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buckets-and-trees · 6 months ago

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Devour: HEAT (4/4)

Collection: DEVOUR Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!James Buchanan Barnes x Chef Female!Reader Word Count: 7k Summary: James returns from business in another city with the intention of spending the morning with you, more than a few surprises up his sleeve, whether you're ready for them or not.

Content & Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT - somnophilia, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, vibrating dildo, anal plug, brief masturbation, unprotected vaginal intercourse, double penetration, creampie. Feelings, so many feelings.

Logistical Notes: Salt, fat, acid, and now heat - this is the long-awaited final chapter of their series. Happy Mob Boss Monday!

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

You were vaguely aware of feeling much cooler than you should as you registered your hip being nudged so you were lying flat against the mattress. You were still clinging to slumber, not fully roused to the world of the waking, so you didn’t move when you felt the flat edge of a knife slipped between your skin and the silk of your panties, and you didn’t react to the snick of the clean cut of fabric over your right hip and then the left. You weren’t interested as someone peeled away the exquisite and expensive piece of underwear.

Though your legs were slightly open after being shifted from your side to your back, there was another gentle push against your leg to open your thighs a little more. Distantly something stirred in you as fingers gently caressed up your thigh and to your pussy laid bare to the morning sun. Those fingers began to gently play with your folds, eliciting wetness at your entrance. One finger gave a whisper of a press into your vaginal opening a few times, drawing a soft, short, breathy moan from you, and you subconsciously parted your legs further.

For all of that you were drowsy and docile.

The warm fingers left you for a moment, and then there was a cool pressure against your cunt, the sudden temperature change prompting a small sleepy, “Oh,” from you. More of the cool, firm pressure was applied, and then the sudden vibration of the cool object against your clit jolted you awake, eyes flying open and torso contracting suddenly upwards from the bed.

That dark, deep chuckle that always flooded you with heat poured into your ears, and a strong, now-familiar, calloused hand smoothed over your stomach and forced you gently but firmly back onto the mattress.

“James,” you keened.

“I’m disappointed,” he tutted, then pressed a kiss just above your knee.

“What?”

You racked your brain – not an easy feat when you were only just coming into consciousness for the day and being accosted with teasing pleasure at your core – but you couldn’t think of anything he could be disappointed in. Not with that tone, not with you, but he seemed genuinely disappointed. You detected even a tenor of anger in his tone.

“You’ve left some of my gifts entirely untouched,” he explained, pressing the vibrator insistently against your clit.

You groaned, and the heat of embarrassment surged rampantly through your body along with the pleasure. Your hands flew to your face, and you tried to close your legs, but he held them firmly open to his ministrations.

You knew immediately what he was talking about and what exactly was between your legs.

A sleek, black dildo that you’d only looked at for a few seconds before slamming the box shut again – long enough to register that it was a size you’d bet dimes to dollars was close in size to the cock of the man who sent it to you. Were you having copious amount of sex with notorious mob boss James Buchanan Barnes? Yes. Were you wearing the high-end bras and underwear he spoiled you with, a constant reminder of the intimate place he was establishing in your life? Yes. But using the sex toys he had selected and sent to you was the line you’d drawn at too intimate.

And now instead of using it solo, the man had the audacity to torture you with it himself.

And the torture was exquisite.

Six weeks of this man, and your body knew when to yield and drip for him. He had prepared your pussy, coaxed enough wetness, to take the dildo with ease even through the intrusion of its size, lacing the discomfort with pleasure. You moaned as he finished driving it in to the hilt. He played with the angle, pushing it up and back, teasing you with different points of pressure that made you pant and cant your hips.

“Feel good?” He asked in a smug tone.

“Yes,” you huffed, knowing he knew how you felt and only wanted you to admit it out loud for his own satisfaction. But if you didn’t, he’d delay your satisfaction, and audacious bastard though he might be, you craved him now, and delighted in the indulgence of him. “More, James, more.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Chef.”

And he did. Immediately.

He twisted the dildo, then pulled it halfway out before pushing it back into your slick channel. You closed your eyes, but you knew he watched your face closely for what made you feel good, adjusting his pace until your breath hitched and you clutched the sheets. Then he kept that pace and only applied a bit of additional force in the thrusts.

He drove you on and on until he finally pushed you over the edge, and you gave a sharp cry of ecstasy.

He worked the toy in your cunt just a bit more, making you twitch in response, and then he crawled up your body and you pulled him in for a few heated kisses.

“What are you doing here, James Buchanan Barnes?”

Though you had spent increasingly more time with him, this was the first time he’d been to your apartment. It was small and modest, and you were in no way ashamed (since he had also started to regularly send either a housekeeper or cleaning staff of some kind to take care of you place, you also weren’t worried about any mess), but you were surprised.

“I know it’s your day off.”

You chewed lightly on your bottom lip.

“And I know that look,” he continued with a smirk. “You’re not quite happy with me. I’ve shown up unannounced when I know you have plans and certainly have intentions for your unplanned time, but I wanted to see you this morning. Give me breakfast and then I promise to let you send me away as soon as you want.”

He kissed you again.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Mmm, missed you, too.” You wrapped your arms around him, pleased that he’d stripped down to his boxer briefs before joining you in your bed. “Breakfast would be nice.”

He grinned and then continued the kiss. You encouraged him, eagerly wrapping your arms around his neck and chest. You hitched a leg up around his hip, and then groaned when he pressed his bulge into your core as it pushed against the dildo still lodged inside of you.

He chuckled again, then reached down and drew out the black silicone in one slow pull. There was no ignoring the sound it made, the shlick as it came out of your messy cunt.

Then he drew it up to your mouth.

“Lick it,” he said.

Eyes locked with his, you stuck out your tongue and he slid it slowly over it. Then he set it aside and resumed kissing you, purposely circling his tongue around yours, sharing the taste of your arousal in your mouth. He groaned his approval and plundered your mouth for long enough that both of your chests were heaving against each other when he pulled away. James slowly pressed hot kisses over your face – softly on each of your closed eyes, your cheeks, your nose, you chin, your forehead, then back down to your lips. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed in sleepy contentment. You twined your fingers with his at your hip. He rutted his hard cock insistently against your core, watching your face. And he kept at it until you were all but begging for him.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Good, I’m ready to fill you up.”

But you whimpered as his actions immediately indicated the opposite as he abruptly rolled off you and slid out of bed.

“What? What are you-“

“Breakfast.” He smirked down at you, already pulling on a pair of lounge pants. “Going to fill you up with breakfast. What did you think I meant?”

You groaned at the blatant mischief in his eyes and hurled a pillow at him. He caught it with ease, laughed, and tossed it back to your bed as he left your bedroom. “See you in the kitchen,” he called back.

“Handsome bastard,” you grumbled as you rolled out of bed and padded along after him. You grabbed the silk robe hanging off the back of your door on your way, knotting and trying it off around your waist.

The incredible smell of some kind of warm bread hit you as you stepped out of your room. You inhaled deeply and moved more quickly, drawn by the heavenly scent, but you paused on seeing him in the kitchen. You had expected to see him at most plating up something that he’d brought or had delivered.

That was not the case.

Instead, he stood behind the counter next to your stove, handling ingredients that had come from a small crate like he was on a Food Network show.

He glanced up. “Yes, I’m cooking for you. Sit and relax,” he said, gesturing at the stool on the other side of the counter.

“James Buchanan Barnes, did you actually bake something?”

You tried to sidle into the actual kitchen, but he quickly blocked you off with his broad body.

“I. Am. Cooking. For. You.” He paused between each word, his tone serious.

“Are you really barring me from my own kitchen?”

You tilted your head up and fixed him with a look half amusement, half incredulity.

He leaned in, cupped your face in both of his hands, and kissed you soundly until you melted against his chest. When he pulled back, your lips chased his.

“Let me take care of you,” his words were gentle but firm, spoken tenderly against your lips.

One last indulgent kiss, and then he turned you around by your shoulders, and you finally did as you were told and took the seat across the counter from him.

James reached for an English muffin out of a small basket on the counter, split it open easily with a knife, and then buttered it. The butter melted immediately, and you grinned.

“You made English muffins from scratch?”

“You never dreamed I could cook on top of everything else – too good to be true?” He winked and you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Try it,” he said and slid you a small plate with half the muffin on it, taking a bite out of the half he kept back.

You lifted the bread to your lips and gingerly took a bite. It was soft, warm, and beyond the smooth tang of the melted butter that bled through the crumb, the taste far surpassed any English muffin that you could buy at the store. You let out a content hum, and your shoulders relaxed, the delight from the simplicity of the rich flavors in your mouth flooding your body with serotonin.

James smiled, just a hint of his cocky confidence lacing it, and then he got to work, filling a saucepan with water and setting it on the stove to bring it up to a simmer. He pulled more supplies from his box as you watched. Butter, lemon, eggs.

Given that your life was devoted to food and cooking, this was a bold gesture - and one no one you had ever been involved with had attempted. They were either too lazy or too intimidated or too dim to realize that even though you could cook, someone taking care of you in this way was a beautiful and indulgent gift.

“When did you get back?” you asked. He’d been gone for three days, but you hadn’t expected him back in the city until tomorrow.

He looked over at the clock on the wall. “Two hours ago.”

You blinked.

“You come straight here?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed in the affirmative without looking up from the frying pan as he slapped a healthy amount of butter onto its surface and set that on the stove as well.

Your heart soared, beating happily, and you folded your arms and rested them on the counter, leaning forward on your stool. The corners of your mouth unable to do anything but smile. You saw his mouth had relaxed into a soft smile as well.

While the butter melted, he separated yolks from egg whites, and beat them together in a glass bowl. When the pot of water was steaming, he took the glass bowl with the egg yolks and set it over top of the saucepan and continued to whisk them.

Now you knew what he was making.

“Eggs Benedict?” you asked.

“It’s one of your favorites.”

“How did you know?”

“I know more about you than you give me credit for.”

You didn’t want to touch that yet, but perhaps later, you thought.

“You’ve ordered it a few times when we’ve been out for brunch. It’s also one of my specialties.”

“Homemade English muffins, whipping up a hollandaise without much effort… you can actually cook,” you remarked.

He kept his focus on incorporating the butter into the yolks properly, but still responded. “You somehow continue to underestimate me in many areas, Chef.”

That assertion nudged your conscience a little, but his tone was teasing, so you kept the level of banter going. “You still have to successfully poach the eggs and make sure your hollandaise doesn’t split. But if you manage to pull it off, I might have to take you back to bed after breakfast.”

He chuckled, and your core rumbled a little.

You sat with rapt attention and watched. You didn’t scrutinize, but it crossed your mind that there were probably very few men who would have had the self-assurance to cook in front of you without worrying or getting irritated, even though you knew you weren’t judging, only interested in observing someone else at your craft.

And as you sat, you did turn over his comment in your head – that you were underestimating him.

It had been seven weeks since everything started with this mob boss. He had insinuated himself into many aspects of your life, but as you navigated whatever it was that was developing between you two, most of the time his intrusions were welcome, if somewhat hesitantly by you at first - like fully exchanging your intimates, or hiring a housekeeper for your apartment (you had yet to see them, and you had to confess it felt nice to have some work eliminated from your plate). He had been incredibly aggressive about folding himself into many aspects in your life. Some of the evolution of this relationship had been thrilling, had you giddy, or quite simply stunned over the moments of softness or seeming adoration. Through any of the challenges, James had been open to any wants and needs you expressed when you brought them to his attention. What’s more, there hadn’t been many things to address with him – the time he spent with you wasn’t merely additional hours clocked, but as you looked back you had to confess it was time he spent truly getting to know you.

You craved him almost constantly, and in so many ways, but had you gotten caught up in trying to preserve yourself?

The morning after the first night you’d slept together and stayed the night at his penthouse, you had been able to dress out of the closet he had already stocked for you. While a little shocking, it had not ultimately been surprising. It had bordered on overwhelming. The novelty and spoiling had been fun and flattering. That he had been able to stock a closet so well-suited to your taste and needs had been the part that edged toward the overwhelming side, but you ignored the more serious parts of the grand gesture, classified it as yet another audacious choice, not a sign of his knowing you or the clear signal that he was ready to have you seriously embedded in his life – in his home. He hadn’t said anything or even insinuated that you should move in, he just let that closet of clothes exist for you. It was a statement, but not a demand.

Aside from the housekeeper he’d started to send around to your place, he also had enlisted some kind of laundry service to take care of more of your needs, and last week before he left for his business trip he personally slipped a black card into your wallet.

“There,” your mob boss declared, spinning the two plated masterpieces toward you. “These would certainly be approved for service, would they not, Chef?”

You were impressed. “They look stunning. Final judgement at the table.”

You started to reach for one of the plates, but James tutted at you and carried them both over to the table, seating you at the corner next to each other where place settings had already been laid out. He was thorough, including going back to the fridge to retrieve a carafe of juice.

“And did you press this by hand?” you asked as he poured a glass for each of you.

He laughed. “No, I didn’t have time to grow and harvest the fruit myself, so it felt like cheating. This is the one my home chef keeps on hand for me.”

“I do like your chef. Do you think I could steal them for my restaurant?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he took his seat next to you. “Enough. Eat.”

You took up your knife and fork and made the first, signature cut into the egg draped with its silky hollandaise sauce. The yolk oozed, slow and gorgeous. “That’s a top tier poach,” you shot the praise truthfully.

James smiled and watched as you lifted the first bite to your mouth.

“Mmm,” you hummed, your eyes closing momentarily. “Nothing beats a beautiful benedict.”

“Success,” he crooned, finally digging into his own dish. He didn’t ask if for further accolades, didn’t ply you for more praise, again speaking to his nature – confident, perhaps too confident at times, but sure of himself.

After your second bite, you still reaffirmed your assessment. “Really, James, the sauce is the perfect consistency, and that English muffin could have carried the whole dish on its own if the rest had been just okay.”

He squeezed your thigh under the table. “Thank you.”

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments before James spoke again. “Where’s your lovely head this morning? You went somewhere while I was cooking.”

You looked at him, tilting your head while you chewed. His blue eyes, strong, piercing, warm, captivating, looked directly into yours. He really did see you in more ways than you had been giving him credit for.

Being with this man for the past seven weeks had changed something in you. Over the years you had learned to be direct and go after what you want, but not in romantic endeavors. When you were younger, you didn’t have the skills, experience, or confidence. Over the past few years, you had been clear and direct in the rare forays into talking or dates, but there had been nothing long or meaningful enough to require directness and vulnerability from you. You had been able to be direct with James, but you had skirted around being exposed to some of the moments of vulnerability.

But there was not much more skirting that you could do.

James had shown he was willing to show up.

It was time for you to do the same.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said – that I’ve been underestimating you. I think… You might be right.”

James leaned forward, reached for your hand, and brought it to his lips. He murmured your name softly against the palm of your hand and then pressed a long kiss there. You took a breath to calm your suddenly racing heart. “I know who I am. I don’t blame you having certain ideas of who that is or putting on your own armor to keep yourself safe.”

He let your hands fall to the table but kept a tight hold on your fingers.

“I ate at Devour for the first time a few months ago. The food was immaculate. I was looking to invest in new ventures and diversify my portfolio, so I started looking into buying the restaurant. It had a good track record, its reputation had been steadily growing, the location was prime, the service impeccable. The only point of debate that came back in my team’s assessment of whether to buy the establishment was our discovery the head chef was retiring.

“You were the heir apparent and confirmed successor, so we researched you, too. Clean background, solid career building; I saw that you were pretty, but that was immaterial – merely a PR bonus if we wanted to generate more buzz for the restaurant at any point. We ordered out and dined in many times the month leading up to your takeover so that we could have a solid handle on the standard we expected and could gage if there would be any significant changes night one.

“A third of the dining room that night was filled with my people. You introduced a few new dishes to the menu, bit it was conclusive all around that the quality had been maintained, and nothing had fundamentally changed. I walked in that night planning to make my purchase as long as I was satisfied, and I was.

“The last thing I wanted was to see the new head chef face to face before making the deal so I could get a sense of who you were off the page and beyond your plates.”

“I remember being summoned to a table rather inconveniently on the biggest night of my career,” you interjected.

He chuckled. “And I could see that fire in your demeanor. It confirmed my purchasing decision, but it also made me want to devour you.”

And he had. He had temporarily dismissed your staff, told you he was tripling your salary, and then roughly sexed you up according to his pleasure – giving you some of the best sex you’d had, but not because you wanted it that night, only because he had.

“New business acquisition, new girl,” you teased. But it was defensive.

He grunted and shook his head. “No. You’ve invested so much of yourself into your career and the restaurant that you assume they’d be tied together, but they’re not. To me there was the restaurant and then there was you. I only played my hand to my advantage to keep you there. If you’d walked after that night, I would’ve gone looking for you.”

You frowned at him, but he continued before you could argue.

“You weren’t easy. There are so few people in my life who don’t bow or bend to me, I wanted more of that.”

“You wanted the challenge?”

“No, more than the challenge, I wanted you for your strength. I was the mob boss you thought I was that night, but then you turned me into a man – demanded I be a version of myself who was worthy of you if I wanted more, and I did want more of you. You stopped making time for men because they kept disappearing or disappointing, didn’t you?”

You sighed.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Neither of us are content with easy. You wanted someone to romance and adore you, but you also needed someone who would challenge you, meet you stride for stride.”

“Don’t be smug,” you said.

“I told you the first night we slept together, I’m not smug about you. After things started unfolding between us, you drew me in. I wanted more than just sex. I knew I could get that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head and put a finger to your lips. “We were both eager for it – those first encounters, and especially the first night together, now let me finish.”

You huffed, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. The sex had been heated and irresistible every time.

“I think you’ve worried more than you needed to over whether I want you, or if I knew what I was getting into.”

It was like he was reading pages of your most private thoughts. His eyes were impossibly intense now, and it made your chest ache.

“This has never been about someone to warm my bed. I’m too busy, and my life was just fine before. I want you, and, yes, glorious amounts of sex with you, but it’s your passion and your spirit I crave. You’ve seen me for more than who you thought I was in the beginning.”

“You’re remarkable, I couldn’t help being drawn to you,” you confessed. You’d called him audacious so many times, but that was only one facet of James Buchanan Barnes. He was passionate, intelligent, bold, calculating, and decisive.

“You’ve let down some of your guards around and let me in, and because you do, I let you see pieces no one else knows. We’re swimming in deeper waters with each other all the time.”

You brought your hand up to his cheek and kissed him fiercely but briefly, needing to feel his lips on yours for a moment. You wanted so much more, but you knew he wasn’t finished, so you drew back.

He drew both your hands into his, resting them on the table between you two.

“I knew that if I ever married, I wanted a partner, not another yes person. The more time I’m with you, the more my soul hungers for you to be that part of my life. I want your company, your opinions, your soft snores, your teasing, your ideas. I’m insatiable for you, in every way. The first night I knew I wanted you, but that second night I saw in you my wife.”

“Your wife?” you gasped, your jaw going slack with surprise. But you didn’t make another sound or even a movement as his words swirled every thought in your head.

He waited, eyes still locked on yours. It was more than a full minute of silence before he finally spoke again. “Eventually, yes. Does that scare you?”

“No,” you said, without hesitation.

His words had brought you back and seemingly brought your frenzied thoughts into alignment. The only potential barrier your brain identified was time. But he wasn’t asking you to marry him right now, he was only asking if you were scared of potentially being his wife.

And that didn’t scare you.

Truthfully you would have cut things off if there had been any moment you didn’t see a long way down the road with him – you’d done it plenty of times with men before. Like him, you were too busy to trifle with men just to be coupled. You’d fought not only to make something of yourself in your career, but to make something of yourself in your life so that you didn’t need to be in a relationship to be happy.

“It doesn’t scare me either,” he said.

Then he swept his napkin from his lap, laid it on the table, and, in no rush, pushed back his chair and stood up from the table. He tugged on your hand gently, invitingly, nodding toward the hall and back to your bedroom.

Your head and your heart were full – clear but full – so you let James take the lead.

His hands moved deftly and delicately as they untied the knot of your silk tie of your robe, then pushed it down off your shoulders, letting his fingers skim enticingly over your skin, and turned to hang it on the back of your bedroom door. Next his hand found the hem of your silk chemise and pulled it up you’re your hips, and you lifted your arms so he could sweep it clean up off your body. He set it gently on the end of your dresser before turning back to you. Then he stepped closer than he had been before, cupped your jaw in both hands, and lowered his face to capture your lips in another kiss. Slow, warmth and fire behind it, but still no rush. You slanted your mouth against his and darted your tongue out to tempt entrance, which he granted, licking into your mouth in kind.

From the very beginning, whether they were slow or frenzied, his kisses have always been so passionate they were intoxicating, and you never wanted that to end between the two of you.

You craved him almost constantly, and in so many ways. He had seeped into your bones and your veins and so many of your waking thoughts, like the thrumming undercurrent of your heartbeat.

James eased you back slowly until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he gently urged you back. “Get up there for me,” his voice husky and his pupils taking over his blue irises.

You scooted as smoothly as you could manage until you were most of the way up the bed, not wanting to put distance between you, but knowing it wouldn’t last long. You leaned back on your elbows, a slight shiver running down your spine as your eyes met James’ gaze, drinking in the full form of your naked body – far from the first time he’s seen it over the past few weeks, but the intensity still affected you, there was still vulnerability of newness in this relationship.

James pulled the soft t-shirt up and off his torso. Then, not looking away from you, he pushed down his lounge pants and stepped out of them. The sight of his thick, hard cock made your breath hitch, eager to feel the way he stretched and filled you up, but he remained rooted to his spot and began slowly pumping one hand up and down his length while he looked at you.

“Spread your legs for me, love,” he said.

You gasped because it was the first time either of you had vocalized the word to each other.

“I do,” he confirmed, “I love you.”

“James…”

He smiled. “Now, show me that pretty cunt, my love.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you let your legs drop open like a butterfly.

He moaned appreciatively and continued to slowly stroke his cock as he stepped forward. “Pretty and wet and mine.”

He joined you on the bed, quickly slotting his large form in the cradle of your thighs. He pressed heated kisses along your collarbone, but you guided his head up to yours.

“I love you, too,” you murmured fervently against his lips.

His eyes flared with happiness and satisfaction - a look you had grown familiar with, and one you relished in knowing you caused.

As he kissed you again, he propped himself up on one arm by your head, but his other hand landed on your puffy and dripping folds to lavish languid attention, not designed to drive you to orgasm, but only to dole out pleasure while his expert fingers played with your body. As ever, you were simultaneously eager for more but ready to relish the experience.

While James had you pinned down with the weight of his body, eventually you began to squirm and rock your hips, seeking more. Soft mewls tumbled out of you, and you scratched your nails down his broad back.

“Need,” you gasped when he broke off the kiss.

He pecked your lips to cut you off. “I know what you need.”

He pushed himself up, grabbed a pillow, placed it down next to your hip. You hummed as he and rolled you over and onto the pillow, propping your hips up for him. Spreading your knees with his, he knelt behind you. You stretched your right arm up above your head, grasping at the sheets to steady yourself for whatever he had in store for you next, and reached your left hand back, silently seeking his hand to twine with your, which he complied with, settling your entwined fingers together at your hip. Meanwhile, his free hand passed soothingly up and down the length of your right side, from knee to ribs, down and up and down again. He planted kisses from the base of your spine up to your neck, and it was so soft and intimate your eyes welled with tears, nearly overwhelmed with just how adored this unhurried worshipful moment made you feel. You blinked back the moisture in your eyes and focused on breathing.

His kisses continued up the side of your neck, and when he suddenly nipped at your ear, you laughed and swatted playfully at him.

He rolled away from you, and a whine of protest escaped your throat.

James chuckled.

“Just a moment,” he reassured you as he reached for something on the bedside table. You heard a small click you couldn’t place, then some other soft sounds of movement. When he rolled back to face you, you looked down to see what he’d retrieved.

You gasped and then looked back up to his face immediately, heat rising in your neck and cheeks.

But it wasn’t embarrassment that you felt, it was the rush of trepidatious arousal, hesitant because this was an area you’d never ventured in the sexual realm.

In his hand was the smallest from a set of platinum anal plugs set with sapphires, and it was prepared with lube.

“Oh,” the soft syllable fell from your lips.

“Trust me?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

He squeezed your hand, and you squeezed back. Then he released your hand and settled back to his kneeling position between your splayed thighs again. He caressed the swell of your ass, first one cheek, then the other. His thumbs spread your crack open, and gently nudged at the tight ring of muscle at your entrance a few times before he placed the rounded metal end of the plug at the puckering.

“Relax, let me feel you breathe,” he said. You took a deep breath in. Out. And with your next breath in, he pushed the plug softly in. You held your breath as he slowly finished slotting it inside of you. Then he was up near your cheek, nuzzling you softly. “How does that feel?”

You took a beat to think before answering. “Full.” You breathed in and out again. “Good.”

You felt him grin against your skin. “Good.”

His thumb lightly tapped against the jeweled end, and your breath hitched slightly. He waited a moment, tapped again, and again your breath hitched. He chuckled. “So responsive, love.”

You huffed and burrowed your face into the sheets.

“But still good?” he checked in.

“Yes,” you groaned. The feeling of your tight hole being full was unbelievably intense because it was so foreign, so insistent, so much. The plug provided an ever-present push, and the more moments that passed, the more your body latched onto it the rush. It laced every thought. His light taps on the plug had jolted that pleasure, giving it sharp, blissful pulses.

Another laugh at your reluctant acknowledgement. “I’ll stop teasing,” he promised. “For now,” he added.

He lined up the tip of his cock at the entrance to your weeping channel, hunched down over your back, and then slowly, deliciously, pushed his thick length inside of you. You moaned openly through every second of it, then took a deep breath when he settled in at the hilt.

James waited there, chest pressed against your back, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled in both places at once. He peppered kisses along your shoulder.

“Mmm, ready for you to move,” you drawled through your haze.

One hand held the top of your hip, and he planted his arm at your side so he could get the right leverage to begin thrusting in and out of your cunt. He took a slow approach, but it still engulfed you immediately. His cock moving within your cunt while you were plugged, immovable fullness in one hole and a shifting fullness in the other, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The presence of the plug dialed up every other sensation you were experiencing as James started to speed up his thrusts.

You fought to acclimate to the overwhelming fullness, as he gradually increased the pace of his thrusting, but your orgasm crashed over you earlier than either of you expected. Your body seized up and then shook as you cried out in ecstasy beneath him. He groaned as you milked his cock, then growled as he sped up even more.

His hand circled your hip to dive beneath your pelvis, in search of your clit.

You keened when his expert fingers found your swollen bud.

“Have to give me another, need you to cum with me,” he demanded, chest rumbling against your back.

His fingers dealt out exquisite torture as he circled your clit.

Your second orgasm built and crested, drawn out in longer bliss this time, and as your walls clenched this time, they triggered the release of your mob boss as well. He gave a shout, muffled into your neck as he pumped you full of his cum. You could feel the heat of it as he emptied himself fully inside you, and you relished in it, arching your back and stretching your arms out satisfyingly in the bursts of pleasure that rolled through your body in the aftershocks.

You turned your head to kiss your lover, full and satiated. He indulged and returned the kiss in kind but broke it off much too soon for your liking, also withdrawing his cock from your well-used cunt. You gave a little moan of protest, but he kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he assured you.

Too blissed out and loathe to move yet, you stayed exactly where you were, listening to James’s footsteps moving away to the bathroom. The running tap signaled a quick clean up, and when he returned, he had a warm washcloth to tend to you as well. He carefully removed the plug, and murmured, “You did so good for me.”

A little something fluttered ever so slightly at his soft praise. After he wiped away the mess of your combined spend, he tossed the washcloth to your laundry hamper, removed the pillow from beneath your hips, then settled down on his side on your mattress and collected your boneless body in his arms. You sighed in contentment.

“You ready to send me away yet?” he asked.

“No, you’ve earned at least a few more minutes.”

“Good, because I have one more thing for you.”

You laughed. “I might need a little more recovery time, muscles don’t want to move.”

He reached over to your bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled something out, but your eyes were drifting closed. You thought maybe he would relent and leave you be for at least a short amount of recovery time if you fell into a light doze.

But of course, he would not.

No.

James Buchanan Barnes, endearing but audacious bastard that he was, couldn’t let you rest.

He withdrew your hand from his chest and deposited something into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it, before he kissed your knuckles.

As your fingers registered the size and shape of the object in your hands – small and square, smooth surfaces, but tied with a satin bow – you stopped breathing, and your eyes flew open.

His face held the softest smile you had ever seen on his features. His thumb brushed smooth, reassuring circles, over the inside of your wrist. “Marry me.”

Your eyes flickered between his piercing blue gaze and the Tiffany blue box in your hands, mouth agape. You had resumed breathing, but you were speechless – happiness tinged with hesitancy. Your eyes went back to him, searching his face, and you knew he was searching your again. “In the other room, you said eventually.”

“Marry me tomorrow, or marry me in five years, but I know what I want,” his tone underscoring his evident resolve. “I told you, I’ve known since very early on, and every moment only solidifies how certain I am I can’t see a future I want more than one that involves you.”

You leaned in to kiss him. He was clever, your mob boss. Strategic. But you also believed he was sincere.

You broke the kiss this time. “I won’t marry you tomorrow, but I don’t want to wait five years, either.”

“We can set the timeline later, but now I want to see my ring on your finger, Chef.”

He reached to start tugging the white bow loose, but you tsked at him and went to work, untying the satin. You opened the blue box, then let your fingers run over the smooth velvet of the smaller box within. Neither of you spoke, the moment charged with anticipation. You tilted back the top half of the ring box.

“Oh, James,” you marveled.

The ring he’d selected could not have been more perfect. The setting of the stones was stunning.

You let him withdraw the ring from its cushion and slip it onto your finger.

Already having proven his track record when it came to knowing things about you, you didn’t question how he had managed to get the perfect sizing for your engagement ring.

Hours later, after hours of kissing and numerous post-engagement orgasms, you did ask how long that ring box had been in your top drawer, but he laughed and assured you only that morning.

You were reasonably sure that was the case, but with him, there was no telling for sure.

And now you knew this mischievous man and mob boss would continue to surprise and challenge you for a lifetime.

THIS CONCLUDES THE ARC OF THEIR SERIES! I hope it provides a satisfying ending that you were able to devour! I have already written a few pieces for them that take place after this, and I imagine there will be drabbles here and there (there were two things I cut from this chapter already because of how things ended up flowing, and one of them I do at least still see as a conversation they will have in the midst of some smut), but we have at least gotten them from the beginning of their journey to where I wanted them to land in the original four parts I sketched out over a year ago.

Let me know what you think, now that you know how their story has been told! I can't believe we made it!

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #mob boss bucky buarnes #bucky barnes fanfic #aspen wrote something #devour au #bucky barnes x female reader #female reader #mob boss au #mob au

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Dangerous Woman

Mob Boss!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: You're just a bartender until Natasha Romanoff walks into your life.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, alludes to sex, mentions of knives, mob life, mentions of vom*t

Authors notes: After making this moodboard I had this idea

You loved the rhythm of the restaurant’s evening rush. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter—it was a symphony that you had grown to cherish. As the bartender at one of the city’s most upscale establishments, you prided yourself on knowing the regulars, remembering their favorite drinks, and always being ready with a warm smile and a listening ear.

Tonight, the restaurant was especially busy. The soft glow of chandeliers cast a golden light over the elegantly dressed patrons, and the rich scent of gourmet dishes filled the air. You moved with practiced ease behind the bar, mixing cocktails, pouring wine, and engaging in light banter with the guests.

Your colleagues often joked about your ability to handle even the most demanding customers with grace. It was a skill that had earned you a reputation among the clientele and the respect of your fellow staff. But beneath your composed exterior, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was different. There was an electricity in the air, an anticipation that you couldn’t quite place.

As you polished a glass, your eyes drifted to the entrance just in time to see a striking woman step inside. She was tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that exuded sophistication and power. Her auburn hair was styled to perfection, and her sharp green eyes scanned the room with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Natasha Romanoff, you realized with a start. The name was whispered in certain circles with a mix of reverence and fear. She was the heiress to the infamous Red Guardian’s empire, known for her ruthless efficiency and unyielding control over her domain. You had never expected to see her in person, let alone at your bar.

Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before she made her way to a secluded table where a nervous-looking man awaited her. As she sat down, you couldn’t help but feel her eyes on you every so often, a piercing gaze that made your pulse quicken.

You tried to focus on your work, but your mind kept drifting back to her. What could bring someone like Natasha Romanoff here? And why did it feel like she was watching you so intently?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft chime from the bar. A customer was waiting. You turned your attention back to your duties, pushing aside the questions that swirled in your mind.

Time seemed to blur as the evening wore on. The restaurant’s ambiance, the steady stream of orders, and the occasional glance toward Natasha’s table kept you occupied. But you couldn’t ignore the growing sense of anticipation, the feeling that something significant was about to happen.

It wasn’t long before Natasha rose from her table, her conversation with the client seemingly concluded. She walked with an air of purpose toward the bar, her eyes locking onto yours. The room seemed to hush as she approached, the weight of her presence palpable.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice smooth and commanding. “I’d like your highest-priced bottle of red wine.”

You nodded, trying to steady your nerves as you reached for the exclusive bottle kept in the back for such occasions. “Of course, ma’am,” you replied, setting the bottle and a glass in front of her. “This is our finest vintage.”

Natasha’s lips curled into a faint smile as she watched you pour. “You have a good eye for quality,” she remarked, taking the glass and swirling the wine before taking a sip. “What’s your name?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. “It’s Y/N”

“Y/N,” she repeated, as if testing how it felt on her tongue. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Natasha.”

The name sent a shiver down your spine. It confirmed what you had suspected, but there was a gentleness in her tone that caught you off guard. “Nice to meet you too, Natasha.”

She leaned closer, her eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me, Y/N, how does someone like you end up working in a place like this?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “I enjoy meeting new people and making their nights a little brighter. Plus, I’ve always had a passion for mixing drinks.”

Natasha’s smile widened slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “A passion for mixing drinks and making people happy. That’s a rare combination.”

She took another sip of her wine, her gaze thoughtful. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other, Y/N.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say, but feeling a strange sense of anticipation. As Natasha returned to her table, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your life had just taken a turn, one that would lead you deeper into her world.

=========

And see her again you did. It didn't take long, in fact. As you walked back to your apartment after that fateful encounter, the night air was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the restaurant. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional pedestrian or car passing by. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, your thoughts lingering on the enigmatic woman who had unexpectedly captured your attention.

You were lost in your thoughts when you heard footsteps behind you, quickening in pace. Two men rounded the corner, their faces shadowed in the dim streetlights. They called out to you, their voices laced with a confidence you recognized all too well. Working as a bartender, you had grown accustomed to unwanted advances, even in the upscale environment of your workplace. The wealthy often believed their status and money could win you over, but they were always wrong.

One of the men stepped closer, his words slurred and suggestive. You stiffened, preparing yourself to handle the situation as you always did. But before you could speak, a familiar voice cut through the night.

"That's enough," Natasha's voice was cold and commanding, a dangerous edge to it that made the men freeze. She stepped out of the shadows, her presence immediately imposing.

The man who had been speaking turned to her, annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Listen, bitch, stay—" His words died in his throat as recognition dawned on his face. "The Red Guardian's daughter... The Black Widow..."

The name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The color drained from the men's faces as they realized just who they were dealing with. Without another word, they turned and bolted, disappearing into the night as quickly as they had appeared.

Natasha watched them go, her expression unreadable. Then, she turned to you, her gaze softening. She closed the distance between you with a few quick strides, her cool hands gently cupping your cheeks. The touch was unexpected, but strangely comforting. You could still smell the faint scent of the wine she had sipped earlier, mingling with the subtle notes of mint that came off her. The combination made your head spin, your heart racing in your chest.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softer now, laced with concern. Her thumbs gently brushed against your skin, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you."

Natasha’s eyes softened further, a small smile playing on her lips. "You shouldn’t have to deal with people like that," she murmured, her tone protective. "Let me walk you home."

It wasn’t a request; it was a gentle command, and you found yourself unable to refuse. There was something undeniably captivating about her, a mixture of strength and vulnerability that drew you in.

=======

Instead of Natasha walking you home, you found yourself in her sleek black car, the city lights fading behind you as she drove you out of the bustling downtown area. The ride was quiet, the air filled with an unspoken tension, your mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You tried to piece together the events that had led you here, but the answers eluded you. All you knew was that you were headed to Natasha Romanoff's home, and that fact alone left you both exhilarated and anxious.

The drive seemed to stretch on, each mile taking you further from the familiar streets you knew. Finally, the car slowed and turned onto a private driveway. You gazed out the window, your eyes widening as a grand mansion came into view, nestled amidst lush, manicured gardens. The imposing structure was a blend of modern and classic architecture, exuding an air of sophistication and power that mirrored Natasha herself.

As the car came to a stop, your breath hitched. The sheer size and elegance of the mansion made your jaw drop. It was a far cry from the modest apartment you called home. Natasha stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you with a small, reassuring smile. You stepped out, feeling the cool night air against your skin, and followed her up the grand steps to the entrance.

The door opened before you could reach for it, revealing a pair of neatly dressed maids who greeted Natasha with polite nods. They took her coat and scarf, their movements quick and efficient. Natasha slipped off her jacket, revealing the burgundy shirt she wore underneath. She loosened her tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt, revealing a hint of her cleavage. The sight made your mouth and throat go dry, a sudden wave of heat rushing through you. The contrast between her commanding presence and the subtle glimpse of vulnerability left you speechless.

Natasha glanced over at you, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Welcome to my home," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. She gestured for you to follow her inside, her hand resting lightly on your lower back as she guided you through the grand foyer. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—high ceilings, marble floors, and an array of tasteful art pieces adorning the walls. It was a place that spoke of wealth and status, yet felt oddly intimate.

As you walked further into the mansion, you noticed the staff bustling about, all moving with a quiet efficiency. It was clear that everything and everyone here existed to serve Natasha's needs and desires. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervousness, wondering how you had ended up in such a situation. It felt surreal, like you were living a dream—or perhaps a fantasy you hadn't even known you had.

Natasha led you into a cozy sitting room, its walls lined with bookshelves and soft, plush furniture. She motioned for you to sit on a comfortable sofa, then poured herself a glass of red wine from a decanter on a nearby table. She poured a second glass and handed it to you, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture was both casual and intimate, a reminder of the connection that had sparked between you earlier in the evening.

As you took the glass, your fingers brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Natasha settled into an armchair across from you, her posture relaxed yet commanding. She took a sip of her wine, her gaze thoughtful.

"So," she began, her voice low and smooth. "How does it feel to be here, in my home?" There was a teasing glint in her eyes, but also a genuine curiosity.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "It's... breathtaking," you managed to say, your eyes flickering around the room before settling back on her. "I never expected to end up in a place like this. With you."

Natasha's lips curved into a small smile, and she leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I didn't expect it either," she admitted, her voice softening. "But here we are."

There was a pause, a charged silence that hung in the air between you. You felt the weight of the moment, the unspoken possibilities that seemed to shimmer in the space between you. Natasha's presence was intoxicating, her allure undeniable. As she studied you, you couldn’t help but wonder what she saw in you, and what she had planned for the night.

Before either of you could continue the conversation, the two of you were interrupted by the sound of a door swinging open. A blonde woman with a thick Russian accent burst into the den, her presence as commanding as Natasha's. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and she carried herself with a confidence that suggested she was no stranger to dangerous situations.

"Sestra! I took care of To—" she began, her voice trailing off as she noticed you sitting there. A look of surprise crossed her face, quickly followed by suspicion. Her eyes narrowed, scanning you with a critical gaze before she turned her attention back to Natasha. Her expression softened slightly, but a hint of curiosity remained.

"Сестра, кто это?" the blonde asked, her voice low and questioning.

Natasha glanced at you briefly, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile before she turned to address the woman. She responded in Russian, her tone calm and composed, "Это Y/N, одна из новых знакомых. Не волнуйся, всё под контролем." (This is Y/N, one of my new acquaintances. Don't worry, everything is under control.)

The blonde raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the situation. Her eyes flicked back to you, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Знакомых, да?" (Acquaintances, huh?) she replied, her tone teasing yet inquisitive. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "Интересно. Оч��нь интересно." (Interesting. Very interesting.)

Natasha chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Успокойся, Елена. Мы просто общаемся." (Calm down, Yelena. We're just communicating.) She turned to you, switching to English with ease. "This is my sister, Yelena. She tends to be a bit... protective."

Yelena smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "A bit? That's an understatement." She pushed off the doorframe and approached, extending a hand toward you. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I've heard... well, nothing about you," she joked, her tone lightening the atmosphere.

You shook her hand, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden shift in the room's dynamics. "Nice to meet you too, Yelena," you managed, trying to keep up with the rapid changes in conversation.

Yelena nodded, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned back to Natasha. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know everything's taken care of." She paused, a more serious expression crossing her face. "But we should talk later."

Natasha nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Of course. We'll catch up in a bit."

With that, Yelena gave you one last curious glance before making her way out of the room, leaving you alone with Natasha once more. The interruption had brought a new energy into the space, a reminder of the world Natasha inhabited—a world that was clearly more complicated and dangerous than you had initially realized.

As the door closed behind Yelena, Natasha turned her attention back to you, her expression softening. "Sorry about that," she said with a small sigh. "My sister can be a bit... overbearing at times. But she's good at what she does." She took another sip of her wine, her eyes locking onto yours once more. "Now, where were we?"

"So that's your sister, which means she's the White Widow?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness. The realization hit you that you were in the presence of not just one but two of the most formidable figures in the city's underworld. Natasha nodded, her expression unreadable as she sipped her wine.

"Yes, she is," Natasha confirmed, her tone matter-of-fact. She set her glass down, leaning back in her chair with an air of casual authority. "But enough about that part of my life," she continued, her voice deepening and becoming gravelly. The sound sent a shiver through you, resonating with a magnetic pull that made your pulse quicken.

Natasha's eyes bore into yours, her gaze intent and focused. "I want to know more about you." Her words were not just a request but an invitation, laced with a curiosity that seemed to cut through the haze of the evening.

You felt the warmth of the wine spreading through your system, your head starting to swim. The rich, velvety taste lingered on your tongue, mingling with the intoxicating presence of the woman before you. The room felt warmer, the air heavier with unspoken tension.

You swallowed, trying to steady your thoughts. "There's not much to tell," you began, feeling a bit self-conscious under her intense scrutiny. "I'm just a bartender, working to make ends meet. I've been at the restaurant for a few years now, and I guess I've gotten good at reading people. But my life... it's pretty ordinary compared to yours."

Natasha's lips curled into a small smile, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Ordinary? I find that hard to believe," she murmured, her voice low and smooth. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. "You must have seen and heard a lot from behind that bar. People's true selves often come out after a few drinks. It's a unique perspective."

Her words made you feel exposed, as if she could see right through you. The weight of her attention was both thrilling and terrifying. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the moment. "I suppose you're right," you admitted. "It's interesting, observing people and their stories. But I never expected to find myself in a situation like this."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?" She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was light, almost tender, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. "You're intriguing, [Your Name]. There's more to you than meets the eye."

Her words hung in the air, filled with a promise that made your heart race. You could feel the pull between you, the magnetic connection that seemed to draw you closer despite the differences in your worlds. The room felt smaller, the space between you charged with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

You blamed it on the alcohol when you leaned forward, your inhibitions slipping away with every sip of wine. The world around you blurred, leaving only Natasha's piercing green eyes and the intoxicating allure of her presence. It felt almost surreal, like a dream you never wanted to end.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to hers. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. Natasha responded immediately, her lips warm and inviting against yours. The initial contact sent a thrill through your body, igniting a spark that quickly flared into a flame.

You also blamed the alcohol for the boldness with which she pulled you into her lap, her strong hands guiding you effortlessly. You settled onto her, straddling her thighs, your fingers tangling in her hair as the kiss deepened. Natasha's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as her lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own.

The taste of the wine lingered on her lips, mingling with the heady sensation of being so close to her. Her hands roamed over your back, firm yet gentle, sending shivers down your spine. You felt her tongue brush against your lips, seeking entrance, and you parted them willingly, allowing her to explore further. The kiss became more passionate, more desperate, as if both of you were trying to drown in each other.

Natasha's touch was intoxicating, and the way she held you made you feel wanted, desired. Your hands trailed down to the open collar of her shirt, your fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her chest. The contact drew a soft moan from her, a sound that only spurred you on.

You couldn't tell if it was the wine or the intensity of the moment, but everything felt heightened. The heat of her body against yours, the taste of her lips, the scent of her, mint—it all blended together, creating a heady mix that made your head spin. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you lost in the kiss.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the grandeur of her mansion, not the complexity of her life, and certainly not the consequences of your actions. It was just you and Natasha, caught in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

Lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment, you barely noticed when Natasha effortlessly lifted you from her lap. Her strength surprised you, but there was something undeniably alluring about being in her arms, your bodies pressed close as she carried you with ease. Your lips left hers only to trail a series of kisses down her neck, tasting the warmth of her skin. You felt the rapid beat of her pulse under your lips, a testament to the shared urgency between you.

As she ascended the grand staircase, your mouth continued its exploration, planting soft kisses along the curve of her neck. You nipped at her skin, leaving a trail of marks in your wake. Natasha's breath hitched, a low growl escaping her throat, the sound sending a thrill through you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the heady mix of desire that consumed you both.

Natasha carried you through the elegantly decorated hallways, the grandeur of her home barely registering in your haze. All you could focus on was the feel of her body against yours, the scent of mint making you dizzy, and the electric connection that pulsed between you.

The journey felt both like an eternity and a blink of an eye. You were vaguely aware of the doors she passed through, the soft click of them closing behind her. Finally, she carried you into a spacious bedroom, the décor understated yet luxurious, a testament to her refined taste. The bed, large and inviting, became the focal point of the room.

Natasha gently laid you down on the plush bed, her eyes dark with desire as she leaned over you. Her fingers brushed over the marks you'd left on her neck, a smirk playing on her lips. "Leaving your mark, are we?" she teased, her voice a low purr that sent a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of exhilaration and anticipation. "Couldn't help myself," you replied, your voice breathless. Your fingers reached out, tracing the line of her jaw, feeling the smoothness of her skin. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, every touch and glance charged with an intensity that made your heart race.

Natasha's eyes softened, a warmth in them that belied her usual cool demeanor. She leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her hands sliding up your sides with a possessive urgency. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourselves in each other, a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths. The night stretched out before you, filled with the promise of more to come, a whirlwind of passion and discovery that neither of you were eager to escape.

===========

When you awoke the next morning, a dull throb echoed in your head, and the unfamiliar comfort of the sheets around you registered as too luxurious to be your own. You blinked groggily, only to wince as the bright light streaming through the windows made your vision pulse with pain. Quickly, you covered your eyes with your hand, slowly adjusting to the brightness. As you squinted them back open, the unfamiliar surroundings reminded you that you weren't home.

The events of the previous night came rushing back, a blend of passionate moments and stolen touches with Natasha. You looked around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the subtle scent of mint lingering in the air. It was a beautiful, well-appointed space, clearly reflecting her refined taste. As your eyes landed on the bedside table, you noticed a glass of water and a small bottle of medicine. Next to them lay a folded note. Curiosity piqued, you reached for the note and unfolded it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you read the familiar handwriting.

"I'm down the hall in my office. I wanted to let you sleep. Feel free to put on the clothes on the chair in the corner. I had someone go out and buy them for you this morning. I hope I got your sizes right. -Tasha"

The gesture was thoughtful, and it made your heart flutter. Natasha had clearly thought about your comfort, even after the whirlwind of the previous night. You set the note down and took the medicine with a grateful sip of water, hoping it would help ease the headache pounding in your skull. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you felt a little more awake as you placed the empty glass back on the table.

With a deep breath, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The room spun slightly, but you steadied yourself, making your way to the chair in the corner. Draped over it was a set of neatly folded clothes, clearly new. You ran your fingers over the fabric, appreciating the soft, high-quality material. Natasha had taken the time to ensure you would be comfortable and well-dressed, a gesture that felt both intimate and considerate.

You quickly changed into the clothes, finding that they fit perfectly, as if tailored just for you. As you dressed, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness about seeing Natasha again. The events of the night before felt like a dream, and you were eager to see what the day would bring. You smoothed down the clothes, took a deep breath, and prepared to step out of the room, ready to face whatever awaited you beyond the door.

You checked yourself out in the mirror with a smile, appreciating how well the outfit suited you. The red plaid pleated skirt paired with the tight black long-sleeved V-neck was a bit more daring than your usual style, but it felt exciting. The addition of the thick thigh-high stockings added a playful touch, making you feel both confident and alluring. Satisfied with your appearance, you left the room and headed out into the hallway.

Upon spotting one of the maids, you politely asked for directions to Natasha's office. She nodded and led you there quietly, stopping in front of a dark wooden door from which Natasha's voice could be heard. The maid gave you a small nod, and you took a deep breath before opening the door.

As you entered, Natasha's eyes immediately found you, and a warm smile spread across her face. She gestured for you to come closer, her gaze filled with an appreciative gleam. You quietly made your way over, and once you were within reach, Natasha's arm snaked around your waist, pulling you onto her lap. The unexpected closeness made your heart race, and you bit your lip to suppress any noises as she subtly squeezed your thighs like a stress ball. The smirk on her face told you she was enjoying every moment of your reaction.

Natasha continued her conversation on the phone, her tone authoritative and calm. You sat there, trying to maintain your composure as her hands roamed over you, seemingly innocent but filled with intent. When she finally hung up the phone, she turned her full attention to you, her eyes raking over your body with an appreciative gaze.

"You look amazing, darling," Natasha murmured, her hands wandering over your curves, taking in every detail of your outfit. Her touch was possessive, yet gentle, as if she were savoring the moment.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I'm assuming you picked this out for a reason? Is this how you like to dress your girls?" you asked, teasing her a bit.

Natasha's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she leaned back slightly, her hands still resting on your hips. "And boys," she added with a knowing grin. "What can I say? A cute little thing in a plaid skirt and tight shirt, all for me to see? It's a look I can't resist."

Her eyes wandered over you again, this time lingering on your chest. The intensity of her gaze made you feel a delightful mix of bashfulness and excitement. Natasha's admiration was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel flattered by her attention. It was clear she enjoyed the power dynamics at play, and you were more than willing to play along.

=====

As much as you were enjoying the attention from the city's most powerful and intimidating figure, a nagging doubt crept into your mind. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. You couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be some sort of catch, something you were missing.

"Why me?" The question slipped out quietly, almost a whisper. The moment the words left your lips, you regretted it, feeling vulnerable and exposed. You kept your eyes down, afraid of what her reaction might be.

Natasha's hand gently lifted your chin, guiding your gaze to meet hers. Her expression wasn't harsh or intimidating, as you had feared. Instead, her eyes held a softness, a tenderness that caught you off guard. It was like looking into a tranquil meadow in Spring, calm and reassuring.

"Y/N, look at me," she repeated softly, her voice steady and sincere. "I took one look at you and knew I had to have you. If you had said no to anything, I would have left you alone. I would never make you do anything, понимать?" She asked, the last word rolling off her tongue in Russian, a language that sounded both beautiful and mysterious to your ears.

You weren't entirely sure what the word meant, but you repeated it back as best as you could, the unfamiliar syllables feeling awkward in your mouth. "Понимать," you echoed, sounding more like a child trying to mimic a word. Natasha's smile widened, clearly amused by your effort.

"It means 'understand,'" she explained, her voice warm and patient. You nodded, feeling a little more at ease.

"Capeesh," you replied with a playful smile, borrowing the phrase you knew from movies. Natasha's laugh rang out, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. It was infectious, and soon you found yourself laughing along with her, the tension from moments before melting away.

Natasha's laughter was a reminder that, despite her fearsome reputation, she was still human. In that moment, you felt a connection with her that went beyond the intimidating aura she carried. There was a genuine care in her words, a desire to reassure you and make you feel safe. It was a side of her that few probably ever got to see, and you felt privileged to witness it.

====

The following night, the bar was alive with energy, buzzing with the usual Friday night crowd. It was one of your busiest nights, and you thrived in the chaos, moving effortlessly behind the bar in a cropped top and booty shorts. The outfit, while bold, was a practical choice for the heat and energy of the night, and it certainly helped rake in tips from regulars and wealthy patrons alike. You danced and sang along with the music, mixing and pouring drinks with a flair that captivated everyone around you.

As the night went on, you caught sight of Natasha entering the bar. Her presence was impossible to miss; she exuded an aura of authority and elegance even in a crowded, lively place like this. Her eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, you felt a thrill of excitement. However, you quickly noticed a flicker of something darker in her gaze—jealousy, perhaps, or possessiveness.

Before you could fully process it, Natasha made her way through the crowd, her expression set and unreadable. She reached the bar and, without a second thought, grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the counter. The abruptness of her actions caught you off guard, and for a moment, the noise of the bar faded into the background.

You stood your ground, pulling your arm free from her grip. Natasha's eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place. But you didn't back down; this was your space, your job, and you weren't about to let anyone, not even her, dictate your actions here.

"This is my job," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the tension. "This pays my bills. I know what I'm doing, Tasha. Don't think I'm gonna change just because you've walked into my life."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Natasha's expression softened slightly, her initial anger giving way to a more thoughtful look. She seemed to consider your words, her eyes searching yours for understanding.

After a beat, Natasha sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she nodded. "I understand," she finally said, her voice calmer. "I just... I don't want anyone else looking at you the way I do."

You couldn't help but smile at her admission, a warmth spreading through you. "They can look all they want," you replied with a playful wink. "But that doesn't mean they get to touch."

Natasha's lips curved into a small smile, a hint of relief in her eyes. "Fair enough," she conceded, her tone lightening. She leaned in, her voice low and intimate. "But don't be surprised if I get a little protective. I can't help it."

You chuckled, the tension between you easing. "As long as you remember that I can handle myself," you teased, leaning closer. "Besides, it's fun making them think they have a chance."

Natasha smirked, her hand brushing against your arm in a subtle, reassuring gesture. "You're something else, you know that?" she murmured, her eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and affection.

With that, she released you, letting you return to your work. You felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that you had stood your ground and asserted your independence. As you went back to serving drinks and entertaining the crowd, you caught Natasha watching you from the corner of your eye.

As the night began to wind down, the usual chaos of closing time set in. Patrons stumbled out, leaving behind a mix of laughter and lingering energy. You were busy behind the bar when a particularly drunk guy decided to try his luck, getting handsy in a way that made your skin crawl. Before Natasha could even react, your reflexes kicked in. With a swift motion, you pulled out a small knife from under the bar and slammed it down between the man's fingers. The blade glinted in the dim light, the threat unmistakable.

"Try that again, and you won't just be losing a finger," you warned, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. The man froze, his eyes widening in fear as he registered the seriousness of your tone. The reality of the situation must have hit him hard, as his face paled, and he turned his head to vomit beside him.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated by the mess. "Buck! Clean up, please!" you called out. Bucky, your coworker and the bar's bouncer, quickly stepped in, escorting the stumbling man out while one of the busboys hurried over to clean up the mess. You wiped down the counter, your expression cool and unbothered, as if this was just another night on the job.

Natasha, who had been observing the scene from a distance, made her way over, leaning against the bar with a smirk playing on her lips. You sauntered over, mirroring her posture as you leaned in close. Her eyes were darker than usual, stormy like a spring day brewing with tension and excitement.

"That was hot. I didn't think you were capable of something like that," Natasha's voice was husky, laced with admiration and a hint of surprise.

You chuckled softly, the sound low and confident. "I used to work in a dive bar before this. I learned how to defend myself. I don't even blink at it anymore," you replied, a lithe confidence in your voice. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against hers in a teasing kiss. "I've just gotta grab my tips and count the drawer, and then I am all yours, Tasha," you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips as you pulled away.

The effect you had on Natasha was palpable, and the realization sent a thrill through you. She, the mob boss and infamous Black Widow, was visibly affected by your confidence and composure. The power dynamic between you was complex, a thrilling dance of control and attraction that neither of you could resist. As you moved to finish your tasks, you couldn't help but glance back at her, catching the hungry look in her eyes. It was clear that the night was far from over, and you both knew it.

As the night drew to a close, you finished up your duties behind the bar, efficiently counting the drawer and gathering your tips. The room was clearing out, leaving behind the quiet hum of a few lingering patrons and the soft clinking of glasses being cleaned. Natasha waited patiently, her eyes never leaving you, an enigmatic smile on her lips. The air between you crackled with unspoken promises and an undeniable connection.

Once everything was settled, you slipped out from behind the bar and walked over to Natasha. Without a word, she extended her hand, and you took it, feeling the warmth of her touch. The two of you left the bar, stepping into the cool night air. The drive to her mansion was quiet, filled with a charged silence that spoke volumes. You could feel the anticipation building, both of you eager for what was to come.

Back at her luxurious home, the door barely closed behind you before Natasha's lips were on yours, a passionate kiss that left you breathless. The power she usually wielded so effortlessly seemed to dissipate as she melted into you, her hands gripping your hips with a mix of need and vulnerability. You pulled away gently, looking into her eyes with a commanding intensity that made her shiver.

"Let me take control tonight," you whispered, your voice steady and confident. Natasha nodded, her gaze softening with trust and submission. It was a rare sight, seeing the formidable Black Widow willing to relinquish control, and it filled you with a sense of responsibility and power. You guided her to the bedroom, your movements assured and deliberate.

The night unfolded with a new dynamic. Natasha, always in control, allowed herself to be vulnerable, letting you take the lead. It was an intimate, tender exchange, a dance where you set the rhythm, and she followed. The shift in power felt natural, something both of you needed. For Natasha, it was a chance to let go of the burdens of leadership and dominance, to simply feel and be taken care of. For you, it was an opportunity to assert yourself, to embrace the power and control you often kept in check.

Afterward, you lay together in the quiet of her bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. You held Natasha in your arms, her head resting on your chest, her breathing steady and calm. It was a serene moment, a quiet intimacy that spoke of trust and understanding.

Natasha broke the silence, her voice soft and earnest. "Stay with me," she said, lifting her head to look at you. Her eyes searched yours, vulnerable and hopeful. "I want you to stay with me. Not just tonight, but... longer. Let me take care of you, treat you right. I'll make sure nothing ever happens to you."

Her words were filled with sincerity, and you could see the depth of her feelings in her gaze. It wasn't just a simple request; it was a promise, a commitment. Natasha, who always seemed so self-assured and in control, was offering you a piece of her heart, opening herself up in a way few ever got to see.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I'd like that," you replied, your voice warm and tender. "I want to stay with you, Natasha."

A smile spread across her lips, genuine and full of relief. She leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, a silent agreement sealed with affection. As you held her close, you both knew this was just the beginning of something deeper, something real. It was a new chapter, a chance to explore a relationship built on mutual respect, trust, and love.

In that quiet moment, wrapped in each other's arms, you both felt a sense of peace and fulfillment. Natasha had found someone she could trust to take control when needed, and you had found a place where you could be both strong and cherished. It was a perfect balance, a harmony that promised a future full of possibilities. As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

#ley writes #ley writes one shot #ley writes one shots #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #mob boss!natasha romanoff x reader #mob boss!natasha #mob boss natasha romanoff #mob boss au #mob boss!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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mikkomacko · 8 months ago

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Him and I

Swiss Trip

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader, mob boss! Nico

Warnings: allusion to sex (no smut yet), language, a bit of fighting

A/n: sooo I have to make the Switzerland bit of this AU multiple parts because there’s a lot of drama and it really got away from me haha. Anyway, enjoy this cute piece of Nico and reader traveling to Switzerland!

~~~~

There’s not very many times you can say you’ve seen Nico nervous. He does immensely well under pressure, keeps a level head and a calm demeanor. He often even looks cocky, like he knows more than he lets on.

You love when he’s like that.

All glinting eyes and smirking, that lift in his chin and puff of his chest. He’s hot when he’s cocky.

But there’s something endearing about when he’s not. When his palm is sweating in yours and he keeps messing with his hair. Like he is now.

“Baby,” you giggle, reaching across the recently cleared dinner table for his hand. “You’re gonna give yourself bed head.”

Nico laces his fingers between yours, shaking his head before meeting your gaze.“I thought you liked my bed head?” The flicker of the candlelit table warms his already charming features, glows on his dimpled cheeks and dark eyes.

Squeezing his fingers, you nod. “I do, but you spent 20 minutes styling it before dinner.” His smile turns bashful and he shakes his head so his hair falls back into place.

“You gonna tell me why you’re so fidgety?” You question, tracing your thumb over his knuckles. Mischief twinkles in his eye, lips parting to speak far too quickly and you cut him off. “Don’t say you’re anxious to fuck me Hischier or you’ll get a cold shower tonight.”

Pouting, he slumps back into his seat. Gaze falling to the table in front of him, he scratches at a spot on the cloth with his free hand. You give him a moment, let him hide behind those thick eyelashes and loose pieces of hair in his face. After a beat he looks up at you.

“I want you to come to Switzerland with me,” he says, inhaling deeply to calm himself. “I want you to meet my family, to see my first home. And I know that’s a lot but I’ll take care of it all and I’ll take care of you-“

You reach for his other hand, interrupting him. “Of course I’ll go,” you agree, love swelling in your chest. “Why wouldn’t I? Switzerland Nico? I’ve never even left the coast!”

Your giddiness is palpable, already leaning forward in your seat like you’re about to crawl over the table to get closer to him. It makes him smile, that crooked adoring grin he gets when you’re happy.

“You really want to?” He questions shyly, releasing one of your hands to stand up and come around the two person table. You turn to face him, nodding eagerly as he kneels on the terrace in front of you.

Running your fingers through his hair, you scoff. “I’d love to Nico. I mean, Switzerland is what made you who you are. And I know you miss it, even if you won’t say it. “

You press a chaste kiss to his smiling lips. “I’d be honored to meet your family, as well.”

Shockingly, his smile flickers and he gets that deer-in-headlights look. Without saying a word, you raise an eyebrow and stare him down. It doesn’t take long for him to crack, not when it comes to you.

Guilty, he hunches forward and shrugs. “I- I still haven’t told my family about you, I mean my sister knows but…”

“Why?” You ask, a bite to your words. How could he not tell his family? He’s talked to you about them as if they know who you are. Years of a serious relationship that apparently haven’t been that serious if he couldn’t bother to tell those he loves.

Nico falters for a moment, gaze drifting around your face as he thinks and you’re about to stand up and walk away when he finally speaks.

“They’re mean,” he explains “not like treat you badly but they’ll-I wouldn’t have been able to protect you. If I so much had mentioned your name my father would have had a PI and an investigation on you within a day.

“And they come up with all these stories and reasons to not trust me or you, and they’d be wrong so I just kept you to myself.”

Nico has a terrible habit of speeding through his sentences when he’s scared or guilty. Luckily you’ve had a lot of time learning his quirks or that whole rant would’ve been lost on you.

And as much as it hurts you to know that you don’t have a place in his family’s lives, you understand why he did what he did.

“You could’ve told me,” you reply “instead of just letting me assume they knew of me every time you mentioned them.”

You think back to all the times he told a story of his siblings, how you laughed and always said you couldn’t wait to meet them. How he’d agree with that lovesick little smile on his face like they already loved you.

How misleading it all was.

“Nina knows,” he defends, “doesn’t that count for something? She’s my favorite anyway.”

Scoffing, you drop his hands and he scrambles up to his feet. “You said that about Luca two days ago Nico.” Pushing the chair back, you dodge him and stalk back towards the house.

His sneakers squeak as he chases after you. “Baby please,” he cries, grabbing at your hand but you just tug him along through the back door. “I just wanted to keep you happy and safe. That’s my job-“

Nico stumbles into your back when you abruptly stop in the hall, caught off guard by the sight in front of you. Beautiful sets of luggage are laid out in front of the staircase, slick and elegant. Jammed in the zipper of the duffle sits a little bright Swiss flag on a stick.

“Surprise?” Nico mumbles, hesitant and you tip toe closer to look at the gifts. Two luggage tags sit on top of the suitcase, shaped into matching baby blue Lego blocks. When you flip them over one is blank, but the other is filled in by the thin, slanted handwriting that belongs to Nico.

Y/n Y/l/n (Hischier)

If lost (suitcase or pretty girl) return to Nico Hischier

Under it all sits a little heart.

“I thought it was cute.” Nico says quietly, and you can feel him hovering close behind you. “I thought you could fill out mine.”

You hum, anger dissipating at the thoughtful gesture when you spot the passport holder sitting amongst the other things. Fingers the edges of it, you frown in confusion at how new and crisp the cover looks. Nico’s is beaten up which means this can’t be his.

Flicking it open, you’re met with your very own passport, the image matching the one on your drivers license. Spinning around, you hold it up to Nico.

“Did you get me a fake passport Hischier?”

Eyes wide, he shakes his head. “No, no, no!” He pushes closer to you, gently taking it from your hand and setting it back where it was. “I have connections, it’s real. I wanted to have everything done, that way we could just do the fun part of traveling.”

In the heat of your anger, of the thought that you weren’t important enough for his family, you completely overlooked Nico’s greatest quality. Everything he does is for others.

There’s not a selfish bone in his body. You’re not even sure he could be selfish if he tried. And while that doesn’t erase the fact that he omitted the truth from you, he did it with your feelings and happiness in mind.

“Nico,” you murmur, resolve melting. He takes that as his cue to reach out for you, taking ahold of your hips in those strong hands of his. “You make it impossible to be mad at you.”

A crooked smile sneaks up on his cheeks, puppy dog eyes still pouting at you but not as serious as they’d been before. “Don’t be mad at me,” he whispers, and you step between his feet. “Just love me.”

An amused grin takes over your lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, rising to your toes. “You know I do,” you reply, tilting your chin up as he leans in closer. Catching your lips in a kiss, you bury your fingers in his hair. Nico hums contently.

“You’ll still go?”

“Yeah but you gotta kiss me again first.”

~~~~

Nico checks his watch, counts the seconds hand as it slowly ticks around. He looks away, gazes out the window at the setting sun and frowns. Nothing entertaining out there. He kicks his foot up onto his knee, fiddles with the laces of his sneakers for a moment.

Dropping his foot back down, he looks over at Timo in his eye mask, snoring softly. His vision blurs with frustration and exhaustion, his bones feeling heavy in this stupid airplane seat.

“What’s wrong baby?” You interrupt, closing and setting your book on the table. Nico sighs, hunches forward and rests his head in his palms. A gentle hand finds his back, runs up and down his spine and shoulders.

Pathetically, Nico whines “I’m so tired.” Like an angry toddler he rubs at his eyes with his fists, sighs again before slumping back into his seat. You peel your hand out from behind him, pull the beanie off his head and start stroking through his hair.

“Scoot over,” you instruct, rising from your seat and he ignores your command in favor of just widening his legs for you. Not that you mind, sneaking over and settling into his lap.

He wraps you up in his arms, sighing contently as you hit the button to recline his seat. Nico’s been very vocal lately about his disdain for flying, whining to you every day about he can never sleep and the food is bad and the seats make his butt go numb, etc. It’s part of the reason why he invested in a private jet so long ago, not that it helps. He’s just grumpy in front of less people now.

But this is his first time flying with you and he never realized how much of impact you have in making him comfortable.

Curling into his side, you lay your head on his shoulder and he tucks his nose into your hair. You smell like his shampoo you’d borrowed in the shower this morning and laundry detergent.

Peering out the window at the darkening sky, Nico trails his fingertips in soothing circles on your hip. “Are you cold baby?” He asks when you shiver but you hum in disagreement.

“Did you pack warm enough clothes?”

He feels you giggle. “Yeah I did. And I can always steal from you.”

Nico smiles at that, feels his eyes getting heavy. He wants to sleep, knows he needs to before seeing his family again for the first time in years and this time with a surprise guest.

But he can’t quite get himself to succumb to that groggy feeling.

“Talk to me ‘bout something?” He mumbles and your hand slips under his sweater, seeking the warmth of his body. “Just for a few minutes?”

Humming in thought, you quietly begin to nitpick at him for god knows what. He manages to catch you whining about leaving Holtzy behind, a bit more ribbing about him keeping you a secret from his parents, but anything after that is lost on him. Because despite the complaining nature of your words, your tone is sweet and light.

It seeps into his chest, settles warmly in his heart and his head suddenly quiets enough for his eyes to slip shut, lulling him to sleep.

He wakes up a couple hours later to a dark jet, your warm nose plastered to his neck and a blanket draped over the two of you. Nico catches Timo’s eye across the aisle, his friend sending him a wink before going back to his movie.

Pulling the blanket further up your body, Nico closes his eyes again and just holds you.

~~~~

A large black SUV waits on the tarmac, an airline worker standing by the driver side door with a set of keys in hand. You smile politely at them, fighting off the grogginess as Nico guides you to the car.

A cold breeze bites at your face and neck, and you tighten the blanket wrapped around you. Timo greets the worker in Swiss German, the language still lost on you despite how hard you’ve tried to get Timo to teach you and hearing the words fall so fluently from him makes you pout.

Nico must see it on your face because he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “You’ll get it on day my love,” he promises, pulling open the door. You hum in acknowledgment, letting him take the blanket from you so you can hop in and buckle up.

He waits for you to adjust everything and place your stuff by your feet before laying the blanket back over your lap. You laugh when he tucks it in under your thighs and around your back, nudging his nose into your smiling cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, smoothing your nap-mussed hair down. You nod and he shuts the door, immediately greeting the worker himself with a handshake and a nod. Timo has begun taking the luggage from the plane and loading it in the back, silently working as you watch your boyfriend through the tinted windows.

You can tell by how quickly he speaks that’s he’s using his native tongue, and it both annoys you and turns you on so you settle back into your seat, staring at the dark headrest of the seat in front of you.

The colors blur together, your brain falling into that sluggishness from sleeping on the flight, and you don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep again until Nico is climbing into the backseat with you.

“Oh sorry,” he winces when your eyes shoot open but you shrug it off, curling into his body when he settles in the middle seat. His legs are too long to be sitting there so he sprawls out on your side of the car. “Go back to sleep baby, we don’t have to see anyone until the morning.”

You don’t need to be told twice, especially not when Timo puts the car in drive and pulls out of the tarmac. With the rumble of the vehicle, Nico’s body pressed close to yours, and the heat of the sweat warmer on your back, you’re out before either boy can say another word.

~~~~

When Nico said morning, he meant lunchtime. Not that you knew that until his naked body was disappearing into the bathroom and you finally dug your phone out from under the pillow.

It was a little past 12 and your heart jumped into your throat at the sight.

“Oh my god, Nico!” You shouted, sitting up and clutching the bed sheets to your chest because the room was so chilly.

Urgent, Nico sticks his head out of the bathroom. “What? What’s wrong?”

Scoffing, you throw your phone onto the mattress. “You let me sleep too late! It’s already noon!”

He huffs, shaking his head at you in disbelief and sauntering back into the room. Unashamedly, you watch him make his way to his suitcase and dig out a pair of boxers. You don’t meet his gaze until he’s slipped the clothes on and the beloved sight of his butt is gone.

Nico is smirking when he finally has your attention back on his face. You raise a challenging eyebrow, waiting for him to finally respond to your complaints.

Not that he does. Instead he crawls back up the mattress to you, nudging you back into the pillows until he’s caging you into the mattress. With that shit eating grin still on his lips, he leans in to kiss you.

Dodging him, you turn your head so his lips fall on your cheek. “You didn’t answer me.”

He snickers. “Didn’t know it was a question.”

“You haven’t brushed your teeth.”

His breath is warm on your skin, nose brushing your cheek. Thick fingers grip onto your chin and he turns your head to face him.

“Didn’t seem to bother you when I was fucking you five minutes ago.” He retorts, and you giggle at the reminder. Before you can answer he’s kissing you, all soft and lazy like he’s got honey on his tongue.

After a moment you pull away from him, pushing the strand of hair that tickled your forehead behind his ear. “Promise they won’t be mad that it’s so late?”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Your family,” you murmur, rolling your eyes and he pinches your jaw at the action. “Ow,” you whine, gripping his forearm and digging your nails into the skin.

A hiss leaves his lips, and he loosens his fingers enough for you to tug his hand away from you. “Stop,” he grumbles, “and no they don’t care.”

“Don’t tell me to stop,” you snip, lightly shoving at his chest “you stop.”

He sits up onto his knees, frowning down at you with those stupid dark eyes of his. “You’re mean when you travel,” he comments.

“No I’m mean when you hurt me.” You argue, glaring at him. He silent for a moment, watching you but you don’t concede. That mob boss power look doesn’t work on you.

He sighs, blinking slowly. “Sorry, shouldn’t have pinched you like that.”

Annoyance melting away, you give him sad eyes and pout. “I was just asking a question,” you mumble “I’m nervous.”

Everything about him softens; the tick of his jaw, the hard look in his eyes, the pull in his shoulders. “Why in the world are you nervous?” He murmurs, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “You are my everything baby, and they’ll see that. They’ll see you, and there’s no need to be nervous about something that special.”

The tears that well up in your eyes are unstoppable, they sneak up and blur your vision to the point that you have to shut your eyes. But that just causes the tears to roll down your cheeks.

Embarrassed you try to curl into yourself. It’s impossible with Nico’s large body on yours, especially when he leans over and coos at you before wiping them away.

“Eeesh what’s happening? Why are you crying?”

You wipe at your own eyes, laughing at how flustered he sounds and shake your head. “I don’t know!”

Meeting his gaze, you blush at the bewildered yet adoring gleam in his eyes. “Let’s get some food in ya before you get hysterical,” he instructs, slipping off the bed and holding his hand out for you.

“Clothes first,” you reply, letting him pull you up. The floor is cold on your bare feet and you leap onto his sock covered ones without caring whether it hurts him or not.

Nico stumbles, takes ahold of your waist to keep you from falling. “The heater’s on you big baby,” he grumbles, swiftly tossing you back onto the bed.

“Stop throwing me around I’m naked!” You complain, kicking at the tangled duvet. He just snickers, walking over to your suitcase.

“Tell me what you want to wear.”

Right, it’s time to meet the parents.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #mob boss au #mob boss Nico hischier #mob boss! Nico #new jersey devils #nhl #nico hischier fanfic

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darkdemeter · 5 months ago

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・issue #1・ KNOW YOUR RHYTHM

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Dance choreo! Female Reader Mafia related topics — some profanity — mention of blood and violence and stuff — mob boss Bucky who just thirsts for reader HARD — bit a spice and flirting — I think that's it? ✎ 5.6k He is the king of crime, the one mob boss nobody wants to mess with. Funny how you end up here, hired as a dance choreographer for his new club. It was meant to be a simple paycheck, nothing more. But Bucky Barnes, the big bad mafia boss, wants you.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

You’re too stubborn to retire the rhythm and hang up those dancing shoes. No, you fight for what’s yours, that’s how you were brought up, and you committed so much to lead this life to escape another that loomed over with a darkened destiny.

Even then you had your limits. Though it seems those limits would be tested as of today. A promise that undoubtedly falls in the blurring of lines.

“The Crimson Star Nightclub,” you say with a click of your tongue that audibly pops on the other end of the call. “In… that territory of New York.”

You swear you can feel her grimace of regret through the phone.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry, I just— I told him that you’d just be perfect for the job.” Your friend and student wasn’t pleading herself a forgivable case here, you scowl outwardly as you toss your bag atop the nearby railing, sifting through its contents for a moment.

“I taught you everything I know, babes, why’re you struggling?”

She’s silent for a minute before she groans, “I just don’t have what it takes to teach, like you do. You’ve got the drive for it! C’mon, he’s willing to pay triple your usual rates. Besides… I’m kinda scared he’ll kill, gut and dump my body over a bridge if you don’t come.”

That last point shakes you more than you’d like but you quickly dismiss the arrival of dread that falls on your shoulders. You grapple your wallet from your bag and begin to hail a taxi, a gloved hand raised high, the familiar fluorescent yellow swerving to a stop at the curb with a screeching frictional drag of its tires. “What’s the address?”

She’s smiling, you just know it as she rains down a thousand thank you’s, her heels clapping loudly in the background.

Pulling up to the joint made your stomach turn over a hundred times. Exiting the cab, your heeled boot scrubs against the pavement with a leathery rumble as you take in the building. A big establishment from its outward appearance. Peeling off the cover of your sunglasses, you study the freshly reinstated brickwork absolved of any form of gang graffiti. A havenous roofing overheads the entrance where guests would line up in wait with complimenting stanchions.

Atop the two – or maybe three story – building is the unlit title, Crimson Star Lounge and Nightclub, and the most flattering of all: a giant red star with a blackened silhouette of what you believe to be either a nude or lingerie clad woman sat within on an invisible seat of some kind.

With a hum, you bet a personal wager against yourself that the neon sign’s simple display would articulate the upper leg that hangs over her other to kick up as she arches herself back, accentuating her body more.

You cannot help but chuckle to yourself. Oh, you’re definitely in for a treat you shouldn’t have let yourself be lured in by.

You walk up to the entrance where a large hulk of a man stands idle, his long, blonde hair tied back and out of his face, his browline shifts awkwardly to frown at you behind a thick layer of facial hair. Gruffly, with a low baritone, he speaks. “Club’s not open yet, sweetheart, and we’re full on resumes. Come back in a few months.”

With a fashionable tilt of your head, a smirk presses into the corner of your lips as you grin. “Oh, I know you’re not. The star girl doesn’t have her legs spread open for business.”

From the ease that follows his features with a bashful grin to boot, you continue, “A girl named Tam is inside? She called me, asked me to come and meet the big boss man for a potential dance choreographer job.”

He grins a pearly smile at you. “A woman with your attitude, he’s gonna have no choice but to give you the job. Right this way, Miss.”

He steps aside and gestures with a muscular arm for you to continue in and with a curt nod of your head, you stalk down the dimly lit hall until you reach the wide expanse of the club. An elevated platform is guarded by a railing of dark steel to oversee the ground level, the second floor is cut off some feet away from the T shaped stage. Along the back wall that’s closer to your right shelters a pristine, obsidian marble counter with a set of modernised saloon doors behind, leading off into what you assume to be a backbar.

It appears that the second floor acts as some sort of VIP section with the barely visible wall of booths pinning into the wall in an orderly fashion, a few booths decorating the first floor and located closer to the bar, the remaining space reserved for the dance floor and tables.

Already you begin to piece together the potential air and radiance the club is looking to create, but it helps your workload when asking whoever is in charge what it is they’re trying to achieve.

The brighter, overhead lights blare down to make life and work in the dark a tad more tolerable, so employees shuffling around, going about their duties, many don’t spare so much as a third glance your way much to your relief. The last thing you need is anyone recognising you from your prior glory days.

Falling into a slow crawl of a stride as you explore your new surroundings, your potential new work space, a voice is sudden to drawl over the glassy rim of an auburn-hued shiver on the tongue, ice swaying with a chorus of clinks. “Club’s closed, sweet—”

“Alright, I can’t make the same comment twice. I’ve got a thing about repeating myself.”

That comeback rings as a shocker through the atmosphere. Turning himself to press his side into the counter, glass in hand, you take in the numerous glimmers of gold adorning his fingers, one of which tells of who exactly this man was. What he was.

His chin dips down to peer over the tint of his glasses. “Sharp. I like it. What’d you want?”

You take a step forward, head craning to look around you before you turn back to the man, plucking your gloves off your hands to discard them into your bag. “Sightseeing clubs that aren’t open,” you scoff, “I’m looking for the boss of the joint. Tam’s voucher.”

His shoulders rise and roll back, most likely sensing the cutting way you get right to it through your charade of jest. He flashes you a grin. “You’re funny. Tony Stark, pleasure to meet you.”

He extends his hand forward and you reach to shake it, your throat scratchy and dry from even looking at the ring on his pinky and its embossed insignia. Tucking his hand away into the pocket of his dress pants, he cocks his head awry. “The boss is kinda in a meeting right now.”

Your lashes flutter in a flurry, eyes rolling skyward into your skull with an exasperated sigh.

“Do you guys get off to wasting a girl’s time? Honestly, that’s what makes it harder to please us in this day and age.”

“I have my ways.”

His voice is a fine contour, rich and smooth, you cannot help the chill from running up your spine. Your heel pivots and your body follows, hands situated on your hips as your chin tilts up and up to meet the fiercest pair of winter blue eyes you’ve ever seen. A layer of dark stubble hides little of the smirk plastered on his pink, soft lips as he leans, arms straight and pressed to the railing until his muscles beneath his flex and the veins in his rough hands budge.

“Are you the big boss I’ve heard so much about?”

His cheeks flex under the weight of his thinned smile and nods. “The one and only, dollface.”

Shaking yourself from momentary stun, you face to realise that the club’s owner was the top mob boss of New York himself. Of course Tam had to bury you six feet in this mess. It had been bad enough that the establishment itself resided in mob territory. Now, as it turns out, the mob king himself owns the place. And your possible contract and paycheck.

How fucking fitting.

“Right so… what’s the big idea? Tam said something about you needing a choreo instructor.”

You almost find the way his lips pull to reveal a row of pearly teeth endearing. Almost. You dare not forget who you’re talking with.

“Yes, she said you’d be coming.” You don’t miss the way his words care to articulate the words, their enunciation versed with a seductive purr. You scoff at the comment that fails to filter his lewd mind. Still, he has one hell of a smile that can surely make any woman swoon.

Though you don't very much care to be one of those women. You much prefer to stay very much away from that. From him.

“She told me you were her dance teacher and that you’re the best of the best. Showed me a few demo tapes of your work.”

You give a simple shrug of your shoulders to ease the flush that rises in your blood. “And?”

He moves like a wolf on the prowl and maybe because he very much is. Your eyes watch him with careful calculation, the way the bulk of his body swaggers down from his throne on high to meet you on the bottom level.

“I’d like to take her word for it and take you on,” he rumbles lowly.

His eyes rake up and down your body slowly, undoubtedly sizing you up like a meal. The waft of his cologne is powerful, a stern odour of expensive luxuries only affordable by his wallet. It overpowers your sense of smell like some love spell that you find half a mind to tilt your axis away from his reach; now beginning to worry that those illustrious women draped on his arm in printed magazines and articles may have been victims to a fling they were entrapped by.

You have to keep your posture strong and sure to recover from that relapse, however, given that your action may be interpreted as weakness. These men thrive and feed off weakness. He extends a hand forward. “Bucky Barnes. But I get the feeling you already knew that.”

“That obvious, huh?”

Nevertheless, you take his hand and shake it, reluctantly giving him yours in return. He tastes it for the first time and, by the way his tongue runs below the risen quirk of his lip, revealing his incisor, enjoys the way it rolls off.

You walk with him as he shows you around the club and accommodates you with the knowledge of how he wants this little business joint to succeed in its intended market. You meet the girls who would be under your charge, your attitude taking a noticeable shift from its standoffish tone to one much lighter, friendlier in terms of interacting with the dancers.

Returning back to the main stage and dismissing the girls off, Bucky turns to you, broadly puffed out from chest to shoulders that the suit strains slightly against the expanse of muscle.

“Right, I’ll need to browse around for a hirable studio and give you the info to give the dancers,” you note first and foremost, running your hand over your mouth, your demeanour now lessened and eased into one more befitting of contemplation. Bucky can see and even admire the spark of dedication to the job in your eyes.

“Can you pull it off?”

You gasp, a tad and touch higher in your defence than you should have let on. But ultimately, you meet the dark, playful challenge in his raised brow and wicked smirk.

“Outstandingly so for the interesting logo for the club.”

“Ooh,” he winces behind pursed lips, “tell me what you really think.”

Tongue unsheathing from your cheek, you turn to face him, stepping forward one step and then another, standing barely chest to chest with him. The fog of his cologne is a whirlwind intending to knock you loose of your inhibitions. You thinly smile through it. “Well, it certainly follows the saying.”

His brows move higher to his forehead, almost cocky that you don’t fall into betraying yourself and believing he means anything sincere as he asks coolly, “what saying would that be?”

And quickly you answer, “sex — or the appeal of it — sells.”

His face leans in closer until his lips hover over yours some inches away, invading the presence of personal space, uncaring to the way your body goes rigid; caught in fight or flight mode, knowing damn well between the two of you that you’re stuck and fucked by either response. “And just how much do you sell for, I wonder.”

His words are soft, low and oh-so laced to be seductive. The striking allure of those blues moving to take in every aspect of your features as if to engrain them into his memory.

Just before he can ever dream of letting his lips close in any more, you take initiative and move back, flaunting a huff that eases his ego down, his features faltering visibly right before your eyes.

“I’ll send you an invoice tonight, Mr Barnes…” Your words inspire hope within him as he slowly grins, only to fall. “But don’t excite yourself. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

You send yourself off in the direction of the exit with a measured wave, but his words leave with you and have your stomach in a strange flutter.

“You sure? Because I see potentially a lot of pleasure in this contract.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

It’s cruel to watch you, knowing that this is your last rehearsal with the girls. After this, the doors will promise an opening night to remember. But if you’ve given any hints, you don’t exactly intend on seeing it.

And for Bucky, that is just plain torture for him. Over the past three months, you have been working your pretty arse off creating a whole show routine, expertly weaving the backbone of the club’s entertainment and allocating the playlist to fit the atmosphere Bucky and his club managers wanted.

Lounging in the VIP section, the raised loft that oversaw the club’s dance floor, stage and regulars bar, Bucky still cannot take his eyes off of you. Why of all nights did you have to go racing off to another job so soon? He had paid you generously, far more than any hired choreographer could ever dream of, and yet that still didn’t seem enough to convince you. He hovers like a shadow, leaning to the dark steel railing, his ring-lined fingers drum against the dark steel as he contemplates his next move.

He barely pays any mind to his captains who take their place in the sleek, refined office that are the booths, sipping at their drinks and chatting about the club’s interests and rates. Shit that he tunes out. He can’t focus on anything when you move like that, your body arching this way and that; sinful and cause for impossible. But you prove him wrong. There are many positions he’s fantasised taking you in mid rehearsal. And once, when it was just the two of you in the club during a routine practice, he almost had the chance. But it – you – slipped right through his fingers.

Your body is pulled into the music itself. A process many seem to struggle with, but for you, it’s as easy as breathing. At first, it’d been a gamble of who to hire for the job, now Bucky cannot dream of regretting choosing you. Renowned as a star dancer, you’re credited with awards from around the globe, in solos, duos and exceeding the numbers. Competition after competition, your name became well known. Your prodigy, dear little Tammy, had been a resourceful source that he later forwarded onto his boys, ordering them to dig up more information about you.

A nasty red line was found in your record, as Bucky had his men find, and though the exact details are still unknown to him, it’s given him an indicator that something hit rock bottom. Some time afterwards, however, you resurfaced as a dance choreographer.

And if you were still the best of the best, then he’d take you for the job. But now, he wants you for good. Dressed to the nines in outfits he’s spent on all his cards, riding to events together and having the envy of every man and woman’s eyes upon you. Hell, he’s already contemplated the venue and diamond ring. All he needs now is that chance you refute at every turn.

“Chins forward, eyes open,” you call in correction, gaze set straight ahead of you in the midst of a spinning twirl before planting your heeled stiletto hard into the stage floor with a resounding boom.

Bucky’s eyes trail then upwards, the dark colour of your pantyhose hiding your skin that he’s desperate to bruise and leave his fingerprints on. His fingers curl harshly into the railing while his eyes continue to admire while simultaneously undress you, your body hugged in a very form-admiring bodysuit.

Dropping down low with the girls following suit, your hips move on beat with the music, grinding into the floor. That, of all moves, is when you make the grave mistake in glancing up at a striking pair of blue eyes, dark in their passionate longing and so bright you’re quick to force your eyes away.

But not before you flashed him a toothy smile. A smile that kills him every time. Heat rushes through your veins and rises higher into the surface of your skin, in your core it feels electric with pulsating need, but you carry on with the routine, to save face from what Bucky Barnes did to you. Unbeknownst to you at this moment of what you did to the mob boss, he groans at the tightness surrounding his clothed cock as you rock your hips back and forth, suggestive in your choreographed manner. But so dismissive in how it affects him greatly and his ability to conduct business.

No. You can’t let yourself fall into that sort of mess again. Focus. Rolling onto your back, your back arches so beautifully off the floor, it almost has Bucky gasping. The pointed pink of his tongue’s tip darts out to wet his lips.

Completely and utterly mesmerised by your rhythm, he growls like a feral animal when Steve’s voice interjects his still continuing list of how he plans to ruin you and save you.

Now at the end of your routine, you wave for Torres to cut the music and your shoulders fall heavily with an exerted sigh.

“Good work, girls,” you applaud with your friendly smile, clapping for their efforts. The girls in turn repay your praise with bashful smiles and compliments of your mentorship.

You had this way with people, and especially those under your study, you were kind and playful but remained an air of professionalism to ensure your students or your time wasn’t wasted.

Bucky feels his skin crawl and his heart drop a thousand yards into his stomach. From the lavish watch strapped to his wrist, he inspects the time. End of rehearsal. End of your contract with him.

“Well, they learnt from the best.” Your head turns fast, vision momentarily blurred, there again is that feeling - that spell - he has you under as he saunters down the stairs and towards the stage where you stood, hands pressed idly into your hips.

His tongue runs over his teeth, groaning inwardly as his eyes sink and rise in study of your entire form. He could see you being his queen. You’ve a powerful stance, that much he can see, and you possess a quality that has the attention of anyone and everyone on you. A commanding presence.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Barnes.” Your cheeks redden more. Praise from your clients always makes your heart flutter with adoration and joy. For them to express their gratitude in the ways they do, it’s good to know you have succeeded in your job.

But when Bucky praises you, you become a giddy girl that gushes and yearns to hear more. He sees the way your face shifts to reflect that professionalism, all to hide the reality of what he does to you; what he could do to you if you just gave him the chance.

“I could be much kinder, doll.” His voice has lowered into a velvety purr, the callous massage of his fingers shoot a blaze of electricity through the thin fabric of your pantyhose and into your skin like ice, a simple touch over your calf, teasing you further as his palm encloses around you as well, sliding up and down gently. Despite your position above him, a sight he’ll never grow tired off, his up-tilted chin reaches level just below your stomach. Right at the apex of something dangerous. He sees the inner turmoil of conflict flash in your eyes, a battle he’s sure he can win if he plays his cards just right.

“VIP access tonight to start?”

You scoff, shaking your head. But the furrow in your brows betrays your true, raw disappointment. You can’t hide it. Not from him. “I can’t. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

And just like that, you refuse him yet again. His bottom lip rolls in and over his teeth, tongue pushing hard against the thickened fold of intruding skin in his internal flare of anger, eyes darkening with a single promise he cannot keep; because he can’t have you to make it. You attempt to step back only for his hand to curl tighter around your ankle, keeping you in place.

“Make an exception this one time for me.”

Your eyebrows crease between the middle, a frown tugging your lips into an unamused sneer as you tug at your leg that Bucky refuses to let go.

“Mr. Barnes, this is extremely unprofessional—”

“Your contract has expired. We can be as unprofessional as we want. No consequences. No regrets.” He coats his words heavily with a honey of seduction. One that is awfully tempting… one you must deny.

You swear this man would kiss the ground you walk upon if you asked him to. Would paint and drown the streets red with blood if you wished it. And that’s what frightens you. Beneath those adoring pools of blue hide a darkness to a world you seek escape from, therein his eyes hides the nature of a killer who’s not only dangerous to those who cross him because of who he is as a man; but also dangerous because of you.

You know that love — and lust — are a powerful motivator to a man. It can and will make him do anything. The impossible, the reckless and the most horrid of things.

No matter how softly he pleads, you must not say yes…

His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, streaking locks of dark brown fall loosely to frame over his brow, highlighting an innocence that isn’t there. You pull your leg away again and he allows you to leave him though with the exception of those eyes faltering from yours. Like a kicked puppy.

“I’ll come tonight. We’ll need to talk about my payment before I leave.”

There it is, that bright spark in his ocean hues again, a grin pulls his lips wide that battling a smile of your own causing your lips to quiver is half won. Hopping down from the stage his eyes follow after you, watching you gather your belongings, your sights meet one another and he nods to you.

“See you tonight, beautiful.”

Scoffing with a shake of your head, this time that smile graces your lips wholly and Bucky feels the air in his lungs flatline. What he would give, who he would kill to see that smile forever on your face.

“Right. Tonight. See you then, Mr. Barnes.”

How you say his name in a manner of such proprietary has him a certain way, but what often has him throbbing and hard is the thought of you moaning his name, skin hot in a sweaty flush pressed to his as he has you on the verge of climactic euphoria and promising that you will be his, that you will never leave his side. He’s left only to his imagination of how you would sound, how you would feel around his hard and thick cock, in his strong and passionate grip that would never let you go — let you falter.

He wants you so badly it’s driving him insane.

Bucky takes the time to admire your form that currently flees for now, but soon enough he guarantees otherwise, paying particular attention to the wondrous body of your arse right before you pull your coat over your shoulders.

He pulls out his phone from his suit pocket and with a few minor taps of his thumb, he holds it to his ear, the receiver on high alert to his order.

“Get her ticket reimbursed and have the jet on standby, just in case.”

If you had known he’d send a car to pick you up, you’d have thought twice on a decision you should have said no to at the very beginning. From your seat, you eye the neon title and star, indeed the female figure doing just as you thought. A provocative display to allure its target audience. Right on command, Sam arrives, strutting out from the main doors to your door and pulls it open for your exit. The once dark tinted window shielding you from the envious stares of those stuck to line up on the velvety carpet.

“Looking good, princess. C’mon in, Bucky’s waiting for ya.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Sam’s allegiances may have set prejudice to keep you from trusting him or any of the other boys under Bucky’s command, but he was kind and attentive to you the more he saw you around his boss and the club premises.

You do well to keep your eyes forward and your focus straight, ignoring the few whispers of a gaggle of women clad in colourful, sparkling cocktail dresses, dolled up faces contorted into spiteful sneers as Thor granted you unrestrained access much to the shagrin of the female pack whining and complaining.

You weren’t here for the explicit pleasures that they were after on the inside. You’re strictly here to see what it was you accomplished, hoping that these business partners of Bucky will be entertained by the routine and show you poured hours of soul and heart into, then collect your paycheck and leave. That’s it.

Sam commands to part the crowd ahead of you, allowing you a clear path and direction up the stairs to the upper floor, smirking and ushering you off when you press him with a sceptical raise of your brow. But at his insistence that you don’t fall into the same category as the guests, you head on up, climbing each milestone with a heeled step that draws you possibly closer to the very man who you cannot seem to get away from.

Atop the stairs and rounding along the railside, you press your stomach to, overseeing the crowd below, streaks of red lights beaming from the rafters above to illuminate the dark, sensual aura of the club, the music a thriving beat as the dancers on stage perform their routine.

Life on the stage… there are days where you miss it. With a drag of a sigh parting your lips, you straighten a little from having leant on the railing a little during the show. Your body bristles instantly as something large and warm presses into your back, almost nuzzling the diamond cut out of skin, his long arms coming into view to cage you between him and the cold steel, his hands rest over your own.

“Glad to see you made it,” he hums deeply against the curve of your ear, nose gentle to nuzzle against your neck. “My business partners love the show, they’ve been asking for you.”

“Trying to drum up business for me, Mr Barnes?” you muse with a pout, voice offering a sickly sweet mockery of appreciation only for him to snort and direct you towards the booths where several men sat within a cloud of cigar smoke and breath of pure alcohol.

“Gentlemen, this is the woman I was telling you about.” He introduces you and your hand traverses into numerous exchanges of hand shakes as you greet each of them.

“Have to say, little lady, your vision for performance is immaculate,” a man of rounder physique appraises with a grin, half burnt cigar jammed between two fat digits and his dark brown eyes sparkling with hopeful aspiration for your future.

“Pray tell that Bucky will allow us to perhaps offer you a longer term contract?” His question ends with the butt of his cigar popped into the o of his mouth and huffing.

It hits you like a freight train going a hundred miles an hour, your jaw unhinges only to clamp shut, bouncing between the motion as you tend to this new revelation. “I–I uh…” Eyes glancing to Bucky who stands at your side, chest puffed out with a smirk twisted into his lips, he cocks his brows at you.

“A kind offer but I have another job already lined up in Chicago. It’ll conflict too much, I’m afraid.”

The men hum and sigh in their disappointment but offer you wishes, the man then plucks a card from a silver plate box and slides it towards you. “Of course. I admire your commitment to prior contracts. But don’t hesitate to call us if you change your mind. Mr. Barnes here has put in a good word for you.”

“Oh, has he?” You draw the words slowly with care, but the hint of suspicion has Bucky’s eyes pinned to yours for a moment until he looks to the men, bidding them to excuse him a moment as he takes to lead you away from their table.

Once in the private hallway that leads to Bucky’s office, your words choke behind a scoff, “What the hell was that all about? I– I told you, I have a flight to catch tomorrow and– Bucky this is too much, even for someone like you, to give to someone like me.”

He leads you to the door and opens it, beckoning you to enter before shutting the door promptly behind you both. All you can do is watch the broad span of his back as he struts over to his desk, merely gesturing a hand for you to sit.

“Doll, check your bank account.”

The way his voice maintains a firm timbre almost spawns concern to spur you to run out that office and never look back, but you do as he says, checking your bank account. Your eyes blink widely.

“My ticket! Bucky you—”

“You deserve better than living in some slum studio apartment, living to survive on paycheck to paycheck,” he rasps hoarsely as if the words and very idea of your situation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he continues, “A forty-five grand monthly salary to start, upgraded living in a penthouse and a licensed studio all of your own and signed to your name.”

A poisonous drought covers your tongue and coats your throat, your eyes peer down at the white card, font pristinely spaced and organised, minimally professional. Bucky faces you now after having realise that you didn’t sit down upon his request – or what you assume order. Your eyes then raise to glower at him, narrowing sharply.

“And your agenda behind this?”

Can you trust the way his brows relax, bending to curve in a manner of sympathy as he reaches you, chest to chest and his calloused palms come to hold your jaw between them, nursing in his hand the one thing he desires above all else.

His head bows lower until his lips graze over yours, causing your breath to hold and you feel the form of his lips curl into a small grin and with a hum he connects the kiss. At first he is gentle to test the waters until he is consumed by that fire, heat ensuing to take hold of the kiss, he groans lowly like a ravenous animal.

Your stomach turns into knots and your thighs push together when the threat of arousal pools between them, a gasp teetering on your voice, your own lips meeting his as your hands manoeuvre over the curvature of his muscles that tense beneath you. The kiss grows hotter, heat forces its way to burn in your lungs like embers and ash searing the fabric of your soul that when you pull apart, your chest expands to brush against his as you breathe deeply.

“Be my girl, doll. Be m—”

You cut him off with the delicate pillar of your index finger as he intends to sweep in for another kiss. You know for sure that if you allowed him, you would agree to his terms.

That cannot happen.

You pull yourself away from him until your distance pits your back against the office door, hands lingering on the knob and twist. His hands that once held the apex of your hips flush to his body fall to clench at his sides. You still choose to refuse him yet again. “Sorry, Barnes… but mama always told me, papa always warned me, don’t hang around with boys like you.”

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Seeing the responses on the original post was really cool and I’m glad to finally put this simple brain concoction of mine into a fully written fic.

#female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #mob bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #mob boss bucky barnes #mob boss au #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x you #bucky barnes fic

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ja3hwa · 1 year ago

Text

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟔: 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲/𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐳 ♡

Black Card

【Synopsis】 : You were hiding a big secret from your two loving boyfriends. What happens when they finally find out?

『Word count』 : 1.50k

-> Genre: Suggestive. Dark Romance.

Paring: MobBoss!Matz x F.Reader

[Warnings] : Heavy power shifting. Neck kisses. Dirty talk. Pet names. Swearing. Semi-nudity. Pole dancing. Strip clubs. Sir kink. Some mxm. Alcohol. Hickeies. Little bit of marking. Mention of gain weight (which is perfectly normal). Mention of a past injury.

Thank you, @skz-stay13 and @mjyungi, for requesting Seonghwa and Hongjoong for this day. ♡♡♡

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You sat in the back of a black SUV shaking your leg up and down. Saying you were nervous was an understatement. You’d never been in one of Hongjoong’s clubs let alone one of the strip clubs. But Seonghwa and Hongjoong had called for you since their meetings were lasting a lot longer than they thought, so they “needed you desperately” as they put it. You felt tingles in your gut at the thought your lovers was so in love with you that when either of them got sexually frustrated they would never cheat and take it out with someone else, but instead, beckon for you sweetly and desperately.

“Right, this way sweet-thing.” One of the very large bouncers you’ve met in the past, Ari spoke. He’s sweet, but you’ve heard he has a sadistic side. Must be why your lovers like him, and trust him so much. The minute you entered the dimly lit club, music filled your ears and the smell of overly sweet perfume and alcohol entered your poor nose. You still wonder how any of the boys could possibly spend hours in these clubs when they always smelt like a frat boys' party.

Following Ari, he slowly leads you towards one of the back rooms. You noticed all the erotic dancers, both male and female, dancing elegantly on stage. A memory of your past popped up in your mind and you had to give out a light chuckle. The person you were back in the past seemed to fit Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s world to a tea a lot more than you now… And yet you only met them and they only fell for you, as the person you are present. A sweet, soft-spoken, cottage vibe with sparkles in your eyes. A fairy, as Hongjoong liked to call you. Or Angel, Bunny. The list of cute pet names could go on for those two.

“They’re in here.” His rugged tone snapped you out of your thoughts as you suddenly took in your surroundings. This wasn’t the back rooms where their offices are? These look more like….

“Private dance room?” Your soft voice could melt anyone’s heart and Ari was no exception.

“Uh, Yes they requested for no one to disturb until they gave the word.” Now you were officially confused and even more nervous than you were before so when you were in the car. You quietly nodded to Ari before entering the even dimmer room than the one you were in. You could barely see other than the lit-up stage that was at the end of the room. Your heart was racing, feeling like it was about to burst out of your chest. Your breath picking up and your eyes blowing out to adjust to the darkness. And then suddenly a large pair of arms wrap around your waist making you literally jump and yelp.

“Easy there doll face. It’s just me.” Seonghwa’s lips latched on your neck, sucking in a harsh mark making you gasp. His dark chuckle vibrated against your flesh causing your body to shudder against him.

“H-hwa…” You called for him but had no clue why, it was like your brain was shutting down and only he was playing on repeat. You felt his hands dance along your body trying to find any and all exposed skin. His kisses got hotter as he bit down on your shoulder. But before you could beg for more, you were left empty, feeling Seonghwa’s hands and lips detach from your being. You shook your head a bit feeling yourself crashing back to reality.

“Hello, Angel.” Hongjoong’s voice was dark, sounding like pure sex appeal. You finally get to see your surroundings now that Joong has turned the lamp on next to his seat. They were both without suit jackets, Seonghwa’s tie was pulled and a few of Hongjoong’s buttons were undone. You gulped feeling your nerves turn into desire. You didn’t know what to do, standing in the middle of the room like an idiot but Joong seemed to notice your shyness, making a gesture with his fingers to ‘come here’ which you obeyed. Walking over to him, he stands up placing his point under your chin, dragging your face to his gently, letting his lips press against yours softly. The dominance dripped off these men, which would make anyone bend at their will. Including you. They were pure power.

“We have found out you’ve been keeping a secret from us, hmm?” His pupils were blown out, his voice barely above a whisper. You were trembling under his gaze. Trying to figure out what you could have possibly kept from your two mob boss lovers. Seonghwa’s hands find Hongjoong’s waist pull him close with a slight kiss of his neck.

“Come one, tell her baby. Our bunny is too dumb to figure it out on her own,” Hwa gave Joong one last long kiss before stepping back to the side taking one of the seats so he could watch his lovers intensely. You tried your hardest to think of an answer but your mind kept coming up blank. The only thing you could of possibly not told them was….

“Sir, please…” You begged, immediately knowing what he found. What else could it be, it's not like you hid anything else from them. But in truth, it wasn’t something that was brought up. You weren’t ashamed of it, but you did hate the insecurity that came from it. You had grown some extra padding and a knee injury since your days in the spotlight. You were more than rusty in your mind.

“how long were you a stripper?” Hongjoong just bluntly outed it. Making it seem more real than before. You gulped, feeling so little under his gaze.

“For eight years…”

“Eight years!? wow.” Seonghwa gasped in amusement but Hongjoong stayed silent, making you feel his power pool around you. He had the most control, the dominance to scare anyone. Why do you think he is a leader in one of the biggest gangs in Seoul. The king of Korea as people call him.

“You little minx hiding this dirty little secret. You think we’d never find out? Never confront you for such a naught past?” The words Hongjoong made your head spin. He knew how to talk and dirty talk was his specialty. “Well come on baby, let's see it.”

They now both sat on the two seats in front of you. you took a deep breath, gulping at the thought of dancing for your lovers. You haven't done it for years and now here you are, trying to find a way out of it. But you knew they wouldn't let you leave until they at least saw something. So you gave in, choosing to play your cards right. Might as well have fun with it no? You put your bag down, smiling slightly. Your change in demeanour made Hwa and Joong raise their brows at you. Placing one hand on each of their thighs you looked at them with a sinister and cheeky smile. “It’s gonna cost ya.”

Seonghwa was the one who chuckled, slipping his hand into Hongjoong’s suit jacket that laid on the armrest, pulling out a black card. Hongjoong gripped your chin making your mouth fall open before Hwa puts the said card between your teeth. “The pin is 2839, now take. It. Off.”

Your dominant tone faltered quicker than you expected having no match to the two men in front of you. Shaking a nod, not letting the card fall from your lips, you began to slip out of your clothing at a speed that made both men grin. Your eagerness was something they lived for. They thought they could say anything and you’d do it. You were always ready to please them. But in truth, they were the ones that changed the most. You made them feel human again. And when the song started to pool out of the speakers around you and you took your last deep breath in order to calm yourself down, you knew they were hypnotized. You are their baby, their angel. The sweet pink flower that brightens their day. Yet you had such a sexy dark secret that it made them melt the power they always managed to hold away.

You were the boss, you were the one who made the plans. They worshipped the ground you walked on and then some. And you had no clue how much power you actually had. The way your body moved against the pole, the music fitting your sensual dance. Your hair falling out of the ponytail you wore and the minimal clothing made both mob bosses' breaths get caught in their throats. They both had to keep adjusting their hardened cocks every now and then as they watched you with hawk-like stares.

You were in control. And you loved it.

-♥︎

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personallygay22-4 · 4 months ago

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SJ Eclipse plush is DONE!

he’s silly and throwable

SJ eclipse design inspired by @just-a-drawing-bean

#eclipse #fnaf #mob boss au #sleuth eclipse #sleuth jesters eclipse #sleuth jesters #flashing tw #flashing lights #cw flashing

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ghoulcyamour · 7 months ago

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hear me out .... ghoulcy mob boss au

#lucy mclean #ella purnell #fallout tv series #ghoulcy #cooper howard #walton goggins #fallout 76 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #amazon prime #mob boss au #au #fanfic #lucy x the ghoul #the ghoul

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georgiapeach30513 · 11 months ago

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#AI!Sebastian #mob boss AU

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wifeofnatasharomanoff · 2 years ago

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Darkest Nights - Masterlist

WARNINGS: violent themes, guns/knives, 18+ chapters, toxic/dark Natasha, angst, infidelity, obsession, Nat and reader have a kid

SUMMARY: her, you never thought you'd fall for anyone like her, nor would she be so intoxicating. but her line of work put you in danger. she would protect you.. right?

PAIRING: mob boss!Natasha x Reader

DRABBLES/REQUESTS ♡:

How We Met (repost/18+ themes)

Happiness (fluff, angst)

READ FOR CONTEXT ♤:

Playing Dangerous (smut)

Sinful Affairs (angst, smut)

#SoundCloud #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha marvel #dark natasha x reader #dark natasha romanoff #mob boss au #mob boss natasha romanoff

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ofstarsandvibranium · 22 hours ago

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Frayed Edges

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | In Stitches | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He was pissed off. His entire body hurt and he was really pissed off.

Sam dropped him off at your place. Bucky didn't want to deal with anyone else right now. He told Sam he'd call him when he'd need to get picked up.

He limps up to your door, grimacing at every move he makes. The stab wound in his stomach hurt like a bitch and he needed your help ASAP.

He knocks on your door, ringing the doorbell with urgency. The door swings open and your eyes widen, "Holy shit, Bucky!" You pull him inside and he groans in pain.

Bucky takes a quick glance at your table, seeing two sets of plates set out, "You expecting someone?"

You open your mouth to reply and there's a knock at your door, "Shit," you murmur, "Go to my room. Don't make a sound. Hurry!"

He obeys without a word. As soon as your bedroom door closes, you rush to your front door and pull it open, "Hey, dad! Sorry, was in the bathroom."

"It's alright, Bug," your dad kisses your head and enters your home, the bag of takeout in his hand. You take the bag from him and head to the dining table.

"Nice! Sushi!" you feign excitement, silently praying that, for whatever reason, your dad doesn't go to your room to find your ex boyfriend, now mob boss, bleeding on your floor.

"You still like the dragon roll, right?"

"Yup!"

"Good," your dad joins you at the table.

"Um, I have to finish some online training class really quickly and then I'll join you in a bit."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem. Go finish up. I'll be here," your dad waves you away and you rush to your bedroom, locking it behind you.

You head to the conjoining bathroom, as see Bucky cleaning his wound. “Why the fuck did you think coming here was a good idea?!” You whisper angrily at the bleeding mob boss in your home.

“I didn’t know your dad was coming over!” Bucky loudly whispers back in response.

“Exactly! You didn’t know which is why the smart thing to do would’ve been to call or text me to let me know you planned on coming!”

The mob boss scoffs, “Well sorry, I was a little too busy trying to not to die from a stab wound!” He gestures to his punctured skin.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, “Out of nights you get hurt, it had to be the night my dad and I have dinner together.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “My bad. I’ll make sure to schedule my stabbings at a more convenient time.”

“Idiot,” you mumble as you grab your first aid kit from under the sink, and gesture for him to sit on your toilet.

You work in a quick and efficient silence. Bucky doesn’t make an effort of conversation because he knows you prefer silence when you work.

Despite your annoyance with him, you're still gentle. You apologize for the stinging of neosporin.

He watches you with an observant gaze, a softness in his eyes. A sense of longing fills him in the pit of his stomach...or maybe that's the feeling of the needle you're sewing him up with.

Bucky still can't believe this is where life has lead you both. You help save lives, he, on occasion, ends lives. You're light, while Bucky lives and works in the dark.

He knows coming back into your life was dangerous, but he couldn't help it. He just missed you so much and was desperate to have you back in any capacity. Even if he can't have you the way that he wants.

You finish up, taking off the bloody gloves you wore and throwing them into the trash, “Stay here. Take some meds. I’ll check up on you, but please be quiet. If dad finds you, he’ll kill both of us.” You state with concern and seriousness.

He nods and gives you a shy smile, “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go enjoy dinner with your pop.”

You stand with a sigh, “Just text me if you need anything. I’ll pretend it’s America or something.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Bucky says as he slowly stands from your toilet after you stitched him up.

He watches as you quickly clean up and exit your room. He listens to the distant sound of you and your dad talking.

Bucky’s shoulder slumps as he lets out a shaky sigh. He wishes it never came to this, sneaking around and pretending like he still didn’t love you.

Because he does. He always will, even if you two are now worlds apart from each other, on opposing sides, never meant to be.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #marvel au #mob boss au

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buckets-and-trees · 2 years ago

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SALT (Bucky x Reader)

Characters/Pairings: mostly-dark!mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: 2.8k Summary: True achievement in the restaurant industry requires a relentless drive. No compromises. You've risen through the ranks, and when your mentor retires, you're rightly given the mantle of executive chef at Devour. On your night of ascension, the dining room is packed, and among the guests is someone equally as relentless to get what he wants.

Content Warnings: power imbalance; bribery; workplace manipulation; explicit language; NON/DUBIOUS CONSENT; explicit smut: risk of being caught, food play, knife play, nipple/breast play, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, edging, unprotected vaginal intercourse, non-graphic cream pie (not the food kind)

Additional Notes: Written for @the-slumberparty's April Mob AU challenge. Using dark prompt #23 (bolded in the dialogue).

tagging some peeps who showed interest in the preview for this little thing: @sidepartskinnyjeans @vonalyn @winterslove1917

“You’re not serious, Stanley.”

“I am.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Sure. Whatever. I don’t have time for customer meet and greets during a normal service, let alone tonight of all nights.”

“You will do it,” Stanley insisted, “because it’s James Barnes and he’s got more money and influence than any god. He owns the mob scene in this town.”

When your maître d’ didn’t say anything more, you turned to truly look at him.

You frowned but set down your pan with a huff. “Fine. Charlie, take over while I apparently go make an appearance.”

“Table twenty-seven,” Stanley said, handing you a clean dish towel, which you pressed against your forehead, cheeks, and neck as you headed for the door that led from kitchen to dining area, tossing the towel in the laundry bin under one of the counters.

You pushed past the kitchen doors and walked through the dining room towards table twenty-seven, one of the handful booths and tables nestled in small alcoves that offered a little more privacy for VIP reservations, set off on a small dais with walls of green plants strategically placed to create ambience while sectioning off the area from curious eyes and a plethora of potential phone cameras.

There were five individuals seated around the table, but he drew your attention first as you approached. He clocked your progress before any of his companions, and when he looked up, his stare fixed on you with such intensity that you took a brief pause before your next step, which he clearly noted, and the corner of his mouth ticked up in the slightest smirk. It made your blood heat with irritation, but you focused on remaining calm and professional as you stepped up to the table.

“This was an exquisite meal, Chef,” he said, drawing the attention of his companions to you immediately.

“Thank you,” you replied.

“Sam here hasn’t been able to shut up about it since the first course came out,” a blonde man sitting to his right said.

“And you haven’t left even a crumb on your plate through any course, Steve,” he chided back good naturedly.

Each of them had a girl tucked in next to them, but not the man with dark hair and steel blue eyes you still found it difficult to look away from who had to be the infamous James. His friends and their companions continued to rave for another minute or two about different parts of the meal’s courses. You expected them to be closer to the age of your parents, not much nearer yours.

“Well, thank you again,” you finally said. “We’re pleased to have you dining at our restaurant tonight. Devour is a dream for all of us on the staff. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the kitchen to oversee final preparations for the dessert course.”

“I’m eager for what’s to come next, Chef,” he said, looking you up and down, his eyes darkening. You’d delivered the overture for your exit, but he somehow made it clear it was only with his approval that you would leave in that moment.

Twenty minutes later, you sprinkled a touch of flaky salt over the ribbon of whiskey-laced caramel drizzled over the chocolate mousse, Charlie adorned it with a perfect rosette of the Chantilly cream, and you slid the final plate across to Stanley, who put it on the final tray and sent the waiter on his way.

“That’s service, everyone!” you announced, and some of the staff clapped and whooped.

You smiled, truly satisfied. Charlie bumped elbows with you, and when you turned your head to look at him, you couldn’t help the genuine smile bursting across your face.

“Truly a triumph for you taking over,” Stanley said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You’ve more than earned your new title as the executive chef of Devour and this kitch–“

He was cut off as there was a burst of activity at the doors coming in from the dining room. “Everyone, clear the kitchen! Out the back, please,” came a booming voice that you’d heard speak much more congenially earlier in the dining room. It was clear this man was used to giving orders and having them followed without question.

“Excuse me,” Stanley turned to look, but on seeing who was sweeping in and ushering his staff out before him, but his tone shifted when he saw who was giving the orders – now guarded but polite, “Oh, Mr. Rogers.”

“And if I could have a word with you in particular,” Steve said, addressing Stanley and nodding towards the back.

“Of course,” he responded.

You and Stanley exchanged a glance, and you began clearing out with the rest, but Steve put a hand on your shoulder. “Not you,” he said a little more quietly. “You stay here.”

You frowned and tilted your head as you looked up at him. He only smirked at you.

“The rest of you, keep it moving, let’s go!”

You chewed on your bottom lip and let your hand drop to the silver surface of the counter where your fingers immediately began to drum impatiently. After a moment you turned to look over at the door to the dining room, and your breath hitched.

He was there, leaning up against the door frame, blue eyes fixed on you.

His face was unreadable, and so you tried to keep your face blank as well as he stalked toward you, coming around the plating area and to your side of the counter.

“What is this, Mr. Barnes?”

“I’m buying this restaurant. Steve’s arranging everything with Stanley right now.”

Your brow furrowed.

“I own this kitchen, and I own you, Chef.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he put two fingers to your lips.

“I’m tripling your salary,” he said as he stepped right into your space, backing you up against the counter, only a breath of space between you.

Your heart was racing for too many reasons – anger, incredulity, but also a thrill of arousal. You wanted to refuse him, but he also drew you in, and you could not deny that. You knew he was dangerous, you were infuriated by his audacity, and yet…

“You can’t turn down an offer like that,” he continued, “especially not after the years of hard work I know you put in for the executive chef apron in this kitchen. Our stories are not so different in that way. You earned this. You won’t walk away.”

“I can–“

“But you won’t,” he cut over you. You glowered, but he ignored your slow burning anger and instead reached around behind your back to tug at the ties of your apron. Then his voice dropped down an octave as he spoke again, “Don’t fight me. You will give yourself to me.”

“I won’t.” You cocked your chin up.

“You will,” he insisted. He pulled the black apron away from your body and tossed it onto the counter behind you.

“You will give yourself to me now.” He pushed forward, pinning you to the counter with his pelvis. You tried to suppress a shaky exhale, feeling his erection pressing into you. “Soon you will warm my bed,” he bent his head down to ghost a kiss at your temple, then another on your cheek, before he moved his mouth further down and murmured his next threat down the column of your throat, “and I promise it won’t be long until you will beg for me to take you apart without any coercion.”

When his tongue darted out over the sensitive spot just under your jaw, a whimper escaped from your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him smile against your skin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Please, anyone could catch us.”

He chuckled. “Sam and Steve are preventing that,” he said, pulling away just enough to start unbuttoning your black chef’s jacket. “But,” he continued, “if you make too much noise, you’ll confirm that we’re doing anything more than talking.”

Once he had finished with all the buttons, he pushed the coat open. Your eyes were still closed until you felt the cool edge of a knife on your sternum, and your eyes burst open again, fear and adrenaline rushing through your body, but luckily he wasn’t looking at your face, focused instead on your chest where his metal fingers skimmed lightly over the bared skin for just a moment before they gripped the fabric of your black camisole and bra while his other hand tore his knife down in a swift movement, splitting your undergarments down the middle, putting your chest on full display for his hungry eyes. He pushed the clothing out of the way fully only over your left shoulder.

He lifted his gaze to meet your eyes again. “Dessert was exquisite, but it didn’t satisfy what I wanted.”

He reached for a nearby saucepan, which still had a ladle in it, and smiled as he gave it a stir. You watched as he took a scoop of the caramel sauce and poured a little over the round swell of your breast. It was warm, and started to slowly spread, but not enough to drip and make a mess. You imagined in his line of work, he knew how to be precise, not leave anything extra to clean up. He set the pan back down on the counter, and then reached for something else, returning with a pinch of the flaky salt that he then sprinkled over the caramel.

For a moment he merely admired his handiwork. then his warm hand came up to cup the underside of your breast, and then his mouth descended to lap up the salted caramel from your tender flesh. Heat bloomed across your chest and straight to your head and your core, his ministrations eliciting a low moan from you. He hummed in approval, then took your nipple into his mouth. Your nipples were always very sensitive, and he was not careful with his attention there, sucking, nipping, and licking until you whimpered and tried to push him away. He kept mouthing painfully at your nipple another moment longer.

He leaned back for a moment to look own at you, scrutinizing your face. You were not sure what he saw there, truthfully you didn’t know how to feel and what front to put up, but whatever he assessed didn’t deter him.

He lifted one hand to your neck and then trailed the back of his fingers down your sternum, between your breasts, over your stomach, a light touch that wasn’t rushed, knowing he could draw a shiver of anticipation from you with the purposeful action. He unbuttoned your pants, and as he slipped his hand into your panties and cupped your mound, he leaned in close to your ear and softly said, “You earned this, too, Chef.”

His fingers sought your folds. “And you are wet for me.” You didn’t need to see his face to imagine the satisfaction that must be there – it was evident in his tone. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear. “Close like this,” he whispered, “I’ll still hear even the small pretty noises I’m going to draw from you with my fingers in your cunt.”

And even though you were expecting it – dreading it? – you gasped when he quickly thrust two fingers inside you, knuckles deep, and moved them expertly in and out of your tight heat, questing and quickly finding the sensitive spongy spot on the front of your pelvic wall. You bit your lip to keep keening as quiet as you could, and your arms gripped his biceps, looking for an anchor to reality. He played your pussy quickly, nimble and knowing fingers familiarizing themselves too easily with your body for your comfort.

His thumb went to work expertly drawing tight circles over your clit, still thrusting his fingers inside you, and the additional stimulation forced you into an intense orgasm you didn’t want to give him, burrowing your face into his neck to smother your small cry of ecstasy.

You didn’t want to see his face – undoubtedly haughty knowing he’s pleased you despite you wanting to refuse him the satisfaction – and in this you are spared at least for the moment as without pretense he abruptly spins you around and tugs your pants and underwear down your thighs. You heard the quick unbuckling of his belt and unzipping of his pants as he freed his hard length. You had only a second to brace yourself against the countertop as he gripped your hip with one hand and used his other to guide his tip to your thoroughly slick and ready opening. One full and quick thrust had him fully sheathed inside you, punching the air from your lungs. He leaned forward against your back, his mouth close to your ear again. “Feel me in there? Stretching you to the limit.”

He rolled his hips ever so slightly, slowly, and your head fell back against his shoulder.

“Yes, Chef. Just like that.”

He pulled his hips back, then gave another slow and powerful drive into your cunt. “Feel as smooth and velvety around my cock as that caramel sauce was on my tongue.” While one hand remained on your hip, as he began to pick up the pace with his thrusts his other hand brushed up your spine, then moved around to grasp your breast, the one he’d overstimulated just a few minutes before. You whimpered and tried to jerk away, but you’re met with his strong chest up against your back. He chuckled and then began to tweak and roll the nipple between his fingers.

You tried to pull his hand away, still whimpering.

“I intend to leave you feeling me for days from this, Chef,” he growls in your ear. His thrusts become rougher, faster, slamming into you over and over again. Your hands pulled at his wrist torturing your nipple, but your strength was nothing to his, and soon tears were spilling down your cheeks. When an audible sob escaped your throat, he finally relented and released your breast, but then he gripped your hips with both hands, showing no mercy for your pussy as he chased his own pleasure.

Without the pain, your body focused only on the pleasure mounting in your core now. This felt good. He felt good. His cock filled you exquisitely. You tried to rock your hips just slightly to where you know he’d hit that pleasurable spot in you again, but he controlled the movement and forced you to stay at the angle he wanted.

“This one is for me, Chef, not you,” he grunted.

Still, you pant together, lungs heaving, and you’re hurtling toward another orgasm. His hips stutter for a moment, and with a groan he releases his spend inside you, slowing his movements.

You couldn’t hold back a needy whine as he pulled out of you. You looked over your shoulder at him incredulously, edged to the very moment before but then denied your second release.

He paused after tucking his softening cock back into his boxer briefs and gripped your chin, demanding an abrasive kiss from your lips. “When you come apart on my cock, I want to watch your beautiful face and hear you beg for me.”

Years in the kitchen have taught you to hold back your words when there’s even a shade of uncertainty, and you are uncertain if you will give him what he wants or not, because you can’t deny that your body absolutely wants him, and part of your spirit does, too. Relentless power recognizing another like its own, and you hate that you’re more than a little intrigued. You don’t want to just give him what he wants, but a tiny sliver of you whispers that you shouldn’t cut off your nose just to spite him.

You pulled up your pants while you heard him zip and buckle his own pants again. One he had tucked in his shirt, again with swift precision, he turned you back around to face him. He reached for your apron, wiped his hands, then set it back on the counter. He didn’t mess with your torn shirt and bra other than to adjust them well enough so he could close your chef coat and button that back up over your chest.

He gazed right into your eyes again, brushing his thumb over your lips, parting them slightly, then pushing them closed again.

“I’ll be back for more soon,” he finally said, then walked away without another word.

LINK TO PART TWO: FAT

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#mob!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #navy and roo's sleepover #navy and roo sleepover #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!bucky #mob boss au #mob boss! avengers #f!reader #aspen wrote something #female reader #devour au

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 9 months ago

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Little Girl Gone Mob Boss AU Headcanons

A/N: Alright my brain woke up feral this morning with a bunch of head canons for my new series that I've been working on so here you go the fruit of my labor. Also there are mentions of t*row up, mentions of killing, and actual depictions of killing so please read at your own caution. 18+ HC are marked as such

Minors/men DNI

SFW

-Y/N buying Wanda all the pretty rings and necklaces because you love seeing her wear them

-Wanda shows you pictures from high school when she was emo which is something you hadn't expected from the suburban mom

-After you learn this information you slowly add things to her wardrobe such as black skirts like she used to wear and band shirts and fishnetting

-The first time you see her in a little black pleated skirt you go feral. Luckily the boys are at school and you take her right on the kitchen counter

-She decides to wear skirts more often after that. Usually when she wants something.

-You slowly teach the boys how to fight, but don't introduce them to anything dangerous. Not until they're much much older.

-Wanda also eventually gets in on the self defense lessons

-Wanda and you go out regularly for date nights and taking the boys out trying to keep your lives as normal as possible

-When you propose to Wanda it’s at a fancy restaurant where you guys have a private room

-She says yes (of course) and you couldn’t be happier

-You guys decide to have your wedding in Sokovia and do a traditional Sokovian wedding

-When you guys have your first dance you include the boys where you start the dance together then you dance with Billy and her with Tommy and then you two switch off.

-You guys end up having a baby girl after getting married

-At this point the boys would be old enough that you offer the choice to them of joining and both do say yes, but Billy focuses on the business side of things and asks to go to college for business. He ends up double majoring in Business and law.

-Tommy also goes for a business degree, but ends up switching to go into nursing and becomes a Trauma Certified Registered Nurse to be able to deal with injuries that happen in the family business.

NSFW 🔞

-Both you and Wanda are switches

-the first time you two try and do things and she calls herself ‘Mommy’ it sends you into a PTSD panic attack because of Natasha calling herself Daddy.

-Wanda soothes you back down and is such a soft Dom the whole time and everytime until you ask for more.

- “M-Mommy please r-rougher,” your lips parted, tongue out as you try to roll your hips on her strap. She's edged you for hours into a blissed out state.

- “Whatever my princess wants she'll get.” She grabs your hips with a bruising force as she sinks deeper and moves her hips roughly until you're screaming and crying and begging Mommy to let you cum

- “You've been such a good girl. Go on cum for Mommy baby. You deserve it for being such a good girl.”

-The first time you were on top you weren't sure because you had never done it, but you wanted to try it.

-You realized how good it felt but struggled with what you wanted Wanda to call you. Mistress, Master, Sir, Ma'am, King, Queen, Goddess, Owner, Handler, Boss, Captain. You two felt like you went through everything until one night Wanda tentatively brought it up,

- “I know how you feel about it, but maybe…we could try Daddy?” Her words throw you through a loop. “I think it could be helpful even. You'd be such a better Daddy than her.” Wanda puts a reassuring hand on your thigh. “You'd be the best.”

-It's her words of encouragement that make you give it a try because she just sounds so soft and genuine.

-You have Wanda beneath you, a pretty collar and leash on her as you slowly sink inside of her with the cum filled strap the two of you recently purchased.

-Once your hips start moving, slow at first, you're hitting that spot that she loves and she just moans out, “Right there Daddy! Please Daddy harder!” And you go absolutely feral as you pump harder and rougher, pulling on her leash as you do so, both of you having a rather quick build up, “Gonna breed you baby. Gonna have my babies inside of you. You're gonna give me a set of twins right?” Wanda is so blissed out that all she can manage is, “Yesh Daddy m'gon cum!”

-During the aftercare Wanda assures you of how much she loved it. She could see how worried you were over becoming more like Natasha, but her words soothed you.

-As you two were cuddling up, watching TV afterwards she spoke up, “Would you actually want another set of twins?” You shrug, “if it happened I wouldn't be upset, but I'd love to even just make one mini us.” You tell her wholeheartedly which brings tears to her eyes. “I love you Wands. I wanna spend forever with you. I know this lifestyle isn't ideal for a family, but-” she cuts you off with a bruising kiss as she crawls into your lap. “I love you too Y/N/N. We'll make it work. I fell in love with this, with you so we'll make it work.”

NSFW Mob life HC

-You still take care of business mostly at home.

-The basement is off limits to the boys and is under several locks along with a fingerprint scanner and a pass code only you, Carol, and Maya know.

-One day Wanda comes with you to the basement even though you've told her a million and one times that she doesn't have to be involved in the business she insists.

-She watches a side of you she's never seen before. The side that Natasha created. It's almost as if she's watching Natasha pull strings on you.

-You torture someone for hours before getting the information from them. You grab your gun and look at Wanda, eyes cold as she trembles.

- “You can look away darling.” You tell her, but she doesn't, eyes fixed on you as the man begs and pleads for his own life, but he made the mistake of being on the wrong side of things, on Natasha’s side.

- “If I let you go Natasha will pick up where I left off. Slowly torturing you until you die a slow and painful death. This is mercy.” You tell him and fire your gun right between his eyes. Blood and brain splatter everywhere. Especially on you.

- “Carol, clean this mess up and show Kamala how it’s done. She needs to learn. I need a shower and I need this all done and out of the house before the boys get home. I'm gonna send Maya out with America to check up on the info we were given.”

-You turn your attention to Wanda holding out a hand to her, “Come on darling. Shower.” There was some blood on her and you helped her upstairs. Wanda didn't talk the whole time until you were drying her hair on the bed. “How do you do that?” She whispers and you barely catch it.

- “When Natasha trained me. I actually threw up a lot. It disgusted me to my core. I had a hard time handling it, but everytime I did something right she'd praise me. Reward me. The last time I killed for her she praised me because I only threw up after I killed the man. Now I'm…it's like I'm not me. I dissociate from it in the moment.”

-Wanda turns towards you, crawling into your lap, nuzzling against your neck and letting her hands get under your shirt and onto your back for more skin contact. “Thank you for taking care of us. I always appreciated it before, from the moment you saved us, but now after seeing what you do…I can appreciate it even more.”

-After much back and forth Wanda wants to help out. At first you have her work in your office at the computer on record keeping, but she says she wants to get out of the house so you allow her on safe calls. Mainly to get money from people along with Kamala.

-You never let her go into dangerous situations.

-You always make sure Maya tails the two girls when they go out especially when Wanda first starts, but you see that Wanda is able to handle her own.

-One time Wanda comes home trying to hide all the cuts, scraps, and bruises after fighting with someone over their rent.

-You freak out when you see it and after cleaning her all up the two of you go back out and you take care of him in front of Wanda. Showing her how to overpower someone bigger.

-You keep the man on edge making him constantly think that he’s going to die until he’s begging for his life and has pissed himself.

-There comes a breaking point between you and Natasha which leads to an all out war between your two mobs

-After a lot of loss on both sides Natasha and you go at each other which ends up with her losing her life when she can’t just accept how things are now.

-Though Yelena wants to kill you over this Kate convinces her not to

-You and Clint come to an agreement of a truce. Which ends the decade long fight at this point

- “I didn’t want it to end this way.” Tears streamed down your face as your knees crashed to the hard ground beside Natasha’s body. “You were terrible to me. Treated me like I was nothing and yet I still wanted to see you change. To be better!” Wanda holds you as you cry and shake in her arms not realizing all the emotional turmoil that you felt towards Natasha even after all these years.

#ley writes #ley speaks #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x reader #wanda x you #mob boss!reader #mob boss au #little girl gone au #mommy!wanda

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mikkomacko · 5 months ago

Text

Him and I - Falling Angel

Pairing: Mob Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: crying, discussion of violence and death, a little bit of angst but mostly fluff with our fav mafioso

Enjoy! xx

______________________________________________________________

You spend a lot of time staring at walls and ceilings now. Not that you particularly like it, but it’s one of the few things that doesn’t make your head pound. The pain is getting better, you don’t have to hide in the dark bedroom every other hour anymore but it still leaves you dizzy and upset.

These are your last few days in Switzerland and you get to spend them laying on the couch. At least the boys have found a way to keep you company and keep themselves busy.

“Pass, pass, pass!”

Jack has always been loud. You’ve known that since the moment you met him and could hear his voice over everyone’s else’s in The Rock for the rest of the night. Nico used to joke that he was so good with the ladies because he was the only one they could actually hear.

Even with his attempts to be quiet for your sake, his voice makes your temple throb. You eye twitches uncomfortably, gaze half focused on the FIFA game on the tv as Luke’s character passes to Jack. You don’t know how they manage to follow along with so much happening, but it’s entertaining to watch them.

Knowing if you keep watching you’ll eventually throw up your lunch all over the living room, you instead watch them. The coffee table has been moved to the far end of the room, the large fur rug that once lay in front of the fire now lays in front of the couch. All four Devs boys are sprawled out on it, backs against the sofa and feet stretched out towards the fire place.

They’ve been like that for days, sat on the floor together with controllers and Gatorades. And you usually take up the other couch, tucked under a blanket and head flat on the cushion so you just have to press your cheek into the fabric to watch them. That or look up at the white ceiling and watch the fan spin round and round.

Jack and Luke must score because they high five each other and attempt to quietly cheer while Alex throws his head back against the couch and Mercer pulls at the fluffy rug in frustration.

You wince, not sure if it’s from the volume or guilt for not telling the boys that Nico had fucked you into the fur of that very rug just a couple days ago. Before you can think on it too much, soft fingers are brushing the side of your face, drawing your attention.

Nico stands above you, leaning over the back of the couch to press his palm into your forehead. His skin is cold, finger tips chilled from getting more firewood from outside, and you lean into it, the weight of his hand dulling the pounding in your head. He frowns down at you, flicks his eyes up towards the boys.

“Inside voices or m’taking the game away.” He warns, and that’s not the first time you’ve heard those words lately. Almost immediately the boys fall silent, hushed whispering filling the air before someone gently apologizes.

“It’s ok,” you say, closing your eyes and letting Nico’s hold anchor you. “S��not you guys.”

His thumb strokes over your hairline. “What do you need baby?”

You shake your head, blinking your eyes open to look at him. Nico just watches you for a moment, silent and observant with his lips pursed. Fortunately he doesn’t look at you all sad and guilty anymore, even in moments when he knows you’re hurting.

“M’gonna change and then come lay with you, ok?”

Nico leaves, taking the cool feeling of his hand with him and annoyance bubbles in your gut. Slowly, you get up from the couch, trying to avoid any head rushes or dizziness as you tiptoe around the boys.

“What do you need? I’ll get it.” Luke is already moving to get on his feet, almost tripping you as you step over his lanky legs.

“I’m good. Just getting some water.” You assure, laughing when he lifts a hand up for you to hold as you walk. The rest of the boys take after him, all holding out their palms to keep you steady as you navigate their gangle of limbs.

You don’t need the help, but the gesture is so sweet it burns in your chest and you instinctively reach up to touch the pendant around your neck.

“Hey.”

A knot forms in your throat, your fingers tightening around the little devil horns. Timo is leaning against one of the counter tops, drying off his hands.

You swallow, turning to open the cabinet with the cups.

“Hey.”

Moving to the fridge, you keep your gaze down and fill up the glass with water. It’s awkward, just as it has been since he left you at the hospital. Timo’s never been good at fixing things, and you’ve never been good at giving him the chance to even try.

“You look a lot better,” he says tentatively. “The bruising and stuff.”

Bringing the glass up to your lips, you just nod and take a sip. It feels wrong to walk away from him, so you don’t. You just stand there, holding your water and staring out the kitchen window.

“Are you ever gonna look at me again?”

You shrug, take another drink of water and try to ignore the pounding of your heart in your throat. Timo sighs, and you can picture him rubbing at his right eye like he always does.

“What do I have to do to fix this? You want to me get on my knees and beg? Cry?”

This time you do look over at him, stomach twisting when you meet his gaze. The usually bright and beautiful blue of his eyes is dull and cold, so sad and unlike your best friend.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, because you really don’t. You want to fix this, want to forgive Timo but it’s hard for you to get over feeling betrayed, especially by him.

“You forgave Nico,” he argues weakly, “what’s the difference.”

Bristling, you scoff. “The difference is that it’s Nico. I get why he’d be hesitant about my abilities, not you. You’re the one I train with, the one I’ve spent miserable hours with learning to fight and survive. And you still doubted me.”

Timo’s offended, you can tell by the way he stands up straighter and tilts his head to the side. Narrowed eyes zeroing in on you. “I was just following orders, doing what I was told.”

It’s a valid point, at least to him. And that makes it hurt even more. Even though he’s your best friend, he still chose Nico over you. His loyalty still doesn’t lie with you let alone the both of you, as it should.

“I don’t care,” you mumble, looking back out the window. Tears have begun to prickle behind your eyes and you don’t really want to cry in front of him right now. “M’sure Marcelo was just following orders too. Doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“Don’t do that, don’t make me seem like him.”

Timo scoffs. “I didn’t say that,” you argue “but it’s funny that you immediately attached yourself to him.”

Rubbing at your burning eyes, you blink a few times and notice it’s begun snowing outside. You wish you could go out there and bury your head in the piles of it.

“I wouldn’t hurt you like that.” Timo defends but he sounds flat, like he’s lost all the fight in him.

You have too, and you want to go lay down and sleep. “No, you wouldn’t,” you agree with him, “but you’d hurt me in other ways, that’s for sure.”

“Y/n-“

“Enough,”

Nico’s voice startles you, a bit of water spilling from your glass when you jump and turn to the entry way. He’s changed into a pair of sweatpants, chest bare as his hoodie and coat have been forgotten somewhere upstairs.

He’s not looking at you, dark eyes instead focus on Timo and while he doesn’t look mad, he’s obviously annoyed.

“You can fight with her about this later, when she’s better. Not now.” He tells him gruffly, uncrossing his arms and stepping into the kitchen.

As if he were pulling you by a string, you meet him halfway and step into his chest. Maybe you’re being dramatic or a baby about this, but you can’t help it. You’re hurt, both physically and emotionally and while Nico does have a part in it, he’s also the only person that truly makes you feel safe.

It’s unfair to Timo, you know that. But you deserve to be a little unfair right now.

“Tired,” you mumble, nose pressing into his collarbone. Nico wraps an arm around you, presses his fingers to the back of your head protectively.

“Let’s go lay down,” he instructs, and you hum in agreement, letting him lead you back towards the living room. The blinds have been lowered, dimming the light in the room and the other Devs boys have turned off the game in favor of scrolling through Netflix.

A part of you wonders if Nico told them to. It wouldn’t surprise you and you can practically picture him standing over them, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed as he instructs them to quiet down and turn the game off.

“What are we watching?” You ask, placing your water on the side table and waiting for Nico to sprawl out on the couch before you settle between his thighs. He sits up so you can lean back on his chest, his skin warm even though the fabric of your shirt.

“Whatever you want,” Mercer replies casually, but you don’t want to pick. Especially not after you pull a throw blanket up and over your legs, snuggling into Nico. Your eyes already feel droopy and heavy, tired brain unable to think of a movie you even like.

“Holtzy can pick,” you decide, sending him a lazy wink when he looks over at you. A sly grin takes over his face.

“I told you she wouldn’t want to pick,” he address Nico, “she’ll be out in two seconds tops.” You hear your boyfriend scoff, slipping his hand under your shirt to rest in your belly. You silently laugh and he lightly pinches at the softness of your stomach when he feels your shoulders shake.

Alex puts on an Adam Sandler comedy, one of the new ones you haven’t seen yet and you’re glad. Nico loves comedies but he hates rewatching movies, so at least he’ll be entertained.

Tilting your head back, you pucker your lips and press a kiss to the scar under Nico’s chin. His scuff is growing out, and it tickles your lips enough that you have to scratch at them afterwards but it makes him chuckle so you don’t care.

Settling back into his chest, you watch the into of the movie through droopy eyes. Timo comes into the living room just before your eyes fall shut, settling into the couch behind the other boys. You don’t see if he looks over at you and Nico, but it feels like he does just before you fall asleep.

~~~~

You’ve never been a fan of early rising, not until you met Nico. He likes to get his days started right away, likes to be out in the sun and feel like he’s actually doing something. When you first started seeing him you thought maybe he was lying about simply liking the morning. Like maybe he had undiagnosed anxiety or was a workaholic and couldn’t let himself sleep in.

Now you think he really just likes the morning.

And you don’t blame him. The house in Switzerland is peaceful, silent except for the groggy words exchanged between the two of you and the cautious movements of making breakfast without waking the boys.

Nico’s in his briefs and a black hoodie, pin straight hair tangled on the left side of his head and eyes still puffy. Even so he looks handsome, all dimples and sleepy smiles as you help him whisk eggs for breakfast.

The quiet is nice. Not that you don’t love the ruckus of having your family in the house with you, but you also love the moments you can just exist with Nico.

No Jack also means no pounding headache.

“Why are you drinking that?” You ask Nico when he places two glasses of iced matcha on the countertop in front of you.

He shrugs, sliding one over to you before bringing the other up to his lips and taking a sip. You don’t miss the way his nose slightly scrunches, green foam lingering on his top lip.

Giggling, you reach over the island counter and cup his jaw, wiping the matcha away with your thumb.

“You like it,” he explains, catching your wrist when you pull back and bringing it closer, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Figured I’d try again.”

His voice is still deep and gruff, lazy accent lisping some of the words and it’s so cute you can’t help but smile at him.

The compliment is on the tip of your tongue, eager to jump out just so you can see him blush and get all shy, but the words never come. They’re forgotten by the soft knock on the front door.

Eyebrows furrowing, Nico looks at you and then towards the entryway to the front door, and back to you.

“Don’t look at me,” you say, taking your hand back and reaching for your glass instead. “I don’t know anyone here.” You take a drink, following him out of the kitchen and down the short hallway.

The figure of a woman looms through the blurred glass of the door, but Nico must recognize her because he puts a hand out to stop you.

Your heart stutters, fear clawing at your throat when he turns to you and looks worried. You know that look, know what it means. Whoever is outside the door shouldn’t be here, more for your sake than Nico’s.

Immediately you think of Lena, imagine that somehow she’s found her way back to Switzerland and is here to torment you some more.

“Shit, sorry, s’ok I swear,” he immediately soothes, taking your face in his hands. Nico strokes your cheeks, biting at his lip as you let his words sink in for a second. It’s not until you’ve taken two deep breathes do you realize that you’re practically tearing a hole in his hoodie where you’ve biting your hand in the fabric to hold onto him.

“S-sorry,” you whisper embarrassed, struggling to get your knuckles to relax.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry for that,” he tells you earnestly, whatever else he was gonna say interrupted by another knock on the door.

“Nico, I can hear you at the door. Open up.”

It’s his mother, you realize, immediately understanding why he looked at you like that. You haven’t seen Katja since the family lunch all those days ago and you suppose she’s heard about what happened and is here to talk about it with Nico. Especially since one of the people you forced Luca to banish did business with Rino.

You let go of Nico and take a deep breath, placing your hand on his back in what you hope is a comforting manner as he undoes the lock and opens the door.

Katja is dressed to the nines, her styled hair tucked under a fur winter hat that matches the long fur coat she wears. Diamonds peak out from under the collar, matching the ones on her ears and her finger. You look down, notice that even her snow boots are slick and elegant, and somehow look like they even have a heel in them.

Suddenly the boxers you stole from Nico and his old Team Suisse shirt feel like rags on you.

Kicking the fresh snow off her boots, she enters the house and you and Nico both step back in sync. As if being approached by a dog with foam at its lips.

“Glad to see you’re still a morning bird,” she says in greeting, adjusting her Chanel purse in the crook of her elbow.

“You too,” Nico replies, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the tangles and knots. “Father still asleep?”

Katja clicks her tongue. “You know how he is, him and Luca, out like logs until at least 10.”

Insecure and unsure of what to do, you just nod at her words and reach up to fix the cowlick at the nape of Nico’s neck for him. That was the wrong move, however, because now she’s looking at you.

“Hello y/n,” she says politely, and while her face looks just as emotionless as it did when you met her, there’s something in her tone that’s different. Something that feels familiar.

“Good morning Katja,” you croak out, fingers finding your pendant and clutching at the metal. “Do you want coffee or anything? Nico and I were making breakfast if you want to stay?”

You’re rambling, you know that, but it’s suddenly hit you that she’s looking at the bruises on your throat and the healing stitches on your head. The last thing you want is for her to say something, and you’re tempted to duck behind Nico and hide.

Instead you keep yapping.

“Nico take your moms coat and-“

“That’s quite alright,” she cuts in, stopping Nico from reaching for her things. “I stopped by to see if you’d like to take a drive with me?”

You freeze, mouth parted in confusion and dig your fingertips against the pointy horns of the devils charm.

“Mother we’re not even dressed-“

“Not you,” she cuts him off, “just y/n.”

Once again you don’t even know what to say. What does she want with you? Is she mad about Lena’s family? Does she want to take you away from Nico so she can banish you from the country as well?

Realistically you know that would do nothing to keep you from Nico. He’d give up Switzerland for you, you’re sure of it. He’s given it up before for less. The thought is still terrifying though, mostly because she’s terrifying.

“She doesn’t go without me,” Nico states firmly, reaching his hand behind him for you. You cling to it, hold on for dear life to keep from spiraling into an anxiety attack.

Katja looks at him with stern eyes and an unimpressed tilt of her head. You don’t know what makes you say it but before either of them can speak you spitting out an agreement.

“Of course I’ll go,” you squeeze Nico’s fingers when he whips around to look at you. “Just let me change.”

Pleased, she folds her hands in front of her and nods. Nico stares at you in bewilderment, shaking his head and turning to hide you from his mother with his body.

“It’s ok,” you whisper to him. “I’ll just go for a bit and I’ll call you if I need to.”

He just keeps shaking his head. “You’re still recovering, and you don’t know what she wants or-“

“She’s your mother, Nico. It doesn’t matter what it is, I need to go.”

Unimpressed and annoyed, he sighs through his nose. You let go of his hand, reach up to hold his pouting cheeks. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you force a smile.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” You joke, but he doesn’t think that’s funny by the way he glances at the wounds on your skin and scoffs.

You kiss his cheek in apology, quickly ducking away and towards the stairs to change. Hopefully giving him a bit with just his mother will calm him down, and give him a chance to set some ground rules.

Toothbrush hanging between your lips and deodorant stick in hand, you picture him standing over Katja, hands on his hips as he tells her how long you can be gone, what streets and neighborhoods to avoid, that you’re phone is to be on and in your hand every second.

Capping the deodorant, you finish scrubbing your teeth, spitting toothpaste into the sink with a grin. Nico can be overbearing and overprotective, but you love him for it. His instructions and rules never feel like too much, like he’s restricting you. Instead they make you feel safe, loved. It’s a nice feeling to have again after feeling so scared and embarrassed lately.

Ten minutes later you’re tiptoeing down the stairs to find Nico sitting across from his mother in the living room, the mess of pillows and blankets from the boys splayed out on the floor between them.

“Sorry about the mess,” you tell her, Nico rising at the sound of your voice. He’s got your coat in his arm and your boots resting by his feet. “The boys stayed up late playing video games last night.”

Katja looks around, slightly confused. “The boys?”

Nico holds your jacket open for you, helps you slip your arms in. “From Jersey,” he answers. “A few of them flew out to see her.”

You turn and his fingers fall to the zipper, latching it and dragging it up to your chest. He’s still pouting when you look at him, thick fingers now snapping the buttons shut for you.

Katja makes a noise of understanding. Holding Nico’s shoulders for balance, you shove your feet into the boots, not even thinking about tying them since you’re just sitting in the car. That’s not good enough for Nico though because he sits back in the couch, leaning down to tie them for you.

Your cheeks burn, Katja’s gaze heavy on you as her son bundles you up through grumpy sighs and petulant eyes. Dodging her eyes, you wiggling your feet in your too-tightly tied boots while Nico rises to his feet again.

“Phone?” He questions and you dig it out of your pocket to show him you have it. Nodding proudly, you put it away and he smooths your hair down.

“30 minutes,” he informs you, and you try not to laugh as his predictability. “If you’re gonna be late, if roads are bad, if you don’t feel well you call me.”

You nod through his words, making sure to not look away from his eyes so he knows you’re listening. “Don’t get down anywhere, unless you absolutely have to, and don’t talk to anyone but Katja, understand?”

Narrowing your eyes, you hold your fingers to your forehead and salute him. “Aye aye boss,” you joke and he rolls his eyes, features easing up as he fights off an amused smile.

“Alright, alright,” Nico relents, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before dropping his hands to his hips. “Get outta here, I’m gonna get ready and finish breakfast for when you get back.”

“Ok,” you murmur, lightly taking his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, overgrown beard tickling the pads of them. “Just don’t shave, alright?”

He looks at you fondly, something warm swirling in those pretty brown eyes of his. “Aye aye boss,” he mocks, left eye fluttering into a wink.

You let go, clearing your throat and turning to Katja. “Ready?”

She’s watching you both with a raised eyebrow, curiosity swimming in her eyes and the look is so similar to Nico it makes you stutter, as if she’s looking right into you the way he does.

“Yes, very well,” she rises from the couch, looks at Nico. “I’ll obey the rules, Nico.”

He doesn’t give any indication that he’s heard her and it makes your skin crawl uncomfortably. “Let’s go then,” you say weakly, motioning to the door. Nico follows you out, stands in the open doorway as Katja gets into the backseat of a black car. You look back at him, meet those strong and certain eyes of his.

And he nods just once, his silent way of telling you he’s sure it’s ok, it’s safe. You slide in behind his mother, let the driver close the door behind you and watch him through the tinted window as the car rolls down the snow covered driveway.

~~~~

Katja spends the first five minutes of her time in silence. The car creeps down the freshly cleared roads, a cruising pace like it has all the time in the world. You hold your phone in you hand, anxiously lighting up the screen every 30 seconds to check the time and make sure Nico didn’t call or text.

Finally, she motions to the driver and a partition slides up, sealing you two off from other ears. For some reason, that makes you more nervous. Why does she not want her driver listening in?

Sweating, you press the seat warmer button to lower the temperature. Across the car, Katja clears her throat.

“For a moment back there, I thought you and Nico were hiding grandchildren from me.”

It catches you off guard. Of all the things to talk about, she’s saying that? Even more confusing, what does she mean by that? What could make her think you and Nico were secretly parenting children this whole time?

Sending your confusion, she continues. “The mess at the house and the ‘boys’ you referred to. I was afraid I had missed out another part of my son’s life.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, fiddling with your phone and looking over at her. She’s already looking at you. “Um, Nico wouldn’t do that-we wouldn’t do that. I know he doesn’t share a lot, but he’d share that.”

She lips curl into just the tiniest smile, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “I believe you know my son very well. Apparently you don’t know how much he despises this family.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t sound angry or upset. Neutral, like she’s reporting the weather to you. It makes your heart ache for her. You can’t imagine being a mother and feeling nothing when your child doesn’t like you.

That’s an experience you don’t want to have.

“He loves you,” you tell her, feeling like she has to at least know that. “He tells me that all the time. That he does love everyone here, but he’s different from you.”

Her fingers clench in her lap, so quickly you think you might have imagined it. The rest of her stays stoic and poised.

“I raised Nico in a very specific way. All three of my children were planned, brought up in different ways. It’s simply the way this life works.

“Nico never wanted to be a part of it.”

You don’t really get what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter. Katja glances at your throat, something sad settling in her eyes and continues talking.

“My husband is an only child. He inherited the business from his father. And that left him vulnerable. From the moment Rino and I married we knew we wanted three children, enough to keep the business - and those around it- safe.

“I’m afraid that lesson never made it to Nico. He was always a little rebellious, always stubborn-“

“Determined,” you quickly add, smiling softly when Katja lights up at the word. “Once something is in his head, there’s no stopping it.”

She chuckles fondly. “Yes, determined. And he was determined to get as far away from us as possible.”

The car keeps rolling through the town, the clock shows you have twenty more minutes before Nico will be tearing through the streets, most likely with the boys behind me, still dressed in pajamas and half asleep.

“Nico didn’t see what the business was like when it was just Rino. The way it left us- me vulnerable.”

Katja clears her throat uncomfortably. A rock settles in your gut, the purpose of this conversation becoming clear.

“You were hurt.” It’s not a question. You know the answer.

She inhales, “Yes, a few times. Back then it wasn’t terrible, there was a code against harming the women of the business. But I was intimidated, taken, scared. Anything to rattle Rino, make him give it all up.”

“Did he ever try?” You ask.

Katja nods. “He said he would try but we both know he wouldn’t. This is his life, it’s all he’s known. So we expanded instead, planned our kids and where they would be. In order to protect each other.”

That’s why he was supposed to go to Germany, that’s why his whole life was planned out for him. He was meant to have the role since before he was even born.

You can’t imagine how angry his parents must have been when he vanished.

“Nico being overseas doesn’t give him that protection.” You state.

Katja simply nods, eyebrows pinching sympathetically. “And by extension, you either.”

The car falls silent as you take in her words. Suddenly you’re mad. What right does she have in telling you this? Of showing her disappointment in Nico’s decisions and turning it on you?

“Are you trying to scare me into not being with him?” You snip, “Tell me I’m not safe, that I won’t ever be because you don’t like that Nico chose his own life?”

The time on her little car ride is winding down. The driver circles the block, begins the slow drive back to the house.

“I’m trying to make sure you know what you’ve gotten into,” Katja replies back, her tone a little heated.

“I do know. I-“

“Are you going to marry Nico?”

You pause, confused on the sudden shift but nod. “Yeah I am.”

She looks out the window for a moment and you wonder if somehow you’ve become the most disappointing thing in Nico’s life to her.

Then she turns back.

“This life will always be harder for us,” shockingly, Katja reaches her left hand out and places it on your forearm. “We have taught Nico very well, all of our children. But he’s the first of them to bring marriage into his business. And the fear that comes with that? The sacrifice? It’s something that can’t be taught.”

You understand where Katja comes from. And you’ve known that Nico will never know what it’s like to be in your place as the wife of the boss. If anything, this trip shows that. He had no understanding at all for what happened with you and Lena.

But Katja has failed to take into account that this happened away from home, away from the Devs.

“It’s not a business to us,” you say softly, placing your hand over hers. The large diamond ring on her finger cuts into your palm. “In Jersey, we’re a family. And Nico has made sure everyone in that family knows we take care of each other.”

Katja is such a hard woman to read. She’s always composed and cold, like a Barbie doll brought to life. For the first time since you’ve met her, emotion swells in her gaze and it takes you moment to realize its relief.

She’s been scared. This whole time she was scared for Nico and his safety. Maybe even for your safety.

You swallow, look down at where your hand is holding hers. “I know Nico disappointed you all when he left, but you should know that you gave the world the most strong, level-headed, and capable man I’ve ever met.”

Katja is watching you through wet eyes when you meet her gaze. “He is so easy to love,” you say earnestly. “Even when he’s purposely trying to make it difficult.”

That makes her laugh. You imagine Nico’s always enjoyed pushing against those that love him, testing the strength of that bond.

“I wouldn’t have chosen him and this life if I didn’t think he was worth it. And I can say the same thing for the dozens of boys and men back home that have followed him too.

“We’re not vulnerable, we’re not alone. We’re a family.”

Katja sniffles, blinking away the tears in her eyes and you let go of her hand so she can collect herself. Giving her a moment, you unlock your phone to text Nico that you’re almost home. As usual his response is instant.

Good, I miss you

You bite at your lip, overwhelmed with how much you fucking love him. Another text comes in.

Do I need to kill her?

Unfortunately, you have no idea if he’s saying that to make you laugh or if he’s actually serious. A part of you thinks he’s actually serious. Somehow, that makes it even funnier.

Nico is on the doorstep when you the car pulls up to the house. He’s put on jeans and a beanie, the same hoodie from this morning covering his torso.

His eyes follow the driver as he climbs out of the car and comes around to open your door. You step out, meet Nico’s gaze and hope he can read you. Like always, he can and you can see him visibly relax from across the way.

Katja slips out of the car behind you, whispering something in Swiss German to her driver before walking up the drive with you.

“Mother,” Nico greets, pushing off the doorway he was leaning against. “You’re thirty seconds late.”

She breathes out a laugh, shaking her head fondly at her son and much to your enjoyment, Nico’s cheeks flush. You watch him bite back his grin, try to hide his own amusement even though his dimples give it away immediately.

“My apologies son,” Katja says warmly, not even a bit sorry. Pulling your hands into your sleeves, you squeeze them together to fight off the cold and wonder how Nico could possibly be standing out here in just his hoodie.

Both him and Katja notice at the same time, Nico reaching out for your elbow and pulling you up a step. Instinctively you give him your hands, curling forward when he takes them between his and brings them up to his mouth. Blowing warm air on them, you catch his mother’s eye and feel your ears burn with shyness.

You wonder if she’s used to seeing Nico like this, if she remembers how sweet and kind he is. Did he even get to be like this around them? Or was his life always so cold and scripted?

Katja’s eyes shine with pride, her left eye falling into an effortless wink before settling back on her son.

“I should let you two get back inside, warm up and rest.”

Nico straightens out, still cupping your hands in his large ones. He looks confused, probably having expected more from her visit. You’ll have to tell him that this might have been your favorite moment from the whole trip.

“Before I go,” she digs into her purse, pulls out a little black box and you feel your heart jump into your throat. “I wanted to give you this.”

You pull back from Nico so he can take the box, his own fingers trembling now as he grabs it from her palm. Looking up at him, he looks shocked. Lips parted in awe.

“This is…” he trails off, opens it to reveal the most stunning silver wedding band you’ve ever seen. The diamond is smaller than the one Katja has on, but it’s bright and beautiful, surrounded by tiny little green gems. “This is supposed to go to Luca.”

Nico’s argument sounds weak and breathless, like he’s in disbelief and doesn’t even know what to do with the ring. Based on his words you guess it’s a family heirloom, a ring from a grandmother or great grandmother that is supposed to go to the oldest son.

Katja shakes her head, reaches over to gently close the lid of the box and rest her fingers over Nico’s. “It goes to the son that most deserves it.”

She looks over at you, gives you a smile that is so motherly and tender it makes you ache. “A man is only as strong and capable as the women behind him,” she turns to Nico. “And you son, are the strongest and most capable man I could’ve ever hoped to bring into this world.”

~~~~

You and Nico don’t talk about it. He presses a kiss to the side of your head as you stand in the entryway, peeling off your boots and jacket. Then he’s dashing up the stairs, and you clean up and put away all your layers.

In the kitchen you find breakfast still warm on the stove so you serve two plates for you and Nico, putting the rest aside for the boys when they get up. You drink your slightly watered down matcha, throwing Nico’s in the sink because you know he won’t drink it and pull out the cold brew you’d put in the fridge for him yesterday.

He comes into the kitchen just as you’re adding a bit of milk to it, eyes lighting up when he sees it. “Where’d ya get that?”

“The fridge,” you sass, laughing when he sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around your middle. His beard tickles your skin when he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, pressing loud and obnoxious kisses there.

He’s gentle, careful to not agitate your healing bruises and the soft movements make you laugh even more. Nico doesn’t pull away until your laughs have turned to silent gasps for air and you’re pretty much a puddle in his arms, weight held up by him.

He’s laughing too, when he pulls back, turning you to face him. You wipe at your cheeks, smiling so wide your jaw aches and you look at him through wet eyelashes.

Nico’s always been beautiful. You’ve known that since the moment he winked at you from across The Rock. But sometimes he still manages to steal your breath away. When he’s so happy it radiates off of him, all dimples and rosy cheeks, eyes shining and framed by laugh lines.

He looks at you like that now, your heart doing flips and you giggle like a school girl. His smile widens at the sound and he leans in to kiss between your eyes.

“Thank you baby,” he says, reaching around you for his coffee. You clear your throat, try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart.

“Want to eat breakfast in bed?” He suggests and you jump at the offer. Eagerly nodding, you gather your matcha and his coffee, and he grabs the plates.

~~~~

Staring out the large window at the mountains in front of you, you blink sluggishly as Nico gently combs his fingers through your hair.

“Do you want to talk about?”

His voice is low and soft, like he’s afraid you might have been sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake you. You wonder if he’s been doing that all week, trying to talk to you in these in-between moments and he always caught you when you weren’t awake.

“About what?”

He hums, the sound vibrating in his chest and against your spine. You can’t see his face, but you’d imagine it’s disappointed in your lack of confrontation. Nico has never known you to shy away from things, and you feel bad for doing it now.

“Whatever you want,” he says easily “the ring, my mother, Timo…” the silence he leaves speaks volumes, both of you knowing what he’s leaving unspoken.

Your heart thumps loudly, nervous and scared of addressing what you know he really wants to talk about. But he’s given you all this time to hide, to ignore all the ugly parts of this trip. Hell, he’s even gone out of his way to defend you from the hard conversation you should be having with Timo.

This is something you can longer run from. Not with that big sparkly ring tucked away somewhere in this room.

“If I wanted to leave,” you start, voice wobbling. “Would you let me?”

You’re not talking about the house, the town, or even Switzerland as a whole. You mean it all; him, the boys, the Devils.

He understands. You can tell by the way his chest rises when he inhales, the breath deep and trembling.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, voice quiet and hallow “if that’s really what you wanted to do, if that’ll make you safe and happy, then yeah I would. And I’d do everything I could to make it happen.”

You wait with bated breath, staring out the window at the lazy snowfall and the snow capped Alps, not that you’re actually seeing it. All you can see is him.

“Before you’d do that,” he continues, that determine edge creeping back into his tone and you feel your heart jump into your throat. “I’d offer something else.”

“Yeah?” You croak out, “what?”

“Me,” Nico murmurs, and his lips ghosts against your neck, breath warm on your skin. “I’d give it up. Take out the inheritance I put into it and sign everything over to the ones that came with me.

“And I’d take you anywhere you want to go, build you a new house for us and the dog and- and maybe a family even. Whatever you want to do, just as long as I get to keep you.”

Relief washes through you, the anxiety and fear that Katja had knowingly put into your heart deflating. Rino never offered her that, was never willing to pick her over everything. And maybe that’s why she’s been so unsafe this whole time. Maybe what her and Rino have is nothing compared to what you and Nico have.

You crawl up onto your knees, moving so that you can face Nico and fall into his lap. He’s droopy, eyes sad and lips pulled down into a frown. Even his hair looks sad, flopping into his eyes that watch you so intently.

His hands shake when they find your hips, drawing you closer to him and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You get to keep me,” you agree, tongue feeling heavy as tears well up in your eyes. “And you can keep to Devs. I just had to know-“

“If I’d do it,” he cuts in, clearing his throat nervously. “I have a plan for us,” Nico swears, his voice wobbling with emotion and you reach up to push his hair out of his eyes, stroke your thumb over the frown lines between his eyebrows. “In every universe I have plan for us, no matter what I have to give up to make it happen.”

Unable to speak around the lump in your throat, you just nod. But that doesn’t stop the sniffles or the water that blurs your vision. Before you know it you’re crying, big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and you can’t stop it.

Nico doesn’t even shush you or try to make you stop. He simply reaches up and wipes at your splotchy cheeks, even though it does nothing to keep them dry. You tuck into his shoulder, hiding the stupid whimpers that are squeaking out from your chest into his hoodie.

“It’ll be ok baby,” he coos, rubbing up and down your back gently, and smoothing down your hair. Nico feels so safe, so big and protective holding you like this and the words you’ve been holding back since the hospital finally find the strength to come out, knowing that at the very least he’s got you.

“I failed Nico,” its garbled mess of words, muddied down by your crying and sniffling and his hoodie. You’re surprised he even heard you. But he did.

“What do you mean sweetheart?” He tries to guide you away from his shoulder, and you dig your nails into his bicep to hold on tighter. You’re too ashamed to look him in the eye.

Turning your head, you press your cheek to him so he can hear you this time.

“I did everything I was supposed to do last time and then I got here and it was like I couldn’t think. I left you and Timo, and then I ran and I didn’t even think or fight back. I didn’t do anything you or Timo told me.”

You feel hysterical, squeezing your eyes shut as the words just keep tumbling out and out. And all poor Nico can do is hold you and hope to god it’s enough.

“I was just a stupid crying girl, it was Philly all over again and I kept passing out and crying. How am I supposed to do this, to be this person? I can’t take care of you or the boys, I can’t even take care of myself.”

He sits up, holding you so tightly you almost can’t breathe but it for reason makes you feel even better. Tucking back into your hiding spot, you stifle your whimpers into his neck again and Nico begins to gently rock you back and forth.

“You didn’t fail anyone baby,” maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, like he’s trying to physically gather up the words and squeeze them into your ribs and heart. Or maybe it’s his voice, so strong and confident in what he’s saying. Whatever it is, you calm down enough to hear him, to feel his chest move with every syllable.

“I don’t expect you to be perfect, to be able to do everything for everyone. I’ve spent my whole life in this role and I still fuck it up. I fucked it up with the Flyers and god knows I fucked it up here too.

“But you’re safe now and you’re ok. And we’ll do whatever you want to do. If you don’t want to train with Timo anymore, I’ll get more guards. If you want to train with me instead I’ll switch with him.

“Stay at home, work at the cafe, at the bar, whatever role you want here I’ll give to you baby. Just know you have never once failed me.”

Blinking open your puffy and swollen eyes, you hesitantly pull back to look at him. You hiccup, clumpy eyelashes catching together and Nico reaches up again to wipe at your cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you that day,” you whisper, gaze falling to embroider logo on his chest because you’ll cry again if you see those beautiful eyes of his. “Going behind your back to Luca, calling the boys. I had to do something though, I had to prove that I could do something.”

He cups your jaw, traces the outline of your swollen bottom lip with his thumb but he doesn’t urge you to look at him. Nico’s always been good at knowing when you need a break.

“You killed Marcelo to show us,” he states, not a question or a guess. “You wanted me and Timo to know that you could still do it.”

“I didn’t forget everything,” you nod sadly, peering up at him through your lashes. “I went too far, I know. But I was so scared Nico.”

“I was gonna kill him,” Nico admits, and you tilt your chin up to fully see him. He looks so casual, like he’s talking about the weather outside or dinner tonight, something normal. You suppose violence in this world is normal.

“I was gonna kill Lena too. After I let her know she could never be you.” He shrugs, tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “I think you did it better baby. And I should’ve told you that there but I was scared too. And guilty.

“Being home, I let my guard down. That’s all I could think about when I saw you in the hospital bed.”

Sniffling, you lean back into him, unsure of what else to say. You’re exhausted, your eyes heavy and you’ve got a headache budding in the back of your skull. Nico just holds you, exactly like you want him too.

“I love you,” you murmur, dipping your fingers into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Nico presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you with everything I’ve got baby.”

You close your eyes, inhale deeply to smell his cologne. “I want to marry you.”

His smile touches the side of your face as he presses his cheek against yours, leaning back into the headboard. “I want to marry you too,” he says earnestly “but sleep first ok?”

Not needing to be told twice, you let yourself fade away, telling yourself that you’ll talk to Timo tomorrow. Everything will be fixed tomorrow.

#mob boss nico hischier #nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nj devils #him and i #nico hischer x reader #fluff #mob wife reader #mob boss au #new jersey devils mafia

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darkdemeter · 3 months ago

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・issue #2・ BOYS LIKE YOU

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Dance choreo! Female Reader issue contains material not suitable for readers who are not 18+ or are sensitive to the following: general 18+ suggestive content/sexual undertones — mafia related topics, mention of bootlegging and racketeering — little profanity warning — reader and mafia Bucky banter — use of pet names: doll, sugar — I think that's it? ✎ 2.7k Just when you thought your contract was over and you could put Bucky Barnes behind you, low and behold; here he is calling you up with an offer and beneath it all, asking for that once chance you keep refusing.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

What makes a man powerful?

Many would say that it’s the pool of wealth they sit upon, earning ten times back what they spend in investments worth their precious dime. Or the mass of influence they hold over the greater public, walking as kings and queens, demi-gods all. They say “jump” and the rest of the world says how high and all the while leap as puppets to their strings. Everyone in this world has a game to play.

It just depends on who you play against and the rules and how far those are willing to go to push those boundaries.

This is what makes a man like Bucky Barnes dangerously powerful. A plethora of wealth and status to influence the world with plenty more to boot.

Since your… personal meeting in the privacy of his office that night, you’ve been spinning in your head, constantly wound in the dancing motion. You feel the beginnings of his strings being tied to you to string you along like another puppet to his collection. Another heart he can wrench, pull and manipulate to his pleasure until he’s done with you.

Men like Bucky Barnes are deceptively good at what they do. Only trouble is that there are very few — next to none — that can match him in this game. Not since the Barnes’ rise to power in ‘39. The ruling crown on the leaderboard. It’s why you try to stay away, why you refused to accept the sweet talking he had done on your behalf.

Because the moment you do, everything will fall apart again.

It’s why the check hadn’t been enough to make you stay. Yes, you needed the money. You had cashed it into the locked account you have for safe keeping; for when everything falls apart a second time.

He’s the influencing reason why you ran to Chicago on another job. But even then, he had insisted you fly there in the private jet he had on standby.

He’s already begun to sink his teeth in your skin. A venomous bite of a viper that poisons you with luxurious and sensuous promise.

In the hired studio the pulse of the music vibrates through the polished and sleek floorboards, the clatter of your heels thrum with sharpened clicks as you and your contracted students carve your spinning routine from one side to the other.

“Heads straight, focus on a point in the wall and always keep your eyes on it,” you remind them, hair flicking with each twist. Your body remains poised and anchored.

“Keep your frame tight and locked.”

They’re wonderful girls, eager and fast learning. College age and taking dance classes together since they were little and they wanted to rekindle that old fire for an audition to the talent show. You wished them luck but in the haunted other half your mind you wanted to give them fair warning. In that game, you are a player that can easily become played like a pawn by the wrong sort of people. And if you cross those people…

You give a small and dismissive shake of your head as you move to the music. Your students follow suit after you, mimicking the routine you had spent the last two weeks rehearsing. To test their knowledge and memory, you pause midway, the kick in your leg half heartedly swinging in motion and you turn to observe them.

They keep at it, ensuring that their focus remains trained and focused, moving together in synced fashion. You nod your head with praise. “Good. You’re doing good, keep it up.”

You lean back against the cool glass of the mirror while your eyes track them closely, noting a few touch ups that could use a little work. But overall, they were doing well for a straining routine learned in two weeks.

By the finale of the music you move to guide them again until the studio falls silent.

“Alright, and that concludes this lesson, girls.” They relax themselves, breathing with deep inhales and exerted exhales. You walk towards where your phone hooked into the studio stereo, checking the time and grabbing yourself a drink from your water bottle.

“Thanks again, Miss L/N, see you next Thursday,” says Amy with a grin and tired wave. You see the flush in her cheeks and the way wisps of her blonde hair stick to her forehead. A dewy warmth of sweat clings to the back of your own neck now that you take notice.

“See you then, girls. Good luck with your exams.”

“Bye!” Once they had packed up their belongings and left, you were all that remained in the studio. The owner had been gracious enough to give you a few hours before and after your booked sessions to rehearse and do whatever it was you planned; so long as you didn’t damage anything. She’d been sweet when you first spoke on the phone with her, but meeting her in person you realise she’s a case of sass despite her elderly age.

You finally check your notifications as you take sips from your water, allowing yourself a moment of respite and laying back on the floor. It felt nice against the warmth of your skin, like the coolness dragged it from your very bones.

You missed several texts and two calls from Tam. The poor girl was having guy troubles and you type out your response to her recent message, ignoring the other concerned texts asking how you were doing in Chicago.

Tammy no. Don’t go on a date with Sam. ┗

You don’t have to wait long until the three dots dance in a wave.

But he’s so cute! Ugh ┗

Uh uh. Just don’t do it. ┗

She sends through a single emoji of the rolling eyes, followed by a gif of a cartoon character saluting with an overexaggerated art style, texting beneath it all.

Aye aye captain ┗

She continues to ask you with her previous line of questioning and you give a vague response, telling her you were doing fine in Chicago. The last thing you needed was her giving you advice on men. Especially that of Bucky.

Your head begins to feel fuzzy at the mere thought of him that you have to stop yourself before you fall too hard.

No, I can’t get involved like that again.

That’s what you have to keep telling yourself. He is a dangerous man by himself, but with you in the picture, possessed in his grasp he would be a force unstoppable. This is what you must keep in the forefront of your mind when you even give in to that shred of want. That tiny piece of you that perhaps yearns for him, to entertain his flirtatious affairs.

But if you do that then you are no better than that girl who knew next to nothing. You would be putting yourself in that direct line of danger again and be breaking a promise that ensured your safety.

Tam had suddenly stopped texting you and your brows furrow, almost accusing her through the screen of your phone. She’s probably texting Sam much to your obvious warning to her. You had to hope that he’d treat her even a little bit right than you had been. But in your experience, it didn’t end well. It didn’t last. It was all a front.

You of course ignore the many walls of texts and calls from Bucky, not even giving him a hint of what he was looking for: attention. A reaction to his wishful fling. It’s not built to last, even if you wanted it to.

But you won’t fall for that trap again. You simply can’t.

As if running on clockwork, your phone buzzes with his number plastered over the ID. It’s trouble written all over it. So why do you finally take the bait and answer with a drastic sigh.

“Shouldn’t you be busy with your racketeering and bootlegging, Mr. Barnes?”

It’s no use trying to play dumb with him. He’s like a wolf, able to sniff you out. He was well aware you knew who he was the moment you laid eyes on him. And he can’t fault you for the way your eyes widened that little bit, pupils shrinking into tiny dots as you froze like a doe caught in the headlight.

How he’d much rather see that reaction when you’re finally pinned beneath him, seized beneath his power and ready to be fucked dumb. He chuckles on the other end and something deep inside of you wishes you were in the very room with him when he did.

“Quick little thing, aren’t you?” he hums, “How’s Chicago treating my girl?”

With a snarky hum of your own, the sound physically making your nose scrunch up, you cannot help but remind him of the very official, non-intimate status between you both. “Not yours. Chicago is good.”

“Give it time and a few dozen cut diamond adornments; you’ll be mine.”

You laugh into the phone speaker. Does he hear half the stuff that comes out of his mouth? You can almost sense the way his eye twitches at the sound, mean and condescending, a threat to peg down his ego as his sharp, blue eyes stare deeply as suffocating pools.

Rolling your eyes, you retort behind a slight smirk. “Is there a reason you’re calling, Barnes? It’s a bit of a strain to simply ring for a booty call.”

“You’re more than that to me, sugar. All you have to do is give me a chance.” His tone of voice is almost sing-song, but the rumbly pitch is all wrong. It gives off a more sinister intention. He’s playing the board his way, manipulating the game by his own rules. He’s trying to corner you.

What did you have in mind?

“I don’t think you can afford a single chance with me, Barnes.”

You’re tempted to hang up the phone right there, to leave him no doubt with his dick caught in his hand and you with the final say. Boys like him can’t bear the thought of anything else more embarrassing.

He coos and you use your imagination to fill in the blanks. How his tongue rolls over his canine with contemplation, how his eyes would roam over your body, eyeing up the spots he particularly wants to leave bruises and marks behind.

“You wanna bet?”

Yes.

“Why would I waste my time?” You huff and flick away some of your hair that falls into your vision.

“Because the reward is worth submitting to. Now let’s skip the foreplay, sweetheart, I want to ask you something.”

Oh, your mouth forms into that shape, eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint. If he wanted to call you up and play games then you would happily demonstrate the winning ace up your sleeve. Just to rattle his chain a little…

“Barnes, let me give you a word of advice for your future conquests: never skip the foreplay.”

You’re testing him and it’s showing. You dance on the very thin line of a man’s patience who only grants you so much leeway. The game against the big boys with the big guns and even bigger businesses; a man who can easily ruin you in the best or worst way possible. It all depends on your angle.

He growls, the sound crackling into the phone a little with its deepened note. “What I’d give to have you over my knee right now for talking to me like that, doll…”

Your bottom lip sinks inward, teeth pulling and biting down hard. Was it always this hot in the studio? The palette of your skin becomes heated, warmed by the panging want for your vibrator between your legs. If you even dare imagine for a second that it’s Bucky’s hand instead…

You fight hard to suppress the almost moan escaping your throat. Clearing your throat and fanning the warmth flushed into your face, the floor no longer able to cool you down, you sit up.

“So listen up, and keep that pretty mouth shut for a second so I’m not tempted to fill it—”

“Mhmm.” You giggle to hide the way your breath has grown a little heavier, your face growing ten times hotter under such a forward threat.

If you were in the same room as him right now, you know he’d be pressing you with that warning glare, the brightened tinge of blue slivered thinly with a framing of dark lashes.

“I’ll be heading out to Greece later next week for an annual charity ball. And I want you to be my special plus one.”

You half hear the proposal at first and you already have a snarky retort whipped before you’re stopped short, voice cut midway. “Greece?” you sputter, eyes growing wide. “Oh no. No, no— heh… no! What? Bucky, I can’t go to Greece with you, what the actual fuck?”

You’re scampering. He has you on the run, you’re folding in your hand of cards and he’s on the win with a poker facade broken into a triumphant smirk. You hear him snort on the other end of the call.

“Why am I still even talking to you…” He overhears you mumble to yourself amidst the clip of your heels pacing. You don’t want to play this game anymore.

“I told you, I don’t hang around with people like you—”

Bucky interjects quickly. “Quit playing the good little girl act, it’s not fooling me. You know what you want, you’re the type of woman who does. And you want to take this chance.”

“You don’t know me very well then,” you snide back. “I… no, I can’t come to Greece. It’s been wonderful talking to you again, Mr. Barnes but our business with each other had concluded. Good luck in your endeavors.”

“Just think over my proposal, would you? I already had your dress delivered to your residence.” His voice is low and smooth. Close enough to almost fool you into believing he stood right next to you, breathing his seductive threats into your ear directly.

The dial of the phone shuts off into a dullened blur, signalling that he’d hung up before you could say another thing. He had the final say much to your stunned disappointment.

Getting back to the small apartment you were temporarily staying at, you indeed find the pristine white box laid out on your bed presented with a neatly tied black bow and surrounded by an abundance of rose bouquets and petals. You unravel the gift you didn’t ask for and open it to reveal a beautiful, sleek and fitted gown. Attached with it was a note and a copy of the event Bucky invited you to, scoffing when the date coincidently took place on your birthday.

‘An early present for the birthday girl. If you come to Greece, you can open the rest of your presents with me x

Bucky’

Even when you tried to keep your promise to your father, you just couldn’t keep away from boys like him. To play this game, you have to be strong but also smart about the hand you’re dealt, the way you play your next move. And you’re playing right into Bucky Barnes’ hands for a second time. A man who so clearly lusts for you in ways that are obsessive.

Wickedly and dangerously possessive.

I’ll come to Greece. But for the charity event ┗

What a sweetheart. I knew you’d see things my way. x ┗

In New York, Bucky smirks down at the screen of his phone, cock straining in the confines of his dress pants that become a little too tight around him at the thought of you. His fantasy of opening you up like his own little present. Your skin between his teeth, your quivering and plush thighs wrapped around his sturdy and built waist, Your hot, breathless pants and mewls kissing his skin as your body is pulled flush against his that ripples with a grinding touch. How you’d sound moaning his name, begging him for more.

Bucky can tell by the look in your eye that you have a more heightened understanding of what he’s capable of. He doesn’t want you to fear him, he just wants your love and body desperately and deeply.

You have him, hook, line and sinker.

You have him obsessive about you. Possessive of you.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, About time I published this issue. *face palm*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @blackhawkfanatic @melsunshine @angelbabyyy99 @railmesebstan @pinkribboncoco @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pdraxxi @mrsnikstan @tammyruby

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