonders if your best friend would still hate him if she knew he was the reason that her cafe was still standing. Without his ruling over the South district, there would be chaos, and that little joint would’ve been ransacked long ago.

Did he also call for extra protection because you frequented the establishment? Proudly so.

“Are you still looking for a job?” He takes your distant hum as a yes, “Do you want to work for me?”

Your head snaps up, your sparkling eyes wide in surprise.

“I’m opening a new club in a few days and I’ve got a spot left for a performer.” He didn’t, but he had no problem giving someone the boot to make room for you.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, and the thought of Ari owning a club flies straight over your head. You’ve watched him more than your favourite movie but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him, except that he smokes, liked to work out and alternated between a white mustang and a sleek black motorcycle.

Oh, and sometimes he changes in front of his bedroom window.

“You’ll be my boss?”

Say the word, and he’ll be much more than that.

He smirks, gripping your jaw and turning you from side to side, blue eyes flickering over your features, “Sure will. I have a feeling this pretty face will be the main attraction every night.”

Your heart swells when his fingers dig into your cheeks. “I-I would, but Nat won’t like that. She kind of hates you… and your friends.” He adds pressure and your lips pucker, “you’re all s-ho loud wit ya’ bikes ‘n engines.”

Ari bites his tongue, it was either the motorcycles or the blood-curdling screams of the poor soul in the basement. He made a mental note to speed up the process of that soundproof room, he couldn’t have you losing sleep over his business.

“She doesn’t have to know.” He replies, releasing your face in favour of loosely grasping your throat. Your pulse thumps under his fingers, hard and fast, speeding up as he leans closer, “c’mon, don’t you want to be a star? Get all that attention again and make me proud?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i just love sweet!readers, they're my faves 🥹 and pairing them with big hunky (secretly soft) men is heaven !! i can't get enough !!!!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! I love you all very much 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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bigtreefest · 8 months

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey Masterlist

A Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader Series

Part of the Outta Nowhere AU

Main Masterlist

Series Summary: Bucky doesn’t always have to personally negotiate his business dealings, but what happens when one of them insists they’ll only deal with him? He heads out to the country to get it sorted, of course.

1. Digging For Gold

2. Ouch, That Stings

3. Honey Trap

4. Under Pressure

5. From the Ground Up

6. San Antonio Stroll

7. Have a Cow

8. Golden Hour

8b. Last Night

9. Looking Over Fences

10. When a Friend Asks for Help

11. Barn Burner

12. Tippin’ Tractors, Takin’ Names

13. You Look Like…

14. Midnight Mess Around

15. Feel Like This

16. More Than Me

Drabbles & Extras

Hop to It

Shared Things (ask answer)

Honeybee vs Decks Character Distinctions

How the Outta Nowhere AU Chapters line up

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sweetsbfreex · 2 years

Text

drunk and obsessed

Summary: a little something about a drunk steve. in the mafia steve universe

Pairing: drunk!mafia! steve rogers x reader

Warning: none rlly

“Baby, baby,” you giggle, a bit tipsy, as you try your hardest to fit the key into the door's lock. “I can’t open the door with you all over me.”

You laugh once more when Steve begins kissing your neck once again. His trimmed beard tickles your neck.

On the other hand, Steve had a bit too much to drink. And that's all your doing.

You know he feels he can never have too much to drink at these events, especially with you there. The events are filled with some of the most inimical people worldwide. So he always wants to be on his A-game for you. But that’s what body guards are for, you had argued. Pushing for him to have the time of his life with some of his friends.

Now here he was: drunk and his body cradling yours, as the two of you struggle to get in the house.

“I just love you, baby,” his words slur as he kisses your cheek.

“I love you too,” You tell him, so close to getting the fucking key to fit.

“I can’t wait to get you inside,” his voice rich and husky as he seals his promise.

“Baby, I don’t even think you could get it up right now.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve removes himself as your shell, both arms up in defense while he takes a few steps back.

When your senses finally catch up that he’s no longer hovering over you. You quickly turn, just stopping him before he tumbles down the step.

You hold both his hands, then let one go to grab the side of this face, “Honey, your drunk off your ass right now—“

“I am not! You just called my game weak,”

“That’s not what I said, but I need you to stand silently so I can open the door, okay?”

“Okay, pretty” he answers, landing a soft peck on your lips.

You smile as you finally open the door, reaching behind you to clasp Steve’s hand so you can pull him in.

You close the door behind him, toeing your shoes off, giggling when he has trouble with his. But five ‘fucks’ later, he finally gets it done.

“Woooo!!” Steve shoots his hand up in a v, as if his team just won the super bowl.

You’re quick to drop his arms back down to his sides, “Shhh, baby. You’re screaming.”

“I am?! I’m sorry,” his hands cup your cheeks as he pulls you for yet another kiss.

“Honey,” you laugh into his sloppy kiss. “Let’s go to bed, hm? And get some water into you.”

“I don’t wanna do bed,” he whines. “I wanna do you,” he smirks, moving one hand to grip your hip.

“Tomorrow, okay? I’m really tired.” You feign a dramatic yawn.

“You are? Okay, that’s okay, okay?” he kisses your nose this time.

Drunk sex isn’t something that hasn’t been checked off your and Steve’s list. But Steve is sloshed and can barely walk straight, so sex would not be on the menu for tonight.

“Let’s head up.” You wrap his arm over your shoulder, walking up the steps carefully.

He’s sitting at the end of the bed, his coat beside him, as you unbutton his dress shirt. You would’ve let him do it himself, but he was struggling with his lack of hand-eye coordination. Playfully slapping your hand every time your hands got close to his shirt. Giggling and joking that there would be no sexy times. That was until he had made you oath you’d keep your hands innocent.

Ever your affectionate, drunk lover.

“Are you sure you feel alright? Don't need to throw up or anything?” You ask Steve once again.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tells you then takes another swig of water.

It only takes ten minutes until he’s in his sweatpants, with no boxers (under his request). You’re changed and ready for bed, tired out from an eventful day. Steve’s favorite movie playing in the background.

Steve cuddles up close, half his brawny body on yours, his leg splayed over yours, and his head nestled on your chest.

Your fingers run through his hair soothingly.

“Y/n?”

You hum a response.

“Thank you for taking care of me, I love you too,”

“I love you too.” you laugh breathily at his mistake.

A comfortable pause ensues.

“Y/n?” His hand shimmies under your t-shirt, to caress your soft skin.

“Yes, honey,” you can’t help but laugh at the way he calls for your attention. You don’t think you’ve heard your actual name from his mouth so consistently.

“I think I wanna— I know I want to start trying soon. I wanna be a dad, a good dad.”

Your hand stills.

“What?” Your voice is quiet and relayed with shock. Your heart no longer in your chest.

He wants to try. The two of you tied the knot two months ago. However, talk of whether you guys wanted to start a family or not was shut down by Steve every time. You never wanted to push, but you also wanted to know what to expect.

Either way, He was adamant that he wasn’t ready. There was no way he could raise a baby to be half a decent human being with his trauma lingering in the shadows, among other things

He sits up abruptly, “I know, I know. I’m not sober, but I’m not lying either. I’m ready, honey… if you are.” He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“Okay,” you smile, “If you remember, we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He kisses your cheek before cuddling into you once again. “I wanna be the perfect dad, y/n. The best.”

“You will be.”

You tell him sweetly, your eyes stinging as you run your fingers through his hair once more.

a/n: srry it's been so long, college keeps me busy 24/7! here's this as i try and finish binky fairy pt. 2

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

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neonovember · 6 months

Text

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93 @cynic-spirit

Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood.

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier.

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place.

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long.

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name.

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit?

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness.

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist?

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means.

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not?

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut.

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom.

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before.

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home?

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa?

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days.

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door.

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with.

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him”

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features.

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face.

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call”

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure”

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex.

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 11 months

Text

Midnight Rain Ch. 2

(I am so sorry for the long delay, I've been going through so much shit in RL & my writing has taken a backseat to everything, but im working on it and hopefully NaNoWriMo kicks me back into doing what I love!! Enjoy Chapter 2 of Midnight Rain :P )

Rich Mans World Series | Man After Midnight Series | Chapter 1 | Donations | Thoughts & Feelings

“Did you have to be such a bitch about it?!” Sebastian yelled as he rushed after Brooke who turned and slapped him. “You don't have the room nor the worth to stand there and call anyone a bitch when you didn't even have the balls to fucking tell him about what happened!!” Brooke and Sebastian continued to yell at each other, Chris sat in the living room for a moment listening to them fight. He got up, walking up the stairs and moved past them down the hallway as they fought before stopping at your door.

You were lying in bed, facing the window when you heard the door open; You glanced over your shoulder to see Chris standing there. You shot up as you heard Brooke yell, “What are you doing?!” Chris shut the door behind him and locked it. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking down at the ground he didn’t dare bring a hand to touch you, or even face you. The silence felt like a weighted blanket draped over the two of you, holding you down in the shadows of a deadly secret.

“I was….saving our wedding photo….that’s how they caught me in our bedroom….when you left, I moved the only one I had from my office to our bedroom. I didn’t care if everything else got destroyed. I could buy new stuff all day long…but not that photo…” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph of the two of you. He stared at it, the edges were burnt, and he smiled softly. “I love this photo…” he whispered. You were staring up at him, a doe eyed look, evident on your features. Chris was smirking at the camera, but he didn’t care how he looked, he only cared about how you looked in the photo. You were holding onto his arm, staring up at him. He fell in love with it the moment his mother had sent it from the photographers.

“I always liked that photo….” you whispered softly as he turned his head toward you, however his eyes remained on the floor. “You could have called me…” he said as you looked at him. “I was in a sedated state for two weeks in the hospital...they didn’t know if I would make it…Brooke informed them we were separated, that's why they didn’t call you.” you said. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said looking at you, finally meeting your eyes.

You looked at him, your eyes glistening with tears, “but I couldn’t protect our little girl…” you sniffled as he moved, engulfing you in his arms as you sobbed into his chest. “But you protected yourself…now we can go after the son of a bitch who did this to our baby.” Chris whispered, rocking you gently as he rubbed your back, letting you sob into his chest. You clung to him for dear life, feeling nothing but warmth and safety in his arms. “You don’t blame me?” you whispered looking up at him, as he looked down at you, “No baby…you did nothing wrong, this wasn’t your fault at all.” he whispered kissing your forehead.

You and Chris stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a while, until you’d both dozed off, Brooke and Sebastian had talked to Anthony, sharing what knowledge they all had about that night, which they’d learned what happened to you, and what happened to Chris seemed to happen on the same night. Anthony shared with them how Chris’s physical therapy was going and how he had been trying to figure out who came after him but they were coming up on a dead end.

“I mean…it had to be the Irish right? Who else is at war with Chris that they would try to kill Y/N, and his child?” Brooke asked as she poured each of them a drink. “It's just…..the Irish extended an olive branch to Chris months ago…..well before this happened. Which was weird in the first place.” Anthony said sipping the bourbon Brooke had poured.

Brooke glanced at Seb as she downed the contents of her own glass, causing both men to look at her. “Well that’s great I think but it still leaves the question of who is responsible for this?” She asked as Anthony shook his head; “I don't know…but we need to find out.”

When you woke up, Chris was snoring softly next to you. You hadn’t slept as well as you did that night, since you’d left Chris months ago. You watched him sleep for a little bit before rolling over and staring at the ceiling. You wondered what life would have been like, a little girl with him, would he have spoiled her? Would he’ve gotten up and done the late night feedings and changings? Would he have spent more time at home with you and her instead of out at the clubs? Yes. he would have been the most perfect father to the children you could of had together. A voice called in the back of your mind. You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment, wishing you could go back, beg Brooke to not leave that night.

“You look so beautiful in the mornings.” Chris whispered softly; you opened your eyes, seeing him watching you, as he smiled softly. You felt your lips pull back just a little, smiling for the first time in months. You both laid there, arms and legs tangled together, you both laid in silence for a while before a soft knock on the door alerted you both that you weren’t alone. “Y/N…I’m going to run to the store…Anthony is here for Chris so I’ll make sure Sebastian stays behind in case you need anything.”

“Why don’t I come to the story with you today?” you asked as you got up, Brooke was silent for a moment, “Are you sure? You haven’t left the house since you got home from the hospital.” Brooke pointed out. You walked over, opening the door so she could come in and nodded at her. “Yeah, I feel like I should go with you.” you said, giving her a shrug. “Gotta face the world sometime right?”

Chris sat up, “If you’re not up for it Y/N, don’t push yourself.” But you looked back at him and gave him a small tight smile, “It’ll be good for me, don't worry,” you changed into a pair of jeans, pairing it with a black shirt and tan sweater. You grabbed your purse and walked downstairs with Chris after he’d gotten dressed as well, smiling a little at Bucky and Brooke before looking at Chris, “Um…how about I call you later? We can talk and see how everything is going,” you said, shoving your hands in your pockets.

Chris looked taken back before he nodded, “Right, yeah, I’ll talk to you later and check in with you.” He grabbed his jacket before he looked at Sebastian, “When you get some time, let’s talk about a few things.” he shook his hand before walking out with Anthony.

You left with Brooke, going to the store for the first time since you were pregnant. You noticed how things looked different and the same, you carried on with light talking while you two drove on; and once at the store, you helped her grab a few different things. “Why don’t we get some snacks and have a movie night tonight?” Brooke asked as you smiled and nodded, “I’d really like that. I’ll go grab some chips, salsa, candy, and some stuff to make that dip your mom taught you to make!” you grinned as she did too, “yes!! Okay! I’m gonna go grab ice cream, toppings, and whatever else sounds good!” she took off toward the frozen section while you went to grab a basket and grab your list. This was the first time anything really had sounded good to you in a long time.

As you shopped you reached for a bag of chips, when another hand reached for the same bag. You looked over, withdrawing your hand and apologizing when the gentleman in front of you chuckled and handed you the bag. “I’m sorry, here, front bags are always fresher,” he said smiling at you. You were frozen like a deer in headlights, he was handsome, and a dazzling smile to match. “Oh, uh,” you let out a soft giggle, “Thank you, but go ahead, I can get a different bag.” you said looking up at him as he grinned at you, placing the bag down in your basket. “Don’t worry about it sunshine. I don’t mind.” he winked before turning to grab a bag himself. He was tall, with short, soft, blondish-brown hair, bright blue eyes and a dashing bright smile. “Well thank you sir,” you felt yourself blush as you stared at him, he was captivating as he stood tall and smiled down at you, “I’m Steve…Steve Rogers,” he held his hand out to you.

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biteofcherry · 2 years

Text

Sweet Thrill

mafia!Ari Levinson x female reader; mob boss Ari Levinson x female reader

summary: Many would consider your job as a dancer at Lloyd Hansen’s exclusive night club to be exciting or scary, but honestly you see it as predictable and stable. It’s mostly a routine. That’s until Ari Levinson enters the club. You draw his attention and he installs himself in your space, bringing fear and thrill along with him.

warnings: mostly consensual, but with a peppering of faint dub-con; soft dark Ari Levinson; possessive behavior; light pet play; fear kink; light Master/pet play; bdsm undertones; power imbalance; fingering; pet names; collaring; very very subtle degradation and humiliation (nothing hardcore)

You were used to the glow of the lightened platforms and curious eyes tracing your body as you wriggled against silk scarves. You entertained patrons of Hansen’s exclusive club three nights a week - a form of aerial dance with heavy drapes of silk, just with less acrobatics.

Lloyd knew his clientele. He knew some of them are bored and looking for typical visual entertainment, with a side of members-only high class to boost their moods. Some of his guests were more sophisticated, had less boring tastes.

Hence Lloyd’s idea to add unique performances to spice up the classic pole dancing routines, like belly dancers, or your sensual play with silk.

Since the performances were only that - a show no touch - you felt quite comfortable and confident. And Lloyd, for all his sociopathic ticks, paid really fucking good money. Enough for you to keep studying for your degree, without having to balance three different jobs.

Out there on the little round stage you focused on your dance and poses, sometimes a repetitive movement, and let your thoughts swim to what you needed to do the next day, or how to crack the problem in your studies; because the club’s patrons were only staring at you and no harm would come your way. No need to be wary.

Especially, since Lloyd made it very clear that his employees weren’t to be disturbed.

If it didn’t come with extra payment, anyway.

Yes, extra payment softened Lloyd’s harsh looks. Made him smirk triumphantly and have a talk with a dancer that caught someone’s attention, convincing her of the benefits.

You never considered such an offer to come your way. Your performance with silk scarves was perhaps an interesting change of pace for some, but never a desirable show they wanted to have right between their spread legs.

That is until Ari Levinson strolled into Lloyd’s club one night.

You weren’t even aware of his presence, your thoughts scrambling and rewriting the thesis you were currently working on in your studies as your body twisted against silk curtains, fabric slithering between your thighs and across your torso.

You had no idea how important, or how powerful that man was. You knew, mostly from gossip and the few observations you did yourself, that Lloyd played bigger games outside of the club. You never thought he dipped as deep to the dark side to have ties to a crime lord of Levinson’s caliber.

As you had no idea that a dark overlord of a whole fucking coast had unique tastes.

It was as you twisted between the silk, fingers clenched on the hanging scarves as you bent back, that your gaze landed on a tall, broad man in a dark suit who stepped so close to your podium.

Most intense blue eyes caught your gaze, making you freeze in your position. It was a look of wonder and pure hunger. A dark glint to it that made your heart race, as if you were a prey that sensed a deadly predator approaching, but it also sent a jolt straight to your core.

Patrons usually watched you with some mild admiration or interest, or disgusting type of lust. This man looked at you with desire for more than just wetting his cock in your cunt. He took in every inch of you, seemed as if he wanted to take all your thoughts as well.

It was more scary than leering glances, or lewd comments you heard on rare occasions.

At the end of the night, just when you were ready to slip away and drive home, Lloyd called you into his office.

For a second you feared he was about to complain about your shows not being interesting anymore, but the grin he flashed when you entered spoke of something entirely different.

“Cupcake!” He greeted you and with a flourish invited you over to a blue, kitsch sofa.

You sat there stunned when he told you that you’ve caught Ari Levinson’s attention - something (judging by Lloyd’s tone) that was very hard to do - and that he demanded you be exclusively booked for him.

Your shock deepened when Lloyd explained that Ari wasn’t asking for an occasional lap dance, but that you be taken off the main stage and perform in a private room. Only for him.

He paid Lloyd in advance, to have one of the rooms adjusted to fit your silk curtains over the little platform in the center of the room. Also offered to pay a triple wage of what a standard private dance cost. An offer Lloyd had no desire to refuse, since you unexpectedly appeared to be a golden goose.

And since Lloyd sweetened the request with a ready annex to your contract, stating that you’d be earning more for this exclusivity, you didn’t hesitate for long.

Perhaps you should have.

Perhaps, if you knew how out of your comfort zone you find yourself in, you’d decline and argue with Lloyd over it (though you had a feeling this one time he wouldn’t be a charming psychopath, but a manipulative and threatening bastard if you affronted his powerful client with your refusal).

That’s how you found yourself out of the familiarity of the main stage and bland stares you would have ignored, and on a round podium in a lush, dark interior of a private VIP room.

With Ari Levinson spread comfortably on the seats, a glass of whisky in his hand, watching you intently.

Your first evening performing only for him went quietly, somehow calming you down. He only watched you, made no comments, nor attempts to grab you. Merely asked you, between your dances, if you wanted something to drink or eat.

On your second evening he asked how you’ve been and nodded, pleased, when you replied with a shy smile. He extended his hand to you to help you climb up onto the platform. Then enjoyed your dancing.

Each time, however, you were unable to simply fall back into the mindless rhythm of your performance. Your thoughts wouldn’t just switch to think of other matters, because they were focused on the predator sitting in front of you.

Every part of you seemed to be acutely aware of his presence and attention.

He seemed fascinated. And hungry for every inch of you, inside and outside.

It terrified you.

How intense his scrutiny was, how dangerous it was to have a man like Ari Levinson interested in you in any matter; and how, when you went home afterwards, you bit onto your pillow to muffle your sounds as you got yourself off.

You read about it - how adrenaline and tension from stress can be lowered with a few orgasms.

You just weren’t quite sure if you only relieved nervousness, or if you were actually turned on.

Considering Levinson’s looks, arousal couldn’t be dismissed.

He was the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Big, easily towering over you. With muscles that strained the fabric of his clothes. His hair looked invitingly soft, his beard neatly trimmed and his lips plush and kissable.

And he kept looking at you - undressing you with his eyes, promising dark sinful things, but also seeing right through you and able to find (and use) your weaknesses.

When you finished your dance that evening, in a pose with the silk scarves wrapped around your arms and pulling them back as you bent forward, head bow low and ass up high, Ari slowly stood up.

He stepped close to the little stage and with the pads of his fingers tilted your chin up so you were looking up at him.

“Almost perfect,” he purred, leaning down a little, “all you need is for your brain to turn off completely.”

He smirked when you blinked confused.

“All these thoughts go through your head, does your brain ever stop? Do you ever go dumb, kitten?” He chuckled as your eyes got bigger. “I noticed you became more present in the scene when you started dancing for me, but there’s still so much overthinking.”

“Come.” He patted your cheek and motioned for you to get off the stage.

After a bit of less graceful struggling with the silk scarves - mostly due to nervousness Mr Levinson suddenly caused - you were ready to get down.

He helped you, his hand waiting for your fingers to slip into his hold. This time, once you found yourself on the floor level, he didn’t let you go. Instead, he sat down on the velvet seat and pulled you onto his lap.

You fell forward with a gasp, which turned into a squeak when he used both hands to grab your hips and make you straddle him.

With club patrons being fully dressed, usually in suits, and you wearing a set of lingerie, you were always exposed. However, now, being seated in Mr Levinson’s lap, you felt even more naked and vulnerable.

“S-sir!” You exclaimed, hands resting on his broad shoulders and trying to push yourself off of him.

“Shh, settle down, kitten.” He cooed. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You were about to point out that it already was, since you never had any guest touch you like he did at the moment. Much less have you straddling them.

“We can take things as slow as you need.” He rubbed his thumbs along the band of your white, lacy panties. “I will woo you as romantically, as you wish. But this-” Ari gripped your hips tighter and pulled you even closer, your core rubbing right over his bulge- “Is the endgame, kitten.”

“Mr Levinson.” Your fingers clenched on his shoulders as you tried to keep your breath from hitching at the delicious sensation. “I only dance for you.”

“No, kitten. You dance only for me.” Ari corrected.

“Dance being the key word here.” You frowned, but somehow you didn’t struggle to escape his hold.

Ari Levinson wasn’t a man whom one could escape easily. Over the weeks you learned bits and pieces, through others and your own curious research. It was all shrouded in a veil of mystery and disappearances, but you understood enough to realize he was a mobster with strict rules and lethal means.

Trying to fight him could end badly for you. At least that’s what logic suggested.

There was another part of you, which simply found the whole interaction thrilling.

I’m either really stupid, or I’ve gone mad, you thought to yourself as a shiver of arousal spread through your body at the dark glint in Ari’s eyes.

“Oh, kitten, you’ll be dancing for me in every sense of the word and more.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze trained on your face then shifting down your body and back up.

“You’re a smart girl. I know you’re going for a degree, you have ambitious plans, extracurricular activities.”

You gulped, realizing Levinson did a background check on you. Maybe even pried into more private and supposedly secure aspects of your life.

“I’m sure you’ve done as much research on me as you could.” Ari continued in a calm tone. “You have a vague idea of who I am, what I deal with. And, like any smart girl, you’re probably scared. Am I right?”

You didn’t possess enough bravado (or stupidity) to deny it, so you nodded wordlessly.

“But it also turns you on, doesn’t it?” a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

“No!” You denied hastily, though you felt your face heat up.

Ari shook his head as he tsk-ed in reprimand. He squeezed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a little forcefully, but not hard enough to cause you pain.

Your nipples hardened instantly.

It felt as if your body was completely beyond your control. It slipped under Ari’s control.

“Don’t lie to me, kitten.” He warned you.

Before you managed to utter another objection, your lips parted on a gasp as you felt Ari’s other hand settle over your mound.

He slipped a thumb beneath the fabric of your panties; glided it over your clit and a smear of wetness that slowly sipped from between your folds.

“Not aroused, huh?” Ari snorted as he brought his hand up and sucked your glistening slick off his finger.

Your pupils dilated as you watched him wrap his pink lips over his thumb, your mind instantly creating an image of those lips sucking on your clit. Or your nipples. Tormenting each peak until it’s swollen and pulsing unbearably and you scream for mercy.

“Told you,” Ari sighed in mock-disappointment, “You’re thinking too much, kitten.”

Holding your chin in his grip, Ari slid his other hand down your body - over one of your breasts, your belly, your hip, and back down between your spread thighs.

“Thinking about what needs to be done. Thinking of what you should or shouldn’t be doing. Thinking how wrong it is to be turned on by being scared of what a dangerous bastard like me might do to a sweet, little kitten like you.”

His whole palm slid under the waistband of your panties; big fingers cupped your mound.

“You know what I’ll do to you?” Ari whispered, leaning close enough his lips nearly brushed yours.

“E v e r y t h i n g.” He chuckled darkly and your whole body shook.

“I’m going to do every filthy thing that gets this pussy wet.” Slowly, he dragged his fingers up and down over your folds. “I’m going to do everything that makes you smile. Everything that makes you happy.”

“Most of all… I’m going to do everything that turns your brain off.”

With those words, Ari slid a single digit into your hot, tingling cunt.

Your mouth opened, a wrecked whimper falling out. Your hands fisted the fabric of Ari’s shirt as his thumb started drawing fast, tight circles over your clit.

It quickly became a torment, having only one finger stretching your walls, but not moving, while your clit was being rubbed mercilessly, pushing you toward a climax with astonishing speed.

You tried to push your hips down, rock yourself on Ari’s finger and tempt him to do more with his hand. He squeezed your chin harder.

“Don’t.” He growled. “Don’t think of what you want, or need. Or what you assume I want. Your job isn’t to think. You just take what I give. I decide about everything.”

Maybe it was the way he tormented your clit, or his words that sank you into dark cushions of mindless pleasure, but you came with a force unknown to you until now.

None of your toys, or previous partners, made your vision go white and your body clench so painfully.

And it was only on one finger and some clit rubbing, for God’ sake!

How braindead he’d turn you, if he fucked you with his cock?!

Your breath was ragged, colors and light slowly registering in your blurry vision as you re-opened your eyes. You were trembling, walls of your cunt fluttering around a single finger still locked inside. Your arms felt heavy and you loosened your grip on Ari’s shirt to lazily drape them around his shoulders.

Ari let go of your chin. His hand slipped into your hair, grabbing a fistful quite gently and holding your head in place as he kissed you.

Softly at first, treating your lips with tenderness matching the afterglow consuming your lax body. Then he amped the urgency, demanding you to give in to whatever he wanted.

As he licked over your bottom lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth, a second finger stretched your still pulsing cunt, making you keen into the kiss.

Ari moved his fingers this time. Increased his pace, despite your futile attempts to slow him down with the motion of your hips.

When his thumb pressed against your over-sensitive, engorged clit, you nearly wailed.

“Can’t-” you panted against Ari’s mouth. “Too much- Too-”

“Shush.” He bit your lower lip and began tracing rapid eights with his thumb. “Don’t. Fucking. Think. Just feel.”

Well, you felt like it hurt, but at the same time wasn’t enough. You felt like screaming, but at the same time breathless. You felt overwhelmed, but at the same time light.

You felt like you had no grip on reality. No coherent thoughts formed in your head, only scraps of your own sounds resonating in your ears. And the sound of Ari’s voice.

“That’s it, kitten.” He praised. “No overthinking, no stress. Just a good pet for her Master to use.”

The hand in your hair eased its grip on your locks and moved down your back. Ari wrapped an arm around you and tightened his hold, trapping you to his body as he pushed a third finger in and curled them in your pussy, scraping them against a sensitive spot inside.

He knew what he was doing, choosing to hold you in place, because the moment your cunt felt the burning stretch and his fingers pounded on that spot, your body tensed like a string.

You screamed this time, burying your face (and your sounds) in the crook of Ari’s neck as a crushing orgasm seemed to break and melt each bone in your body.

You bucked against him, though his hold was so strong you were unable to move much. Wave after wave of bliss rocked your body and Ari’s continuous thrusting seemed to prolong it even more.

Tiny tremors shook your body as you melted into Ari’s huge frame. When you were conscious and facing him, his size intimidated you. Now you found comfort in it.

Your face was still hidden in his shoulder, your head filled with nothing but buzzing and echo of your increased heart rate, as Ari’s quiet voice resounded through the haze in your empty head.

Something about bringing a box in.

He had to be talking to someone, but you didn’t register anyone entering the room. Then you felt his hand resting on your back again, which meant he took it away for a moment, but you were so out of it you didn’t even notice. It meant he probably used his phone.

A few minutes later you heard the polite, but loud knocking on the door. Ari allowed the person to enter and you tensed.

You were straddling his lap, your thighs spread and your body all sorts of wrecked. And Ari’s fingers were still deep in your dripping pussy. Quite possibly visible to whoever entered the room.

“Shh,” Ari murmured and patted the back of your head. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

You seriously doubted it, considering what kind of power you basically gave Mr Levinson on a silver plate just a few minutes ago.

But at least, it seemed he wouldn’t stretch it to someone else, or cause you any truly degrading humiliation. Well, not any more than he already has.

Besides, even if you wanted to shoot up in an outburst of outrage, your muscles were turned into jelly and the inner fire too dimmed from an intense orgasm-fest you were just given.

With an embarrassed squeak you buried your face deeper into the crook of Ari’s neck, to hide yourself from the stranger inside the room. Whoever it was didn’t say a word and less than a few heartbeats later you heard the door closing again.

Everything, beside the sensual music still spilling from the speakers, was quiet. Your breath slowly evened out.

Ari caressed your hair and back in lazy strokes, humming in pleasure as if he was petting a real kitty. You were a little offended at this sort of degradation, but it also felt so nice and comforting you didn’t exactly want it to end.

With a squelching sound, which made you shut your eyes in shame, Ari withdrew his fingers from your cunt. He left a wet print on your ass as he palmed it.

“Come on up, kitten.” He nudged you to sit upright.

The angle of your hips repositioning made your pulsing core press against his hardened dick. He managed not to groan, but you saw the spark in his eyes and the twitch in his jaw that spoke of the pleasurable tension he felt.

“Now, tell me-” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and traced the shell of it with his finger- “Did you like it?”

Your gaze shifted from his face, from his incredibly piercing blue eyes. It dropped to his shoulder again, where you wanted to hide your face and pretend your body didn’t dance to the tune he played.

“Eyes on me.” Ari tapped your cheek with his fingers. “Did you like what I did to your sweet, hot pussy? Did you like being scared of what I may do?”

When you huffed and nodded, he tapped your cheek again. A little harder.

“Use your words, kitten. I want to hear it.”

“I liked it.” You gritted through your teeth, annoyed that he made you say it as much as getting hot all over by admitting it.

“Are you going to deny that you want me to do it again?” Ari smirked smugly.

“Are you going to deny that you want to be my good pet and get spoiled and have your brain fucked out?” His dark chuckle tickled your skin as Ari nosed along your jaw and neck.

“Mr Levinson…” Your voice wavered, as you tried to return to a more professional stance.

It was ridiculous, really. Trying to be professional and put some distance between the two of you while dripping all over his pants like a needy slut.

“Ari.” He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“It was hot to hear you call me Mr Levinson in your sweet voice.” He pulled away slightly and smiled. Not exactly a comforting smile, either. Rather one that meant trouble. “But I prefer you call my name. Especially when you scream it.”

“Or Master, since you’re my pretty pet.”

You didn’t think he was joking about the last part.

Ari leaned back in his seat, but kept you sat up straight in his lap, his hands tracing the lines of your body. He wasn’t groping, simply exploring and connecting.

“I’m serious, though.” His tone turned nearly business-like, but was less cold than you expected it to be when Ari laid down his law.

“I consider you mine. In every sense of the word. I knew you were going to be mine the moment I saw you writhe against the silks. So sensual. So unique. So fucking beautiful.”

“And then your eyes.” Ari’s own eyes glinted with awe as he held your gaze. “Unfocused. You were so far away with your thoughts. Not even thinking about a lover as you were dancing, were you? I desired nothing more, but to have your attention on me. I wanted you to focus on me so much that you stop thinking about anything else.”

His words stirred something hot and intriguing in you. A sort of thrill. No one has ever craved your attention. Hell, no one ever paid enough attention to you to notice when you were drifting away with your thoughts.

Then there was the word mine.

So possessive. Scary in itself.

The fact it was a claim of a mafia king should be terrifying. Should make you pack your things and run far, far away. It shouldn’t turn you on.

And you probably shouldn’t be craving more of it.

With men like him, they liked the challenge and the chase. Once that was sated they moved onto the new fascinating thing.

You licked your lips, sliding your hands from Ari’s shoulders and placing them on your own thighs.

“Are you done now?” You asked, tilting your head in a manner mimicking Ari’s. “You got all my focus, turned off my brain. Mission accomplished.”

“If I were done, I wouldn’t be demanding that you admit that you want me.” Now his tone did turn deeper, lower, a hint of a threat if you tried to escape him.

“I’m not done with you.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly fearing what more he could rip from you.

Ari reached his arm to the side, snatching up a box that laid next to him. You forgot about the mystery box completely.

It was rectangular and flat, with a velvet finish. When Ari opened it, your breath hitched in your lungs and a mixture of dread and excitement shot through you.

On a silky lining laid a choker made of a dozen delicate chains of white gold. It had a small, diamond encrusted golden ring in the middle, from which dropped two long, fine chains.

Not a choker. A collar, you realized.

A collar for a pretty pet. Expensive, subtle, easily camouflaged as jewelry - but a collar nonetheless.

“Um, shouldn’t this type of commitment happen much later?” Your heart pounded in your chest, your eyes glued to the shiny fate displayed in a jewelry box. “I never played like that, but don’t, uh, Masters give collars to their slaves- or pets later in the relationship?”

“Why should I wait when I already know that I’m keeping you forever?” Ari lifted the collar from the box and put it around your neck.

Your hand shot up, fingers wrapping around one of his wrists. He paused, but didn’t move away. Didn’t slap your hand away either. But he held your gaze. His blue eyes darkening, determination shining in his eyes unrelenting.

“What if I say no?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Ari didn’t move an inch. His face remained as stoic as seconds before. Something in his eyes seemed to soften for you. And here you were expecting a flash of anger at meeting any resistance.

“Then you say no.” He replied simply and his mouth quirked into a cheeky half-grin.

“And then I take other ways to convince you to say yes. I can do sweet romance. I can lavish you with surprises and gifts. I can buy out this whole club and have Hansen dance on a pole for you. If that’s what it takes for you to give in.”

“But-” he slowly licked his lips and looked at you from beneath his long eyelashes- “I think you want to say yes, so I can keep you on the edge of that thrill. You like to be scared and used. And that’s why you’re going to let me stake that claim right now.”

Your chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, but after a long moment you dropped your hand in defeat.

It was partially surrender, knowing Ari Levinson could trap you in even without your consent. However, he was mostly right. There was a part of you that was intrigued to follow into that darkness he lured you into; to see and experience the thrilling surprises and wicked pleasures he would design for you.

“Good girl.” Ari hummed in approval.

He locked the collar around your neck and gently ran a finger beneath it. Then he traced his hand down along the two long chains hanging from the diamond circle.

“These-” he took each chain in each of his hands- “can simply be locked around you, serving as a sort of necklace.”

And he showed you, doing exactly that - letting them fall between your breasts and then tying them around your waist, snapping two ends together.

“Or-” Ari’s fingers trailed along your forearms, until he reached your wrists and wrapped a hand around each. “They can be attached to cuffs.”

As hot as the idea was, you didn’t find it practical. The golden chains were so delicate that if you trashed in orgasm, or just generally writhed as Ari tormented you, they’d snap instantly.

Unless they were used only for presentation. As a mark of Ari’s ownership over you.

The idea of walking somewhere public, like just strolling into your classes, or a restaurant, wearing this collar and maybe even the cuffs which would look like bracelets to a clueless eye… it mortified you.

And accelerated your pulse in arousal.

“Wear it next time you dance for me.” Ari ran his fingers along the thin chains of the collar, then along your collarbones until he reached lacy straps of your top.

He pulled one of the straps down your shoulder. Then the other one. Then moved his fingers over the swell of your breasts and upward, along the line of two thin chains leading to a diamond encrusted ring in your collar.

“You’ll wear nothing but this when I split your tight pussy on my cock.” His tone was a molten, dark delight.

His face glowed with triumph when you whimpered at the image of being completely naked sans the ownership jewelry, sweaty and helpless as Ari fucked you into the mattress.

“With time, we’ll get you used to wearing it all the time.”

He clamped his fingers around the front of your neck. He didn’t actually put any pressure. Just the presence of his hand wrapped around your throat the same way a collar did. It made you realize instantly, that’s how it would feel to wear the collar.

It would be a constant reminder that you belonged to Ari.

“For now, just wear it for me when we meet.” You were actually grateful for the small steps, but remembering Ari’s earlier words you knew he’d have it his way in the end - even if he had to take things slowly with you.

“Okay.” You nodded, fidgeting with one of the chains around your waist. You felt hot all over. And kind of suffocated. “I can do that.”

The smile Ari flashed you in return almost made you instantly want to ask how else can you please him. It made all the hardness disappear from his face, crinkles appeared around his eyes and it felt like warmth filled your belly.

“I knew you’d be good for me, kitten.” Ari kissed you softly.

You started to really eagerly lean into the kiss when he broke it. He stood up, easily holding you up as he moved, then eased you down on your feet.

Fuck, but he really towered over you. Like a beast.

“I’ll drive you home.” Ari announced as he led you toward the door, hand on the small of your back. “When you come to the club on Friday, bring a bag with some overnight necessities. I have a meeting here, but then I’m taking you home for the weekend.”

“A whole weekend?” You nearly froze on the spot.

For some reason, a silly thought really, you imagined your interactions to be limited to your performances in the club only. Sure, you’d maybe wear his collar outside sometime, as a reminder to yourself that three nights a week you were bending to Ari Levinson’s whims.

He really scrambled some of your brain cells since you didn’t consider he was putting himself in your life fully. And pulling you into his life. Possibly, into a very intense life…

“Wha-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound less shaken. “Whatever for?”

“Hmm.” Ari leaned down, his hot breath fanning your ear as he purred: “To do scary things to you, the thought of which will keep you tense and wet for me.”

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #mafia!ari levinson #mob boss Ari levinson #Ari levinson x you #Ari levinson smut #chris evans smut #ari levinson fic #ari levinson imagine #my writing #sweet thrill

2K notes · View notes

stuckyslut8 · 3 months

Text

Tastes like strawberries.

Masterlist.

Pairing: chubby baker bucky x mob reader x mob steve.

Summary :your sweet boyfriend bucky is stuck in a tight spot between you and your rival steve rogers.

Warning : 18+ under the cut, minors dni, smut, fluff, oral receiving, anal, kind of cheating.(poly).typos.

"ughh bucky.." you moaned as bucky sucked on your clit, teasing your sensitive nub, "fuck I'm I'm gonna come baby."

Bucky looked up from where he was, still on his knees in the middle of your office as he gave you his wicked smile. "Come for me sugar."

You came on cue, letting out a loud moan as bucky worked on 'eating his favorite dessert '. You leaned further back in your chair, in exhaustion from the fifth time he's made you come using his fingers and mouth.

You see bucky only came here to drop off your favorite red velvet cupcakes,but of course it wasn't free ,you had to pay for it by letting him eat 'his pussy'. You'd told him you only had about an hour before you had to meet steve to discuss about your new shipment. So bucky got straight to work, 'that's more than enough time sugar, think we could beat our record this time?'

And who were you to deny your sweet baker boyfriend his favorite meal. So here you were panting for breath as he was finally done and cleaned you up just in time as steve knocked on your door. "Just a minute rogers. "

You qucikly pressed a kiss to your favorite baker, thanking him for the cupcakes, "of course sugar , meet ya tonight."

You gave his ass a pat as he walked out, but it was not just you who had your eyes on his cake, the one and only steve rogers too was watching watching the sweet baker go.

"Come in steve." Steve entered with a knowing smirk on his face, "that your new toy sweetheart?" He asked sitting down on the big cozy chair.

"Shut up rogers,he's just my delivery boy ,came to give me my favorite cupcakes." You said motioning towards the box , steve eagerly took one and had a bite ,he moaned at he taste of it.

"Mmph it's really good sweetheart, wish i had a sweet delivery boy who came to my office in the middle of the day, to give me sweet cupcakes and a pussyjob, or in my case a blowjob, i bet he'd like that." Steve saw your eyes widening, "oh come on you don't think i'd know that you've been fucking that sweet baker boy from brooklyn, it's my territory after all."

"No it's not yours..and who i fuck is none of your business. " you said pouring yourself and steve each a glass of whiskey.

"Hmm such a shame, I'd love to make him ride my cock while you got yourself off watching us, wouldn't that be a dream, pretty girl." You'd be lying if you said Steve's words didn't turn you on, or make you imagine the scenario vividly in your head , but you can't do this now.

"Keep your dirty hands off of him...let's talk business, that's what you're here for."

"Alright then ." the blonde said downing his whiskey.

You got home after the long day to find bucky on the couch, "welcome home sugar." He stood up to give you a longing kiss. "I ordered us pizza for dinner it'll be here in 10."

"Hmm i don't think i can wait until then , I'm hungry.." you pouted to your six foot boyfriend, hands grabbing his soft belly ,giving it a squeeze.

"Oh maybe i can make you something in the meantime- " his words died down as he saw tou drop to your knees and pulling down his sweatpants, "I'm hungry for your cock daddy." Bucky's mouth formed an o in realizing your words.

"Uh of course you can always have my cock prettygirl." He said blushing.

You got to work right then, making your boyfriend see heaven as he came thrice by the time the pizza arrived.

"I uh I'll go get it." Bucky hasitly pulled up his pants as he went to get the pizza knocking down some things on his way. 'Such a sexy clumsy man' you thought.

"oh and bucky." You said as you were eating rhe pizza, "did steve come to the bakery recently ?"

Bucky almost choked on the drink he was having ,"uh steve? The blonde guy at your office today sugar?" He enquired .

"Yeah that guy."

"Uhm no sugar." He said ,like a liar as he thought about that night, a week ago when the blonde mobster decided to 'visit' his bakery at the time of closing it was almost 9, with no one around.

He somehow convinced bucky into having a drink at his bar, saying he needed to discuss some important things about your safety , and bucky being the good boyfriend he is of course agreed.

Bucky didn't miss the way the blonde's eyes raked all over his body and he'd be lying if he said he didn't check out Steve's spectacular ass in those tight jeans .

Steve told him some bullshit story about the mobsters in newyork ...and went on to flirt with bucky shamelessly.

One thing led to another, and he ended up in Steve's place, sucking his cock like a gold boy.

"Oh fuck ,i knew y/n kept you around for a reason bucky aghh..you're so good keep going pretty boy. " he said as he came in bucky's mouth.

And ended up fucking bucky on his bed all night, making bucky cry in pleasure.

"Oh i know prettt boy, you're tight asshole hasn't been fucked like that in a long time ,has it?" Steve showered him in praises and told him about how much of a good boy bucky is, taking him so well in his tight hole.

Bucky never spoke of that night to anybody, he knew it was wrong getting involved with your rival, he knew how dangerous it was too. But he liked the thrill, and loved how Steve's big cock split him open. He hoped it would be a one time thing that never happened again.

But steve's got other plans.

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jtargaryen18 · 4 months

Text

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 34

Part 34: Renewal

Series Masterlist

Words: 3.9k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, references to sexual violence. Strong language. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Your very amorous husband was waiting for you when you walked into the bedroom you shared, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Steve swept you up into his arms the second the door was closed, shoving you back into it with surprising force. His lips scorched yours with a need that took your breath away as you hung on, his hips grinding into you, trapping your lower body between his and the door.

When his mouth blazed a trail across your cheek to your neck, you took a deep breath. You needed him with the same desperation, but the two of you had to talk first. Carefully, you worked your hands between you, trying to gently push him back.

"Nuh-uh," he muttered against the sensitive skin of your throat, the brush of his beard pushing your own desire even higher. "Later."

"Steve," you tried as his lips danced over your skin, just the way you liked. You hesitated to enjoy that. It was all the time he needed to sweep you away from the door with a speed that surprised you considering in his recovery. Your back met the bed in the space of a heartbeat and Steve was on you the next, stripping off his suit coat like it was on fire.

"I know you want to talk," he said breathlessly between heated kisses. "I just... can't wait."

You'd dressed up in case you were needed in that meeting. Your husband's blue-eyed gaze swept over you lustfully as he worked his blood-red tie loose. His big hands just ripped open the black silk blouse you wore, tiny buttons flying as he did. The snap of your bra stung your skin as he impatiently tore that off and tossed it away. He went after your breasts with his hands and mouth, teasing your nipples. His handling was a little rougher than normal. His tongue was a fleeting tease on one nipple, an apology for his soft bite which came next.

Without any thought, your hands worked their way into his silky hair, pulling a moan from him that was indecent. Before long you struggled to remember what was so urgent you needed to talk about it now.

Your entire body was burning up. Your thighs were clenched around his slender waist, one hand clamped over one firm ass cheek, urging him to get on with it. You were getting light-headed. The intensity of your desire had your soaked panties clinging to you obscenely.

He paused long enough to pull what was left of your blouse completely off you. You tried to sit up to help him but he none-too-gently pushed you back. It was worth it when he ripped his own shirt open, even though you winced at the bullet wound that was still healing. All those tattoo-covered muscles had you shivering in need. Still your fingers gently traced around the wound and you looked to him in concern.

Batting your hand away, he shook his head. "No."

"Your stitches," was all you could manage to whisper as he moved down your body.

"Doc can restitch me," Steve told you, the ripping sound of your skirt giving way loud in the cool, silence of your bedroom. Instinctively, you reached for the strap of your heels and again, he brushed your hand away. "No. They stay."

You were all laid out across your bed in black stockings, black panties, and four-inch strappy heels. Now that he had you exactly where he wanted you, Steve threw off the remains of his shirt and pressed his face into your panties. Moaning, he rubbed his face in you. Embarassment heated your face at how wet they were already. He picked up on it, chuckling.

"And you wanted to talk," he teased, his hand twisting in the wet crotch and pulling them off you with little effort.

You were anything but prepared when he dove into you. Wrapping those heavily-muscled arms around your thighs, he pinned your lower half to the bed. Your husband held you there and took you apart with his lips and tongue. At first he avoided where you needed his touch the most, chuckling darkly at making you squirm, at having you fighting to get closer to his mouth.

Steve had you so worked up that by the time his tongue finally gave your neglected clit the attention it craved, you came screaming into your hands. The intensity of the orgasm had you struggling to breathe, fighting his iron grip on you. He didn't let up, his wicked tongue robbing you of your sanity as one release bled into another. His hot breath, the softness of his beard, the maddening patterns his tongue burnt into you had you right back on the edge in no time while you tried to catch your needy cries and moans in your hands.

Just before he sent you sailing again, he wrenched one arm free and slapped your ass hard. "I want to hear you," he growled.

"Steve?" His name was a high, desperate sound that died on your lips as he kept at you. His tongue zeroed in on your clit and the sight of his tawny head between your legs was your undoing. Your hands flew to your mouth and he smacked you again, harder. The sting was so good, pushing you over the edge until you screamed. His tongue never stopped moving, sharp slaps of his hand on your ass had you howling as you came hard enough for your vision to fade.

Dazed, you just focused on breathing as he hauled you up the bed. You were sort of aware of him reaching back over the bed for something. A flash of red. He already had one of your hands secured to the bedpost with the crimson silk of his tie by the time you realized what he was doing.

"Someone's having a hard time listening today," he said with a tight grin when you couldn't pull your hands off the bars at all. "I want to hear you. I want the entire house to hear you."

You were both fearful and excited at the darkened glance he wore now. When he moved above you, he was all you could see. The earthy smell of him was all around you, invading your senses. His head dipped to claim your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste your own juices on his lips. When he was done, you were panting and he wasn't even touching you.

The desire in his expression made you pause.

"I want the entire fucking neighborhood to hear how good I fuck you," he warned.

At the moment, you couldn't say that you cared at all who heard what as long as he fucked you. Now. But you knew you would care later and that anxiety only fanned the flames of your own lust. When his fingers slid through your slick folds, you bit your lip in frustration. When he worked one long, rough finger into you, your body clenched around it in sheer need.

When he pushed in two fingers, you groaned, moving your hips with his tantalizing touch. It was good. But you wanted more. Using the sleek heel strapped to your right foot, you nudged him at his lower back. You wanted his cock so bad right now. And the bastard knew it too.

"You want more?" Steve asked, knowing the answer to his question.

You nodded, your gaze on that swollen part of him he was touching over the expensive suit pants he still wore. You weren't surprised at how fast he undid those slacks, pushing them down his slim hips, kicking them off. What you didn't see coming was how quickly he moved up your body, straddling your chest and putting exactly what you wanted right in front of your face, long, hard, and swollen.

Before he could say something clever, you got your mouth on that. Your hands were tied but that did little to stop you. It was gratifying to hear your husband make that desperate little sob above you. As you working him with your mouth, making a mess but loving it, he clutched the headboard above you with both hands, his hips working with you with a little force. You adjusted, let him hit the back of your throat. You gagged once or twice but gave as good as you got, even with your hands out of play.

You pulled another sob from him, and that sound had you desperate for some relief yourself. Using your tongue, you teased the underside of him, just the way he liked. When he slid back, you moved your mouth away, taking one of his balls into your mouth and teasing it in all the ways you knew he loved.

That was when he stopped, laughing and breathless. Steve pulled himself out of reach. With a hand, he stroked himself, and you just knew he was too close. Wiping your mouth the best you could on your shoulder and panting from your efforts, you grinned up at him. Shifting your body, you wrapped your legs around his thighs and your dancer's legs were strong. You almost succeeded in toppling him, getting him where you wanted him.

Steve shook his head, his grin one of pure delight. "I love my ferocious little queen," he said.

"Then give her what she wants," you dared him, sounding as wrecked as he did. "If you have enough strength left."

His brows shot up at that. And you could tell he was tiring. But you weren't going to get away with throwing down that challenge and you knew it. And Steve played right into your hands.

Positioning himself on his knees between your thighs, he pulled your lower body to him. And you were drenched. Steve impaled you in the blink of an eye. He split you open fast and the quick flash of pain from so many nights without him dulled when compared to the sensations of having him inside you again. He stretched your walls and held, strong hands gripping your hips tightly. Quickly, your hands reached for the bars they were bound to, hoping to brace yourself for the ride you knew was coming.

He didn't disappoint. The entire bed shook as he fucked you, sharp quick thrusts hit all the hidden triggers inside you. You tried to keep quiet but you didn't last long. The push and drag of his cock against your slick walls that tried to grab him had your head spinning. Watching all those muscles work across his chest and heavy arms, watching the black ink of those tattoos dance made you insane. You moaned and wailed just as he wanted and you didn't give a good damn who in the house or beyond heard you as long as he didn't stop.

It wasn't long until your vision was fading and your pussy tightened around him as release chased you. Your heels dug into his ass as you urged him to keep going, to speed up. Your husband kept at you, his thrusts sharp and fast, punching the air from your lungs. When you came, you screamed. Pleasure flooded your bloodstream and the world spun away from you as your twisted and cried out, captive beneath him.

He didn't wait for you to recover. All too quickly, you drifted back. It wasn't like you had a choice. Steve was still fucking you hard, one hand now between your legs. His fingers were delicate on the pearl he played with, a perfect counterpoint for the sheer force he was using to fuck you into oblivion.

But it was all too much. You were too sensitive, tried to move your body away from that touch. Steve looked as wrecked as you felt above you, his mouth slack, his fingers and hips working frantically. Strands of his tawny hair were stuck to his forehead. He wasn't stopping. With all that color flooding his face, neck and chest, you knew he was so close. You also knew he wouldn't relent until he brought you off one more time.

You just didn't know if that was even possible. Your breath came fast, you pussy walls tried to grab him and failed. Steve pounded you over and over until he pushed you off the ledge and you were sailing. He jumped off after you, his final thrusts bringing an edge of pain that made your pleasure that much sweeter as your bodies worked together in a devastating climax.

You husband collapsed on top of you but didn't stay there long. Carefully, he lifted from you, his cock pulling free making you wince from the movement. Oh, you were going to be sore in so many ways from your lower body to your wrists that he carefully untied. When he collapsed onto his back next to you, you rolled to snuggle into his side. Fortunately, it wasn't the side of his chest where the wound was.

You both panted as you laid there, recovering. Steve hummed in contentment, his fingers tracing small patterns over your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You snorted. "Are you?"

"It's getting better." His voice was raspy now. "I'm not a hundred percent yet. But I will be."

I will be. That's what you wanted to hear.

"What happened?" You wanted to know. Barnes left earlier looking very unhappy and here was Steve, fucking you like a conquering hero in his state of excitement. He did well then in the meeting he called with the families of Boston. You were both relieved and happy for him. "Why did Barrnes leave within the first half hour?"

Your husband's triumphant gaze met yours. "Who told you that?"

You shook your head. "I saw. They drove him slowly around the front of the house. He rolled down his window and just stared at the house from the back seat. It was creepy."

You read determination in that blue-eyed gaze. "You know I'm never going to let him anywhere near you, right?"

With a sigh, you nodded. But you knew a lot more about his world after all you'd been through.

"How are you going to avoid that?" You needed to be realistic. "I'm not going to be Rapunzel in her tower here, Steve. I spent too many years already, locked away for my safety. I'm your wife. I'm going to be out in the world. And I'll need to make appearances with you. I can handle myself."

Worry crept into his expression. It darkened those baby blues, diminished the moment. You didn't want to go in that direction. Not right now.

"Tell me what happened," you re-directed impatiently. "I've been dying here."

Just like that, he smiled. Oh, he was proud of himself about something. You made a mental note to get Dyson's account later. Probably tomorrow. You knew it was going to be good.

It was a testament to Steve's recovery that he was still up and around and able to do what he just did to you. It was the first day he'd been out of bed so long and while you admired him for making it this far, you were a little worried about the impact it could have on his recovery. Carefully, you sat up in bed next to him.

And you listened carefully as he told you everything from the meeting. You would have loved to see him laying down the law to the other famiilies, getting in Barnes' face when he shamelessly owned the horrific things he was guilty of and took him to task for challenging his leadership. You listened, enjoying how animated he was in telling you how it all went down. It was obvious he was happy with how it went.

It was obvious Steve was taking the heavy reigns of leadership he was so eager to have with a new atittude. Now he saw the position for what it really was. Leading the five families was a heavy burden, something he could no longer take for granted.

Just like he'd stopped taking you for granted.

You paused a moment, wanting to make sure he had time to explain everything.Your heart sang at how animated he was, the color back in his face. The doctor assured you he'd make a full recovery and if he was this animated to the other family leads, his strength wouldn't be in question. At least, not as much.

"Wait," you said, going over his story in your head. "How much about what happened was brought up in your confrontation with Barnes?"

Steve's smile widened. "Well, I made it known that both you and Nat were victims of Barnes' scheming. Thor Odinson pointed out that Nat may have deserved what happened to her because she was cheating on Banner. I just didn't know how widely that bit of knowledge spread."

Your husband must have noticed your agitation because he quickly added, "I pointed out that Banner had been plotting with Barnes in hopes of being his new consigliere. That allowed me to mention that he'd also conspired with Neal."

You shuddered, remembering how Hansen shot Neal in the face without a thought.

"Barnes tried to paint me as weak," Steve explained. "He claimed it was too easy to hit those who I'm supposed to protect. Shops on our turf, my people, my sister... my wife."

"But you did protect us." You wouldn't let him doubt himself now. "Steve, that bullet might have killed me."

His expression softened at that. Sadness crept into his expression.

"Taking a bullet for you shouldn't have been necessary," Steve told you somberly. "Everything that led up to that? It was my fault. I didn't listen to you. I let my egotistical view of who I thought I should be and who I thought you should be cloud my judgment. I believed Neal over you. I could have lost you."

"But you didn't." You smoothed a hand over the side of his face. Turning his face, he pressed a kiss into your palm. "I'm still here. Nat and Dyson? They are still here."

It didn't seem to relieve the tension in his face. "As you've seen for yourself, my world, our world is dangerous. I think you understand now just how dangerous it is. Barnes is struggling physically. But, like me, he'll recover. If nothing else, pure willpower and the need for revenge will pull him along. I'm not the only one he's going to come after."

Steve didn't have to tell you that Bucky Barnes would be coming for you. You knew that.

And you put up a good front for him, for everyone in the family. You wanted them to believe you were unafraid. And you were pretty sure they believed you. A chill ran down your spine as you stopped to consider that one day, you'd have to face off against the enemy you made. A man who already hated you because of your mother's deeds. A man that sent Hansen after you, starting an unnatural obsession with him that could have resulted in your death twice.

And the way Barnes himself looked at you? It gave you chills just to think about it.

"Ever since I came out of the coma," Steve said slowly, "I just... I can't believe I actually allowed you to go in the first place."

"You changed your mind five minutes later. Steve, you were there." You made him look at you, meet your gaze. "You saved me. And I trust you to keep me safe from Barnes. I trust you to keep all of us safe."

When he dropped his head, your heart squeezed in your chest. "You shouldn't trust me."

"Steve, you've never been in this position before," you told him. "You're learning."

"Well, I need to learn faster," he told you. "What good is leadership if I can't protect the ones I love?"

"Steve, you're figuring it out." You willed him to believe you. "You're not the only one learning. I knew nothing about your world when you pushed your way into it. I've made mistakes. I'm learning too."

Shaking his head, Steve blew out a sigh. "And in a short period of time, you could see things about my world I missed. You were way ahead of me."

No, you weren't letting him beat himself up now after everything you'd been through.

"We have another shot at it." You needed him to understand. "But we have to deal with Barnes to have any chance of keeping you on the throne."

And he was all too aware of that. But when his gaze returned to yours, he said, "I don't even fucking care about the throne. Not if I lose you."

"Steve, I'm right here," you told him, your heart squeezing your chest.

Your conversation had taken a dark, angsty turn. It wasn't the way you saw the rest of the evening going. It really wasn't. But there was another issue you needed to address with your husband before things went the way you intended for them to.

"You know, before this last confrontation, we weren't in the best place in our marriage, Steve," you said quietly.

Slowly, he nodded. "You're right. I'd confined you to this room because Neal told me what had happened the day the so-called nurse came to the house. I was pissed that you lied to me."

You had to own that one. "I did lie to you. In my defense, you were talking about starting a family and I was scared. As much as I care about you now, at the time I wasn't ready to start a family. I wasn't ready to be someone's wife. But still, I could have communicated that to you."

"Apparently, I didn't made you feel safe enough to try and talk to me about that," Steve said.

That was also true.

"Sweetheart, if we're going to survive," he said, "no more secrets. I've made you part of my council. I'm trusting you with everything. I expect the same. It's the only way I can protect you."

"I agree to that." You meant it. "But I need you to promise me that you'll stop trying to push me in directions I'm not ready for."

"Yeah, cause it's not even possible." Steve's gaze held yours. Slowly, he nodded. "Can I ask for things I want?"

Something told you he was referring to starting a family. You blew out an exhale. You might be open to that one day. But not until you had the business with Barnes and the challenges to Steve's authority completely dealt with.

"Will you take no for an answer?"

Steve grinned. "I can be persuasive."

Yeah, you knew just how persuasive he could be.

#his inheritance #steve rogers #bucky barnes #Mafia Au #Mafia daughter reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #chris evans

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janesaridoll · 1 year

Text

Birthday princess

pairing || woc!reader x mob!ari levinson

genera || fluff.

summary || how’s Ari dealing with someone trying to disrespect his girl.

wordcount || 2,4K

Donate to my ko-fi!

A vicious man who will go to any length to make his sweetheart smile.

Growing up, Ari enjoyed his mother's elaborate celebrations, where everything had to be extravagantly flawless—whether they were birthday parties, wedding anniversaries, or charity events. He thinks his mother did all that to compensate for her husband, his father’s harsh reality.

He especially gets excited whenever his birthday is nearing, he loved when he was ten and he loves it now, almost thirty seven years old.

Even though, it's different from when he was younger, he still enjoyed it. However, the idea of someone not celebrating their milestone were awful to him, So when he found out his precious girl never celebrated her birthday he was horrified.

He couldn’t fathom that someone not celebrating their birthday especially someone as sweet as his girl.

Your birthday was never acknowledged by your parents. Not even a happy birthday was said. Although, your siblings celebrated theirs, no one ever seemed to remember yours.

As you got older, you just forget about it. You knew you missed something, but there was nothing you could do to persuade your parents to celebrate your birthday because they always had some excuse not to.

At first, you resisted Ari's insistence on throwing you a birthday party. Therefore, Ari did not celebrate your first birthday together as he had intended while you two were together. But of course he did do something to celebrate.

He took you to an upscale restaurant, after both of you finished eating, he gave you your gift; an elegant pair of earrings. That was the first time anyone had ever given you anything. You were appreciative, till this day you never taken them off.

The following year, when your birthday approached, Ari broached the subject once more, you told him you didn't care and that what you both did last year was enough yet Ari didn't think so. He wants to give you the experience of celebrating your birthday properly.

After much persuasion, you agreed to the birthday party, Ari got his mother's party planner number in order for you to contact her to plan your birthday, he didn’t set a budget for it; just told you to do what your heart desired.

"I want everything to go as smoothly as possible, Steve, I don't want anything to go wrong," Ari says as he sips from his brownish liquor.

"Of course, I'll tell Peter to oversee everything," you'd assume from the way they're both talking seriously in their black suits that it had to be about business. No, it's Ari's princess 24th birthday celebration. Which, if you think about it, is more important.

Ethan, your bodyguard and friend, is racing with with staff members making sure everything is perfect for your birthday, including the lights, decorations, DJ, food and drinks.

“She even got Ethan to do all the work” steve mumbled to Ari who let out a chuckle “I can’t believe he’s the toughest one of our men” He sips the rest of his drink before smiling to himself “wait for me in the werehouse” Steve only nodded.

He went upstairs to the guest bedroom where you had your makeup artist and hairstylist stay because Ari doesn't like it when people are in his room.

He stared at you from the doorway, completely captivated; the expression of happiness in your eyes brought happiness to him as well; he can't believe someone could be so cruel as to not love or spoil you in the way you deserve.

"Can you leave us for a minute?" As soon as he said it, the room quieted down, and your best friend, Nat, who you met through Ari's friends, spoke up, "sure, we will be outside," she patted your shoulder. She had already dressed in a black silk dress, done her makeup beautifully with smokey eyes and her signature red lipstick that matches her hair, she looks stunning.

"You look pretty," he began, staring at you from the mirror “you do, too," you said, turning around to face him.

He takes a step closer to you, as soon as he is within reach, you wrap your hand around his neck, drawing him closer to you, tilting your heads up to lock your gaze on him smiling lovingly.

"Ethan needs a day off tomorrow," when you noticed that the party planner were demanding you gave her Ethan's phone number so she could organize everything with him rather than you, you just told them what you want the theme of your party.

He initially objected, after all, he is the toughest man. But he agreed simply because he likes you and he wants you to have the nicest and most memorable birthday celebration ever.

"Sure, anything you want." Even Ari is taking a day off tomorrow, he wants to spend it with you while business is calm nowadays.

"You spoil me a lot," you said, kissing his jaw. He smiled “that's the least I could do for you. honey"

"Thank you, I love you too much." You kissed him again. "I love you too."

"I’m leaving for a bit; I've got a business to take care of, and I’ll be back before the party starts."

"Why?" You pout. Is he going to skip your birthday? You know it was stupid. You shouldn’t have agreed. Maybe your parents is right; it is a waste of time.

"They need me there; it won’t take too long, maybe an hour max," he told you while curdling your face between his large hands and kissing your lips softly.

“You promise?” You smiled softly at him.

"Absolutely,I wouldn’t miss it for the world” he replied, you kissed him again.

“I’ll leave you now to finish, honey."

“Okay be careful”

“Always”

He left, and the girls returned to do their tasks. Wanda followed Nat into the room; it appears that your friends are already showing up, so you should finish quickly.

“Hey! Nat told me you invited Ema?” Wanda said as soon as she’s stepped beside you, “hello to you too” you turned to her smiling.

“Im sorry babe” she kissed your cheek before continuing “is it true?”

“Yes, i thought it would be rude to invite all of our friend group except her!”

Nat spoke looking at Wanda “told you”

“Yep, she’s tooooo nice” Wanda replied.

“I don’t know, Ari is inviting his friends and business partners, his mom and sisters are coming as well as their friends, so I think it would be crowded and she won’t be a bother!”

“I hope so” Nat said before looking at Wanda who was fixing her red dress, adjusting her breasts “what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go see Ethan, wish me luck” Wanda and Ethan has been flirting a lot lately, you know they would end up together it was just a matter of time.

Everyone has arrived an hour and a half later, including your friends, Ari's friends, and family. Nat helped you dressing up in your pink gown, you wore your jewelry as well. Wanda is working as your personal photographer; she took many photos of you before you had to go downstairs so the party could begin.

When the DJ announced your entrance, everyone's eyes turned to you, yelling and clapping, while your eyes scanned the the place looking for Ari.

As soon as your gaze latched on him, you smiled brightly, relaxing for a while before getting down and everyone began to approach you, wishing you a happy birthday.

You were quite apprehensive because it was the first time you had ever been the center of attention at any form of event.

Nat gave you a microphone so you could thank everyone who came to celebrate with you, and you specifically thanked Ari, none of this would happened if it weren’t for him. You wished them a good evening.

After you handed the DJ the microphone, you felt like you were being crushed in a hug by someone, and when you looked down, you discovered it was Ari's younger sister, Amara.

“Happy Birthday!!!!!” She said screaming a bit. You laughed before hugging her back.

“Stop squeezing my girl to death” Ari teased his sister before greeting his mom and his older sister Sadie.

When Amara separated from you Sadie hugged you, as well as his mother.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart; i loved the party theme!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Levinson," you respectfully said. The elder woman scoffs at you, "sweetheart, we've been through this a lot! Please call me Freya; you make me feel old."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll start calling you Freya," you said hesitantly, knowing she had told you that several times but you always forgot. Your mother taught you to never address someone by their first name; instead, use Mr. or Mrs.

Sadie looked around “are we finally going to meet your family?”

Your communication with your family has diminished since you left for college; you text and call, but they don't reach out to you as frequently as you would want. It's what they've wanted ever since you were born. To forget all about you.

You gave them an invitation to your party, but they did not respond. And when you called they didn’t pick up, No surprise.

You didn’t tell Ari that, you didn’t want him to feel sorry for you. But he can see it in your face when his sister mentioned your family.

“Oh they’re busy, they couldn’t make it!” You hoped your excuse was believed and by the look they gave you they did.

After a small talk they left to join other people for dance and chatting.

Ari left you alone for a minute to talk with his friends while you drank and danced with your friends.

Hours later, it was time to cut the cake, two servants brought the cake to a table in front of you. Ari hand wrapped around your waist while your hand was on top of his, him and everyone else singing happy birthday for you.

"Make a wish!" Nat called for you, and everyone else joined her, you giggled before closing your eyes and making a wish.

After opening your eyes and blowing on the candle, everyone clapped and whistled for you.

"I want to show you something," Ari whispered in your ear. You turned around, looking into his eyes. "What?"

"Come with me," he said, taking your hand a bit further and directing you to the double massive doors, which opened immediately.

A Rolls-Royce Ghost in Champagne Rose pulled in, you could hear the stunned screams of the people surrounding you; you were as surprised as they were.

“Oh my god!!, you didn’t!!!” You looked between Ari and the car, Ethan stepped out of the car, passing the keys to Ari, who handed them to you.

“All yours baby” you jumped on him, hugging him firmly, thanking him constantly “I love you i love you i love you!!”

Nat and Wanda came close to you both “girl you have to take us for a ride!!”

“I can’t wait to show off my first car ever!!” You smiled big and jumped up and down while clapping.

Wanda smiled “let me take pictures of you with the car!” She took her phone out and you got beside the car posing while she took a couple of pictures of you.

You grabbed Ari hand wanting him in the pictures. He smiled before letting you posing him in whatever way you wanted.

If he could, he would have given you the entire world without asking, but for the time being, he will give you anything your heart desire.

Life has its own way of repaying you. While you spent the previous twenty-three years begging someone to spare you a glance, right now you could ask for anything and it wouldn’t be trouble to give.

From behind, an irritating loud noise was heard. "I told you that he is her sugar daddy!!" Everyone fell silent, wondering who it was.

Your smile faded slightly; you weren't a particularly confrontational person to begin with. People would walk all over you while you excused them. You were too kind and too afraid to ever react to anyone.

“Who said that?" Ari stated calmly yet furiously, everyone got quiet surprised at the person who is brave enough to insult Ari’s girl

Wanda and Nat exchanged knowing glances. Finally, Ema made a fool of herself in front of Ari.

They know Ari doesn't accept disrespect, especially to those who don't deserve it, and to disrespect his girl? Oh, she just dug up her grave.

“Ema did," Nat answered, unconcerned about your glares.

Ari doesn't want to ruin your first birthday celebration, but he can't let this individual get away with it.

When he observed a girl who appeared shaking with fear, everyone's gaze was drawn to her, he knew it was her, and he approached her moved in front of her eye sight, almost nothing can stand between them.

"There are two reasons for saying this; one is that you are jealous because no one has ever loved you enough to provide you with something you desired, or YOU don't deserve to be loved or cared for like i do with my girl, I believe the latter it is," he said as calm as he can be

He could hear Wanda and Nat laughing mockingly at her. Finally, someone standing up to this bitch.

“Get the fuck out of my house and don't ever think of disrespecting my girl; or the next time you won't have a tongue to talk with; are we clear?" She nodded so quickly

“Good," he said, motioning for two of his guards to accompany her out; Bucky pointed out for the DJ to play some music to keep the party going.

Wanda yelled “ oh my god i love this song”

Her and Nat went dancing on the dance floor, while everyone else seemed to have forgotten what had happened and continued to have fun.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Ari spoke to you in hushed tones.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, smiling back. "Do you know this is the first time I've seen you in your mob mode?"

“Really??” Ari was taken aback, saying, "I hope I didn't scare you."

"You did not, thank you for standing up for me; I really thought inviting her to my party would make her nice to me," you said, "I didn't want to divide our group into two sides."

"Sometimes, honey, being nice to someone so low is not the solution; if they don't respect you, they have to go; it's either they do or they don't." His huge hands comforted you by moving circles behind your back.

You thought for a moment about what he said "Yeah, you're right"

You got closer to him, your lips almost touching, "do you want to take my new car for a ride?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

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bigtreefest · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

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