#yandere mafia

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[sunnypopoki]

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.1

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘎𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯… 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

P.2 / P.3

When you first saw him, you were left breathless.

That was years ago though, back when you were a teenager in high school who was only worried about the acne on your forehead and the 'F' you got in your math class. Now, you were preparing to head into college to become a psychiatrist.

You met Kieran as a freshman and started dating him months after. You weren't sure why you started dating him at first, you couldn't remember what he said that left your cheeks on fire, but the feeling next stopped.

Kieran grumbled curses under his breath as he heaved the last of the groceries through the door. His long black hair was messier than normal, tied into a low bun that curled strands around the nape of his neck. His tanned cheeks were red from the cold outside and a button on his shirt was popped open. Did he tousle a bear to get inside? He put the items on the counter and turned to face you.

"The groceries didn't want to come inside," he mumbled.

"You didn't give me a chance to help you carry them in."

His dark green eyes softened. He didn't look at anyone else the same way he did you. There was a time after you got married that you were afraid that he'd leave you because the two of you were yet to be intimate... but he didn't seem to care. You were glad he didn't care. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead.

There it was again. Breathless.

"But you've been working all day, Котик," he cooed, his Russian accent thick whenever he muttered the pet name he always used for you. "You deserve to rest."

All you wanted to do was melt into his arms. You couldn't deny that some part of you already was, sinking further into his embrace, eyes closed—but something was amiss.

Ever since high school, Kieran has been odd. He was a transfer student from London but he was born and raised in Russia, so he was always the popular kid in any class he was placed in. Even after he got in trouble multiple times for delinquent behavior. Sure, his behavior was better than what he was in high school and he was mature, but he was a lot more secretive now. So secretive that he refused to tell you where he went whenever he disappeared for "business trips" for days on end.

Now, you were a trusting wife, but you weren't naive. He worked as an editor for authors and yet he disappeared for days on end because of work? Even a baby could realize that was odd!

That wasn't the only thing though.

You've only been married to Kieran for six months but you were already starting to see signs that he wasn't entirely focused on the marriage anymore. Whenever his phone rang, he scrambled to pick it up before you had a chance to answer it for him. On the days you scheduled to go on dates together, he always arrived late with his clothes tousled about and his hair was undone. Late, late, late! He always seemed to be late for every activity the two of you scheduled together. Of course, he'd apologize over and over again, but the behavior never changed.

So maybe he did look at someone else the same way he did you. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Is he cheating on me?

It was a thought you never thought you'd have with Kieran. Whenever the two of you were dating in high school, he was loyal to a fault. You couldn't erase the memory of whenever a girl started smack-talking you and he yanked her hard so hard that a chunk of hair came from the roots. Even now, looking at him and being held by him, the thought felt distant. But it was there. That gnawing worry got worse and worse each time he got a call, text message, or left the house.

Well, who'd he be cheating on you with? He refused to have female friends in school because he always claimed that you were the only "woman" he wanted in his life. Of course, you didn't care if he had female friends or not, but you doubted it was someone the two of you knew from high school.

Your jaw clenched. Maybe he's bothered I haven't been intimate with him and he's been going to see someone?

The bitter taste worsened. Making out and slight touches wasn't the same as sex, you knew that, which is why you were so nervous to do it, even if it was with him. He never rushed you and he hadn't ever made comments about it. You listened to the thudding of his heart against his chest and pursed your lips.

You couldn't bring yourself to ask him if he was cheating on you. What if he said yes? What if he wasn't and left you because he thought you were a psycho? What if he lied and continued to cheat? Your hands scrunched up the fabric of his shirt as you hugged him tighter. You didn't want your first love to cause you heartbreak by something as revolting as cheating.

A cold hand pressed against your cheek. Kieran tilted your head back and his eyes flickered across your face. His brow creased in worry.

"Are you okay?"

No, not really. I'm worried you might be cheating on me.

But you couldn't say that.

"Yeah! I'm fine," you beamed and pulled him closer to you. "I just missed you, that's all. It was your day off but you've been out doing errands since this morning. You first went to the pharmacy to get our medicine, then the bank, then to get groceries... aren't you tired?"

He didn't look convinced. Then again, he'd known you since you were fourteen years old, so he knew how to read you like a book. His green eyes darkened momentarily and his teeth nipped at his bottom lip. His fingers traced lines above your cheekbone, jaw, and the shell of your ear.

"I'm sorry. I should have spent more time with you today."

"No, Kieran, what are you even saying? Errands need to be run so I'm appreciative that you did them," your hands fiddled at the button that came undone on his shirt. "That can't stop me from missing you though. I just feel as if you've been..."

His fingers stopped. "What?"

You regretted saying anything at all. You should have just said you missed him after a long day and went on with it, dragged him to the couch, and asked him to watch a movie with you. Your hands pulled away from his shirt and you saw the way his body tensed up like a spring. It wasn't too late to change the conversation. Maybe lie to him and say it was just a joke, that you weren't really worried. No, no, that'd be an asshole thing to do to your spouse, to make them worry you for nothing.

"(Y/N)?"

He never says your name unless he's serious or mad. Your eyes dragged back up to meet his and his jaw was clenched. He didn't look mad, he looked worried. Almost like you just punched him in the gut and he was doing his best to stay upright.

Why did he look like that? Based on all your rushing thoughts, worried about the possibility of him cheating on you, you were the one who was struggling.

"...I just feel as if you have been distant lately," you confessed with a tight smile, "but it's okay. I know you've been busy with work and I've been busy with getting ready for my upcoming lectures next week. I'm probably just being clingy again."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel hurt that he said nothing or relieved, but you knew that he didn't buy a single thing you just said by the way he was looking at you. He wasn't moving from the position he had on you; hand on your cheek, tense jaw, stiff muscles, darkened gaze. He breathed slowly out through his nose and opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

You saw a flicker of something else in his eyes whenever he closed his mouth. Guilt.

Why does he feel guilty? you thought, dread creeping up your spine. Am I right? Is he cheating on me?

You blinked in surprise whenever he pulled you into him again. His nose nuzzled into your neck and you almost suffocated with how tight his arms wrapped around you. His lips pressed little kisses against your neck and he breathed in deeply. For a split second, you almost forgot what you were so nervous about, you almost let the worry of him cheating on you slip from your mind.

"Котик, I'm sorry you've felt so lonely. I'll be able to spend more time with you soon. It's just... work, it gets in the way of so much. But I swear, I'll be able to hang out with you tomorrow without doing anything. I promise, okay?" he let go and cupped your cheeks, "me and you can do whatever you want to do for tonight. A date? I'll do it. Go to bed early? As long as you're in my arms. Anything."

Lies were best told with a sweet tongue. You weren't even sure if he meant well by telling you that, not whenever this wasn't the first time he'd promised something like this. In the end, he always got a call which caused him to leave the house for a couple hours (or sometimes a couple of days). You were used to it by now, so you only forced a smile and nodded. His face lit up.

"We can go ahead and watch a movie now if you want?"

You blinked. Now? He usually put things off whenever it came down to sitting down and watching something. You refrained from glancing at the clock. You wanted to spend time with him but you were already fearful of how much time you could before he was called away or got distracted with something. You couldn't remember the last time you sat down and watched something with him. Though, you supposed it was better than him not being there.

"And what movie do you want to watch?"

He grinned. "I believe I said whatever you want. Maybe we can watch a horror movie? So I can..." he twirled you around and hugged you from behind, "wrap my arms around you like this and protect you from evil. Hm?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "That sounds just like an excuse to hold me."

"I'm your husband, I don't need an excuse for something like that," he kissed your cheek. "truthfully, I adore it whenever you depend on me. That includes each time there's a jumpscare and you almost shit your pants each time."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. I don't get that scared."

"You cried when we watched The Haunting of Hill House together."

"Okay, there's a difference between a demon that you can't fight and some serial killer breaking into your house! I'd rather take the serial killer. Plus, that was years ago when it first came out and it was a sad show."

You didn't miss the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Maybe the term 'odd' wasn't the best way to describe him with the way he has been acting recently. After the two of you graduated high school, he started to get touchy about certain topics about crime. He always had a fascination with crime back when he was a teenager in high school, but the topic suddenly became grim for him whenever he got older.

You weren't sure why. Honestly, you've never asked. The topic wasn't something you'd be able to bring up with ease, especially when he tried to change the topic each time someone wanted to talk about true crime or the news with him. You remembered that he was worried when he found out you were going to school to become a therapist... worried that you'd get stuck with a patient who did bad things.

You didn't even want to get into how paranoid he was about the police. That was a different topic entirely.

"I find something real to be much more terrifying than a fictional ghost," he murmured.

"But demons could be real!"

There was a long pause. You felt his muscles churn around you, squeezing you tighter, refusing to let you go and he mumbled seriously. "Promise me that if anyone broke into our house and you had to pick between going with them or a demon, you'd go with the demon."

"What are you on about?" you deadpanned, "I thought were talking about movies, and Kieran, I doubt a scenario like that would ever happen."

"Promise me, (Y/N). Demon or not,  you won't go with anyone who breaks into our house."

Your eyes narrowed. "Keiran, I don't have to promise you something that is common sense. I obviously won't be going with anyone who breaks into our house. You act like you think someone will."

He huffed and let go. The warmth of his embrace leaving left goosebumps all over your body. You didn't get a chance to say anything before he flashed a blinding smile, chuckling.

"I was just making sure. You've always been a daredevil, so I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't try and challenge anyone who barged into our house. I doubt anyone would break in anyway."

It was only natural that you didn't believe him. There were a lot of stories where people said that their partners changed after marriage, sometimes for the better or the worse, and you weren't sure if Kieran's change was good or bad. His paranoid nature only made it hard to believe that he wasn't cheating on you. He was clingy before he married you, but he was overly clingy and sweet now. Which was odd because he was often out of the house or on phone calls...

It was just, well, odd.

"Oh... okay then. Do you need help putting up the groceries before we watch a movie?"

"No need, Котик. You can prepare the movie for us to watch. Choose anything you want."

There was a game you played. Each time you noticed Kieran avoid looking you in the eye, you took three gulps of breath. It was mostly a game you played to calm yourself down from the rush of anxiety you felt each time he did. It left you wondering if you did something wrong, if you made him pissed and he didn't want to look at you anymore. Your lips curled into a frown.

He could just be watching a movie so I wouldn't complain about missing him.

You nodded silently and turned on your heel. It would be best to ignore that entire conversation happened. Worrying over his suspicious and paranoid behavior wouldn't change the fact that he was acting that way. You glanced at him one more time as he placed the milk into the fridge. Yeah. Don't worry about it. Just don't worry.

The living room was down the hallway to the left. The floorboards squealed at the weight and you sighed whenever you walked to the couch, picking up the remote and turning it on.  The two of you didn't have a lot of streaming services so almost everything you watched was on Netflix. Your fingers tapped around and you absentmindedly scrolled through the list of movies.

You were tempted to throw on a movie that you already watched. However, it was supposed to be time spent together and you knew he'd get bored if you clicked something that he had already watched. You clicked a random scary movie. The name was confusing and it looked like a found-footage aesthetic, something about the catacombs under Paris and the philosopher's stone.

"I'm sure he hasn't watched this..."

"Watched what?"

You jumped whenever he clamped a hand on your shoulder. Whipping around on the sofa, Kieran was leaning over the back with a sly smirk on his face.

"Already scared?" he chuckled, "I have a gut feeling you're going to be clinging to me throughout this entire movie."

You pursed your lips. He already got all the groceries done that fast? You knew that he didn't like to waste time but he was insanely fast doing that. He massaged your shoulders whenever he noticed the frown you had, his smile growing wider by the second. He jumped over the back of the couch effortlessly and plopped down right beside you.

"Why are you frowning, my sweet Котик?"

"You got done way too fast with putting the groceries away" you squinted. "It's not normal."

He inhaled. There was a rasp in the back of his throat whenever he leaned forward, his breath tickling your skin. The air was knocked from your lungs whenever his gaze flickered to your lips and back up to yours. "Would you believe me if I told you that I have been craving to be close to you? Especially to kiss you..."

Heat crept up the back of your neck. All the worries you had melted away whenever he pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He wasn't avoiding your eyes, now he was staring so intently that you were afraid that you were going to become a puddle of goo in his arms. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

"Mm, can I kiss you?"

"...do you have to ask?"

He chuckled breathlessly, "Yes. It's polite."

"But you're my husband."

"Yes, I am."

His lips smashed against yours. Anything you wanted to say was thrown out the window whenever his hands gripped your waist and yanked your body against his. His hand brushed up your spine, up your neck, brushing over your hair and going to cup your face. His lips were cold and his nose was too, breath smelling like the mint gum he always seemed to chew. The hint of his cologne tickled your nose.

Your hands ran up his arms and you tugged at the collar of his shirt. He was still a ruffled mess from when he came in from outside. His hair was a knotted mess that needed to be brushed out, but that didn't stop your hands from tangling in the strands and tugging at them. A groan tore through his lips.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," he whispered against your lips. "I don't want to stop kissing you now. Mmm, do we have to watch the movie? I want to give you more kisses."

You almost agreed. "...But the movie is already waiting to be played."

He licked his teeth and his hands ran up and down your back. He swallowed and you noticed the dip of his adam's apple, his eyes staring at your lips again. "Of course, we should watch the movie, but..."

"But what?"

"Can I kiss you even more after the movie?"

The fire in your cheeks felt like your skin was melting off. There were times when it felt like you were in high school again, getting all flustered because of his needy nature. Ever since you have known him he has always been the type to enjoy kisses. Even something as chaste as a peck on the forehead, he was a sucker for it. Whenever the two of you first started dating, he'd get so red each time you kissed his cheek, stammering over nothing and quickly kissing your cheek back and scurrying away.

Now look at him. He was pulling you in, begging for more, kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen. He even kissed you like that on your wedding day. His entire family was whooping and cheering after that, and your few family members who attended frowned. You remembered being embarrassed at the time... but you were glad that something like that didn't change.

"Very well. You can kiss me all you want after the movie. Don't try and sneak some in while we are watching, because then you won't focus on the movie at all," you mumbled.

"You're flustered so easily, Котик," he grinned. He leaned into the couch and placed his arm around the back, fiddling with your sleeve as he rested his cheek against your head. "But fineeee. I guess I'll obey your orders for now."

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. It only took you a couple of seconds for you to get comfortable and curl into his side, shuffling to find the remote as he tugged a blanket over you both. You never got an answer on if he watched it before or not but by the way his eyes were glued to the screen whenever you clicked play, you assumed not.

Time became a blur. Now and again he'd comment on the movie or just something toward you, but his arm never moved from its spot behind you. He curled his legs up on the couch and mumbled complaints under his breath whenever he saw the characters do something stupid.

You started to forget your anxieties. Even just for a short while, it was nice to relax with him and to feel him close without having to worry about him leaving to go on some 'business trip'. You were focusing on him too much to even care about the movie. The way his lips formed a thin line whenever he was annoyed, his rapid blinking each time something shocking happened, bouncing his leg up and down.

It was impossible to not love him.

He noticed you staring. His cheeks turned a little pink. "What?"

"Nothing."

His ego would explode if you told him you were staring at him just because he was fun to watch. Hearing his endless teasing wasn't something you were in the mood to hear, so you just feigned looking back at the movie to watch it. His eyes burned into the side of your head for a second long before he looked back to the screen.

You glanced back at him. He was sucked into the TV again. He chewed on the edge of his knuckle and you let your eyes wander. You stared at the tattoos that peeked out from under his collar and sleeve. All those colorful tattoos were hidden away. He had some of them before you met him, which you always found surprising that he had tattoos at such a young age, but he just said "It ran in the family".

It was addicting to trace your fingers over them. Kieran liked laying around shirtless whenever it was summer. You always used to visit his old apartment to sit with him and let him read his books while you doodled on his arms and called them 'new tattoos' while you colored in his blank tattoos. Butterflies fluttered whenever you remembered the way he smiled at you each time you drew on him.

He had so many tattoos that you weren't sure how many he had. Some were in Russian, but a lot of them were creatures from folklore and mythology. Like Baba Yaga, who came from Slavic Folklore, which was tattooed on his right hip. You always used to doodle accessories onto her face.

"Котик, are you going to continue staring at me or are you going to watch the movie?"

You quickly avoided his gaze and looked at the TV. "I am watching the movie."

"Surreee."

Everything was fine for a while. A while, you said, because it didn't take long for all that built-up hope and affection to come back down from its high. Soon enough you'd be feeling the withdrawal. You were in the middle of watching the characters climb through a tunnel of bones whenever a phone started to ring loudly. It bounced off the walls and jarred Kieran out of his trance.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Your smile fell. Kieran cursed.

The arm slung around your shoulder tensed, his hand curling into a fist that turned his knuckles white. His jaw flexed, and the phone rang for a couple more seconds before he moved from the couch and grabbed his phone from the cushion.

It was bad luck. You were convinced that you were cursed with bad luck. A sour taste bubbled in your chest and coated your tongue. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you shut the TV off completely as that swell of expectation came back. The remote was tossed to the side and the blanket slipped to the floor.

You caught a glimpse of the phone screen before he answered it. UNKNOWN. Of course, it was another random number that he didn't have saved to his contacts. You clutched the blanket in your lap and a lump formed in your throat. Seriously? Why were you going to cry? You knew that he wouldn't be focused on you forever. It also wasn't like you knew he was cheating on you, you had no proof, it was just a suspicion. But that didn't stop the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes.

You knew it was a lie whenever he promised to spend the rest of the day with you, you weren't sure why you let your hopes get up. But it still hurt.

He pressed the device to his ear and snapped.

"What?"

Just who was it that made him sound like that? You've never heard him sound so hateful, so nasty, to just some random caller on the phone. That meant he knew who was calling him even when the number popped up. The random person he didn't have saved in his phone. Someone he possibly didn't want to be linked to.

Thousands of questions tumbled through your mind. Kieran wasn't interested in men, so if he was cheating, it wasn't a man... unless he was interested in men and hasn't told you? He has a lot of male friends. No, no, having friends of any gender doesn't just mean that you'll sleep with them or have a second life with them behind your partner. So if it was a woman... where would he have met her? Maybe it was a client and he was editing her book?

He did read a lot of articles. There was always the possibility that it was a writer of those, right? Wait—

I'm not being a good wife right now, you thought. Your nails picked at your cuticles. I'm just assuming things without any proof. Am I being like one of those psychotic, obsessive wives? Is there something wrong with me? What if I'm the issue?

Your bottom lip wobbled. You clamped your teeth on it to keep Kieran from noticing.

He started to pace and ramble around the room in Russian. He didn't seem to be talking to anyone, mostly to himself in frustration, as his hand was placed on his hip and he cursed under his breath. There were many times in your life when you wished you knew Russian; when you first met him, to impress him, to have conversations with him, to learn his culture and language... now you were more concerned if he was frustrated about a girl or not.

The only Russian word you knew that he actively said around you was 'Котик', a Russian term of endearment meant for a lover which meant "kitten" or "kitty". You didn't need to jump leaps to guess what it meant even if it was a somewhat cheesy term to use (at least in your opinion), but you never argued, since he has called you it since the two of you were teenagers.

"I thought I told you to—"

Kieran cut himself off quickly whenever he realized you were still in the room with him. He dragged the phone away from his ear and his eyes snapped to you, his face falling into despair whenever he noticed the TV was off and you were staring up at him. Another broken promise. Another lie. Another phone call he just had to pick up, that he couldn't ignore for one night. Just how many more broken promises were you going to take before you finally asked him why he couldn't keep them?

Damn it. You really wanted to cry.

Even if it wasn't him cheating on you, even if it was work, some part of you wished that he included you in it as well. You were aware that you weren't supposed to be in every single part of his life. The two of you were supposed to be comfortable in the relationship, not joined at the hip breathing down each other's necks.

You just didn't get it. It wasn't like 'work' was going to straight up kill him if he didn't answer the phone for one night!

Kieran didn't know what to do. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you with so many open emotions on his face that you couldn't read all of them. But he knew what he had done. He picked up the phone and that alone was enough to break a promise, even if he hadn't left the house. Yet. You knew how it worked—he always left the house after late phone calls like this. You were slowly starting to get used to the feeling of falling asleep without him there. And some mornings, he wasn't in bed either, only a note left on the counter with breakfast he made.

His shoulders sank. "Котик, I... uhm, I need to take this phone call real quick so I'm going to step into the other room, okay? I'll be right back though and me and you can finish the movie—"

Liar.

"Uhm... I think I'm just going to go to bed. I'm starting to feel tired anyway. Uh, make sure to lock the door behind you whenever you go out."

He always did. You weren't sure why you were reminding him.

Deep down, some part of you wanted him to feel guilty. It was that small whisper of hope that if he felt guilty then maybe he'd start changing things for the better, to start telling you why he was so secretive, and to start sleeping in your bed again. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. Sure, some nights he did fall asleep in your bed. But some nights weren't most nights, and most nights weren't every night.

I miss a man who's right in front of me.

His entire expression crumpled. He opened his mouth to say something but faltered, watching as you got up and threw the blanket the two of you were sharing back on the couch. Oh how badly he looked like he wanted to say something. And how badly you felt about yourself whenever you saw his expression, because seeing him feel guilty didn't bring satisfaction, it only made your heart hurt more.

"(Y/N), I—"

"It's okay," you flashed a smile, "I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

If he'd be there tomorrow morning.

You didn't give him a chance to respond before you turned on your heel and scurried to the bedroom. The house which you picked with him seven months ago now felt cold and lonely compared to the warm idea you had when you first saw it. Tears sprung forth whenever you closed the door behind you, choking into your elbow as you did your best to muffle the small sobs that let your lips. You couldn't hear him anymore or the muffled rambling over the phone.

The room was dark. The floorboards were ice cold and you didn't bother to brush your teeth, wash your face, or change into pajamas before you crawled under the covers and hid.

Emotions were a complicated thing. You hated how they felt and how it was so hard to understand them. All you wanted was for Kieran to come to you and have a conversation about what was going on, but now you were dreading that he would because you didn't want him to see that you were crying. He always got so panicked whenever you cried. Always brushing away your tears, cooing sweet things in your ear, kissing your face and neck anywhere he could.

Which made you wish he did see you cry.

See? Emotions were complicated.

You don't know how long you laid in bed. You only heard the whir and popping of heat rushing through the vents, warming up the room until you were toasty under the thick blankets. There were times when you swore you heard a shout from the other room, muffled and something you couldn't understand, but then it was gone. Possibly a figment of your imagination, maybe it was Kieran shouting over the phone.

Your day started with a good start. Then everything deescalated in a whirlwind of emotions that you didn't know how to control. All the suspicions you had about Kieran were becoming worse and worse.

If he is cheating on me, you thought. What would I do?

The idea of divorcing him left your heart aching. Ever since you started dating him, you've never wanted to leave him, but cheating would mean you'd have to. While you loved him, you didn't love him enough to stay if he was living some second life with another woman. You gnawed on the edge of your thumb and curled your legs up to your chest.

If you divorced him, you'd have to find somewhere cheap to stay where you could still go to college and not sleep in the streets. No way your parents would let you stay with them until you got back onto your feet, they didn't like you marrying Kieran in the first place because of his delinquent behavior in school and the fact he wasn't going to college. They'd probably tell you 'I told you so' and let you rot.

The part-time job you had now wasn't enough to live in a decent apartment. The two of you lived on the outskirts of the city,  you wouldn't be able to afford a good apartment in the city closest to campus so you would have to settle in one of the apartment complexes near the beat-down part of the city, where a lot of reports of trafficking and crime were made.

A shiver shot down your spine. While the apartments there weren't the cleanest or nicest, the issue of rampant crime was the most concerning. You'd have to buy a taser or pepper spray, something like that. Or learn martial arts? You'd have to find a teacher that wasn't expensive.

Why am I even thinking about this?

Guilt crashed into you like a barreling stampede of horses. Tears blurred your vision as you nuzzled into the pillow and whimpered, muttering soft apologies under your breath. You hated how your mind worked. One thought and you'd take it and run, not giving the chance for hope and optimism to spark. You had to remind yourself for the umpteenth time that you didn't have any proof that Kieran was cheating.

You were the bad one for treating him like he was whenever you didn't know. At least, that was what you believed. Other wives acted better than you. They trusted their partners, but here you were, already daydreaming about your life if Kieran was cheating on you. Just a was.

Soft footsteps broke you from your thoughts.

The door creaked open and light poured into the dark. You stayed still under the blankets, face hidden away in the pillows to keep the sight of your tear-streaked face away from him. The floorboards creaked a little bit the bed shifted whenever you felt him sit down and lean across. His familiar touch grazed your cheek and traced the contours of your face. He sighed.

"Котик, are you awake?"

You didn't respond. Not this time.

He tugged the blankets down and there was another sigh. His fingers trailed farther downward and rubbed circles on your back and patterns that only he understood. He mumbled under his breath to himself. "She didn't change into something comfortable... not even the belt."

It took everything in your power to not move whenever his fingers fiddled with the metal clasp of your belt and he slipped them from the loops. He put the belt on the other side of the bed and the mattress shifted whenever he got closed, strands of his hair tickling your cheek whenever he leaned over. He pressed a kiss on your jaw.

"Ah fuck," he grumbled.

What is that supposed to mean?

Then there were more kisses; jaw, cheek, forehead, lips. He attacked you in kisses and every now and again he'd sigh and stop to trail his hands across your head or over your back. You could tell he refreshed his cologne. It was subtle but it was there, tickling your nose each time he moved to kiss another part of your face.

"Котик, if you're awake, I'll be back tomorrow evening and we can watch all the movies you want. I'm sorry I'm heading out again, but some people at work are being really stupid right now," he whispered against your ear. He kissed it tenderly. "I'll buy you your favorite ice cream on the way back home too. I know you'll be happy with that..."

There was a long pause. He didn't move.

"I love you."

Maybe he waited for you to respond, to say 'I love you' back, but you didn't. It wasn't that you didn't love him... god, the one reason why everything hurt so much was that you did, but you didn't dare to confess that you were pretending to sleep just to avoid talking to him. You didn't want Kieran to hear your voice cracking from crying. Especially since now, you knew he was leaving the house again.

You didn't believe him when he said it was work and you felt guilty that you didn't. He was an editor, he worked from home or his rented-out office, and it wasn't like he had people who worked underneath him.

"Котик, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he whispered.

He didn't say anything else except for a lingering kiss on your temple before he got off the bed. The weight of his body leaving felt more familiar than him being there. Kieran blew a breath and muttered something in Russian before he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him and you were left in the dark alone once more.

The emotions you felt earlier surged back up to the surface. Your nails bit into your palms and tears trickled down your cheeks and dropped onto the pillow. All you wanted was for him to get in bed with you, hold you, fall asleep, and still be there whenever you woke up the next morning.

So instead of facing them and bawling, you swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes. Sleeping it off was better than facing it. Soon enough, you'd find out what he was hiding and what this "work" meant. Your small cries were muffled as you did your best to fall asleep before you got too heavy into your thoughts and cried even harder.

Luckily for you, sadness was exhausting, and you crashed before the clock hit midnight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N ;

So you might have noticed the reader isn’t a Mary Sue or know it all. I tried to make her realistic, someone who’s insecure in her relationship, etc. So I hope that came across well. If you don’t like her, remember she’s human, she can change and develop in the story. She isn’t going to be perfect.

But anyway, did you enjoy this first chapter? You can also find it on my Wattpad and Quotev, which is listed on the top of my account. My discord server is also listed there! Remember to comment and heart if you enjoyed it.

[ Read P.2 ]

[darkbluekies]

Stupid people

Yandere!mafia!oc x reader

Summary: a number sends Silas a picture of darling that sends him into rage

Warnings: murder, mentions of NSFW, Silas lashes out towards darling, guilt, slight indication of a character asking if it was consensual (it was — the deed, not the pictures), pictures taken without permission, punching and kicking between legs

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: to clarify, the photos are taken AFTER the deed, not during!

There's only two people Silas likes enough to let them be in his office for more than asking a question — you and SIC.

“Stupid people are my favorite kind of people”, SIC says from the couch, eyes glued onto his phone. “Some idiot here tried to jump from a roof.”

“If only our enemies did that so that i didn't have to go kill them”, Silas smirks.

“Since when were we that lucky?”

A notification on his own phone caught his attention. Silas picks it up and unlocks it, seeing that the notification is from an unsaved number. He clenches his jaw. Photos. It takes a second for him to realize what — who — is in these two photos. He can recognise that back among millions. He sees that back every night, always holding it close to his chest.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts and rises from his chair in a swift.

“What?” SIC asks quickly, looking up from his screen.

Silas slams his phone down on the floor. It shatters and explodes in every direction. SIC jumps up from the couch.

“Woah, what’s going on?” he asks quickly. 

Silas can't reply. His heart is hammering in his throat. If he tries to speak, it'll jump out. His entire body is shaking. He's been mad before, but nothing compares to what he feels when you are involved.

“Silas?” SIC asks. “Sit down.”

He presses Silas down in the chair again.

“What happened?” he asks. “Give me a real fucking answer this time.”

“Some disgusting little bitch sent me photos of Y/N”,  he spits out, growing angrier by every word. “Naked, in a bed. I think you can figure out the rest yourself.”

SIC blinks. “Shit. Who?”

Silas gestures manically towards the broken phone. “I didn't write the number down before I fucking smashed it!”

“Alright. I'll take out the sim card and put it in my phone. I can find out.”

“Don't look at the photos, got that? I'm not joking. I will beat you up if I find out that you've looked at the photos.”

“Don't worry, boss, I won't.”

Silas sighs in frustration. He storms out of his office, up the stairs and throws up the door to your shared bedroom. You're nowhere to be found.

“Y/N!” he shouts angrily.

You come out of the bathroom, looking bewildered. A fear grows on your face when you realize how mad he is.

“What's wrong?” you ask quickly.

“Who the fuck have taken pics of you while having sex?!” he shouts. “Who is the low creature that has pictures of you?!”

Your eyes widen.

“What?” you ask. “Silas-”

He moves closer and you can't describe his demeanor in any other way than threatening. You stumble backwards, finally reaching the wall. Even when he's mad, he'd never do things to make you scared of him, never show you the side he shows his men and enemies. But this time, he doesn't seem to care about holding back. You get to see what everyone else sees.

“Whoever the little fucker is, I will shove that camera of his so far up his ass it'll puncture a lung, do you understand that?” Silas spits, face mere centimeters from your face. 

“Silas, I-”, you stutter.

Silas grabs the perfume standing on the shelf beside you and sends it flying across The room, breaking against the wall. You watch on in complete horror. Not even in the basement is he this violent, not around you.

Behind him, you see SIC run into the room, stopping in the doorway. He watches on with wide eyes.

“Who is it?” he spits before raising his voice. “Give me the name of the worthless little creature! I'll kill him!”

“Silas, I don't know!” you shout loudly in order to be heard over his own shouting. Tears blurry your vision as silence fills the room. “I d-don't know, I swear! I have no knowledge of a-any pictures taken of me. Please don’t be mad at me, I don’t know anything, I s-swear …”

You have wrapped your arms around yourself. You look so incredibly small. And helpless. He feels as if someone has punched him right in the stomach. He can't bring himself to shout at you. The fire in his eyes seems to blow out, leaving his eyes as dark as they should. He breathes heavily, feeling empty and painfully aware of everything around him — every little sound, movement. He finally realizes what's going on.

“Fuck”, he breathes out in a whisper and pulls you into his arms, into a tight embrace. “I'm so sorry.”

You sob into his shoulder, voice getting muffled in his white shirt. Silas hugs you as if his life depends on it.

“Baby, I didn't mean to shout at you”, he whispers. “I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at that disgusting filth. Not you, do you understand?”

He pulls you back and covers your face in apologetic kisses, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears.

“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

You nod slightly and sniffle. Still shaking, but not mortified. 

“What pictures?” you ask with an unsteady voice.

Silas looks at SIC.

“Did you get the number?” he asks.

“No, I didn't have time to move over the sim card before I heard the glass shattering.”

Silas clears his throat. His ears turn red.

“Go retrieve the number and then come back”, he says.

SIC nods and walks out. Silas turns to you. He cups your cheeks and kisses your lips carefully.

“Sorry”, he says again.

“It’s … okay”, you mumble.

It doesn't seem to register for him. He has a guilty look in his black eyes.

“Silas … what pictures?” you ask again, dreading the answer yet needing to know.

“There’s nothing to worry about, I shouldn’t have told you. I will take care of it, okay?”

“You got so upset about it … something must be wrong. Have someone taken pics of me while I’ve … had sex?”

Silas can’t tell you. He knows how distraught you’ll be. 

“No, not while you had … after you were done … I don’t know”, he says. “I could have misunderstood the pictures. I broke my phone right after seeing them.” He notices how you give him an unsure gaze as he mentions his phone. “I get worked up quickly.”

You sniffle. Silas wipes your tears again and hugs you even tighter, resting his cheek on the top of your head. He feels like a complete fool, how could he slip up like that? He would never shout at you, never make you feel threatened. For fuck sake, you’re supposed to seek shelter and comfort in him!

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Silas asks. 

“Mhm”, you mumble. “Just shaking.”

“I can tell.” His embrace tightens. “Let’s sit down, alright?”

He moves you to the bed and sits down with you beside him. 

“What have you done today?” he asks and wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

“I’ve been watching some shows”, you reply. 

“Which one?”

“Some cartoon … I don’t remember the name.”

“Do you think I’d like it?”

You give him a small smile and shake your head. “No, it’s too cheesy for you.”

Silas smiles. “What type of fucking stereotype is that? Show me and I’ll decide for myself.”

You reach for the tablet and show him a few minutes of the cartoon. He leans onto you, wrapping himself around you like a boa constrictor. 

The door opens and SIC returns with his phone in his hand. 

“Got it”, he says and walks over to the bed. “Y/N, take a look and-”

Silas slaps his hand away. 

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” he scolds him. “You’re not showing them those!”

SIC holds his phone out of Silas’s reach. 

“I am”, SIC replies.

Silas stands up. The animalistic, lredatory light is back in his eyes. You don’t doubt that he would punch him. 

“I am going to show these pictures to Y/N to confirm that they remember the sex happening”, SIC explains sharply. “Because if they don’t, we might have a worse crime on our hands.”

Silas doesn’t reply. He seems to think, and seems to consider whether he should punch the man or not. He nods in defeat. SIC gives you the phone and you take a mortified look at the two pictures. 

“Do you recognise where you are in these two pictures?” SIC asks. “Do you know when this was? Do you have memories of it?”

You look at the pictures, fearing that you’re not going to recognise the location or remember what happened … or who you were with.

“I know when and where this is”, you say. “It was five years ago. I remember it.”

“You're sure you remember it?” SIC asks.

“Yes … but I didn't know that he took pics …” 

“Okay, the fucker is dead”, Silas decides.

“What was his name?” SIC asks.

“‘Eric’ something”, you say. “I met him at a party. He was nice, or so i thought, and-”

Silas runs a hand through his black hair and sighs.

“I guess that he wasn't that nice”, you mumble.

“Pricks like that are never nice. They're just polite enough to lure people to get what they want. Who knows how many innocent people's photos he has on his hard drive?”

“Silas, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“If you manage to find him-”

“Not if; when.”

“When you manage to find him, give him an extra punch from me, will you?”

Silas smiles. “I'll give him tenfolds.”

Finding him is easier than the poor fellow had anticipated. Silas pities him. He's either too stupid to know who he is or has a death wish. He can't decide which one is worse.

“God, you're even uglier than i imagined”, Silas scoffs as he sees the man for the first time.

He's held up by two of his men, body pounded with punches beyond recognizable, but they've left his face untouched. That's for Silas to ruin.

“You're even uglier than your mess of a body”, he says, grabbing the man's face, tuning it carelessly. “We haven't even touched this yet. What did you gain from this? Not a lot, I see. I mean, you're here, in my basement, about to be killed. Can't say that I understand your intentions.”

“Did you like the pictures?” Eric asks, voice drowning in painful moans.

“‘Did i like the pictures?’” Silas repeats, appalled by the man's lack of remorse. “I don't need your pitiful pictures. I get the full act from whatever angle I want.”

It shouldn't make him cocky, but bragging about it always fills him with pride.

“Give me his phone”, he orders.

One of his men digs up the phone from Eric's pocket. He forces him to unlock it.

“Do you take these types of pictures often?” Silas asks, eyes narrowing as he scrolls past hundreds of women sleeping in beds. “What even are these?”

“I take a picture of the woman after our session, after she's fallen asleep”, Eric replies, “as a trophy.”

“As a-”, he cuts himself off. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Silas hits him with all his might. Eric's head shoots backwards, his neck acting like a jojo to get it back. Blood runs down from his nose.

“Delete all the pictures”, he tells SIC and gives him the phone. “From the phone, any cloud, any other hard-drive. These pictures will never be seen by anyone ever again.”

“Yes, boss”, SIC replies and takes the phone.

He disappears up the stairs. Silas turns to Eric.

“How did you get my number?” he asks. “And, when you got it, didn't you check to see who it belonged to? You're pretty stupid.”

“I just know that the number belonged to Y/N’s new boyfriend”, Eric replies.

“Husband.”

It shouldn't fill him with such pride at a moment like this, yet it does. 

“You're going to die now anyway, so it doesn't matter if I tell you my name”, Silas says. 

One of his men gives him a knife with a long shiny blade.

“Boss”, SIC says from the top of the stairs. “Y/N’s here.”

Silas hurries to give the knife back and gestures for him to hide it. 

“I’ll come upstairs”, he says. 

Before he has time to move, you've bursted past SIC. He tries to grab at you, but you're already half down the stairs.

“You absolute worthless piece of shit”, you spit.

Silas raises his eyebrows. 

Oh?

You run right over to Eric and slap him. Silas stands stunned. It takes him a few moments to gather himself and stop looking like a fool. He turns to the stairs where SIC stands, holding his hand over his face, laughing silently. He folds and has to hold onto the wall.

“How could you take such pictures?” you ask him. “What gave you the right?”

Silas grabs your shoulder to pull you away from him, but you shake him off.

“It's not like I took pics while we had sex”, Eric says, voice sounding even more painful.

Silas smirks. He can already tell that'll happen by the way your eyes widen. And he won't stop it. Won't even try to. You hit the man again and kick him between the legs. He tries to curl up, but is being held up by Silas’s men. 

“Okay, okay”, Silas says and grabs your shoulders, pulling you backwards. “Enough of that. SIC, take Y/N to the bedroom and make sure they stay there.”

SIC grabs you out of his arms. Silas grabs the knife once more. 

“What should we start with?” he asks, spinning the knife. “Your hands? Arms? Legs? Decide, coward.”

SIC forces you upstairs before he has the time to cut off any body parts.

“Let me go!” you mutter. 

“Just stay quiet until we get up to the bedroom”, SIC says. “Nice shot you got, by the way. I know it caught Silas by surprise. That’s hard to do, you know.”

“He deserves more.”

“And Silas will give him that, don’t you worry. That is not your job. You got two punches and one kick in, that’s enough.”

WHen you try to run back downstairs, he picks you up over his shoulder and continues upstairs. 

“Don’t give me more trouble”, he sighs. 

SIC walks into the bedroom and places you down on the floor before barricading the door with his body to make sure you’re not making a run for it. 

“The pictures are gone”, SIC says. “All of them — of you and of other people.”

“How many were there?”

“Hundreds. All taken when they had fallen asleep afterwards. He kept them like trophies.”

The door opens before he’s done with his sentence. Silas walks in, finally looking pleased. 

“Dona already?” SIC asks. 

“I got impatient”, he mutters and closes the door. “Little thing, are you okay?”

You nod. Silas hugs you, kissing the top of your head. He still feels awful about shouting at you. He squeezes you even tighter. 

“Thank you”, you say quietly. “You helped not only me but also a lot of other people. That’s a good thing.”

His heart clenches. He has apologized a million times and you have forgiven him … but he can’t seem to forgive himself. It all happened so quickly, yet it lingers in him. 

“Of course”, he says. “Scumbags need to be taken care of the right way. I kind of pitied the man. He must have been extremely stupid to let me know about him. Good that he was stupid though.”

Thinking about him makes him furious once more, but he reminds himself that it’s over. He has gotten his punishment … and Silas has saved people. Innocent people should never be punished for crimes they didn’t commit.

No one will ever see any those pictures again. No one will have to deal with that man ever again. 

[yanderedrabbles]

Sunk and Gone

Yandere! Gangster x Mafia Boss! Reader

Fluff, needy yandere, age difference, slightly suggestive content

He was just some dumb kid who played with fire.

Before he knew it, he was getting his ass kicked by the real deal, the big time guys.

He dropped your name out of pure desperation. He had no clue who you were really. He just wanted to save his own skin.

He never expected you to actually show up.

In your white tailored suit, you were like some mafioso guardian angel.

You tilted his chin up to face you and he couldn't bear to meet your eyes. You were goddamn terrifying.

"This little punk says he's one of mine?"

You lazily blew your cigar smoke into his face. It was black cherry, high class stuff. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, the way it made his whole body tingle.

He thought he was done for. You were probably gonna set your own guys on him for dropping names he had no business knowing.

He never expected you to save him.

His beat down gurus were cussing up a storm, saying he practically maimed one of their guys, he wouldn't even be able to walk for a week.

What bullshit. The most he did was give the guy a shiner before he was getting his own ass kicked.

You smiled at him then, like you knew exactly how much crap they were spewing.

You nodded and your guys threw a fat stack of cash on the table. All 100s. God, there must have been at least 5k just sitting there.

You hauled him to his feet and that's when he realised you were stronger than you looked too.

"Why?"

He barely even managed to ask that.

You were trying to light a new cigar and get back in your fancy car, but your lighter was just throwing up sparks.

He found himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out his shitty gas station lighter. He struck a flame and held it out to you.

You leaned in and caught his eyes for the second time that night. The flame was dancing in your eyes and you looked just like the devil.

He was sunk right then and there and he knew it.

He showed up outside your office everyday, waiting with his lighter clasped in his sweaty palm.

Everyday without fail, you would give him a chance to light one of your smokes for you.

"Don't you got someplace better to be kid?"

"No ma'am."

And he kept doing it, rain or shine or snow. On bad days, he'd bring his umbrella and unfurl it for you before you even stepped out of the car.

"You shouldn't keep hanging around kid. It ain't safe."

"I know ma'am."

He stayed, despite the dirty looks from the gangsters, despite the way they bumped into him hard enough to bruise. He stayed, stubborn as a goddamn mule, until you gave up on getting rid of him.

"I got a job for you kid."

"Anything you ask ma'am."

Oh he was a sucker for you. You had him hook, line and sinker without even trying.

And he worked hard. Running errands and then pushing drugs and then beating down the folks you set him loose on. There weren't any limits anymore, no line he wouldn't cross for you.

After a while, you let him in your guard rotation. And he was in bliss. He watched you constantly.

Hell, he couldn't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to. The capo himself said he was impressed with his diligence.

"Come here kid. You ever had oysters before?'

"No ma'am."

You were in one of your favourite restaurants, finishing up your meal and just drunk enough to have given yourself a pretty flush across your cheeks.

You made him lean toward you and gripped his chin before tilting the oyster into his mouth. It was salty and soft and his mind was going awful dirty awful fast.

After that he would order oysters whenever he could. He could almost feel your fingers on his skin when he ate them.

And soon he was part of your interrogation crew. His shirt sleeves rolled up and his forearms splattered with blood. He was putting on muscle now too and his punch hurt worse than a hammer to the face.

One unlucky son of a bitch made the mistake of insulting you right in front of him. God help him, when the anger cleared, the man's face was nothing more than pulp.

And you were watching him. One arm crossed under your breasts with the other balanced on it, a cigarette held up to your lips.

"You're a real good guard dog, you know that kid?"

"Thank you ma'am."

The next time you summoned him, you were in your office. Your heels were off and your legs were crossed, your stockings showing off the curves of your feet.

"Grab that pen for me."

It was on the floor under a side table and he had to get down on his knees to get it. When he moved to stand, you interrupted him.

"Don't get up. But bring it here."

"Yes ma'am."

He was grinning like a dog in heat. He put the pen in between his teeth and crawled on his hands and knees to you.

He sat at your feet like a goddamn puppy, his boner so fucking hard he thought it would rip through his trousers.

You cupped his chin in your palm and looked down at him. From down here, your legs looked a mile long and he wanted to lick every inch.

"You're such a loyal little thing, you know that?"

"Ysss mmm."

It was muffled because he still had that fucking pen in his mouth. And he was damn thankful for it too. Without something to bite onto, he was sure he'd actually be panting.

You took it carefully out of his mouth. A string of saliva followed it and you twitched your thumb across his lips to break the connection.

"Good boy."

You turned away from him, shaking the pen off a little and getting back to the books you were balancing.

He whimpered.

He actually fucking whimpered.

You smirked a little at that and shooed him away with one perfectly manicured hand. He dragged his feet walking out of there, his boner killing all higher thinking. Just hoping and praying you would call him back.

He turned to look at you before he closed the door. You had your face resting in one hand and you were tapping the pen against your lips with the other. Your eyes were entirely focused on your books.

And he felt it all over again. He was sunk - hook, line and sinker.

He was your loyal dog. Now and always.

[allurilove]

Yandere Mob Boss x you

*This is inspired by the show called My Sweet Mobster! And this is just a short little drabble! I just quickly wrote this, so if there’s any mistakes, I am probably going to fix it.*

Synopsis: You’re a mommy blogger who shares your life on the internet, and unbeknownst to you, a terrifying and dangerous mob boss starts to watch all of your videos.

He just wanted to wind down for the day. There was nothing more tiring than coercing information out of stubborn little fuckers—people who were a huge threat to his empire—and ending up with nothing when they succumbed to their wounds from hours of torture. He sat in his huge California king bed with the softest sheets known to man, the air conditioning blasting at the perfect temperature for the room, and he scrolled through his YouTube recommendations.

He used the remote to flip through all the channels he had previously watched and liked. But one really caught his interest. He first rolled his eyes when he realized it was one of those mommy “bloggers” who just boasted about how their lives were better than everyone else’s, and how they conveniently got a pass to post the craziest and most intrusive things about their children. Kids getting exploited wasn’t something he wanted to watch, and he was surprised to even see your channel show up on his flat TV screen.

The yandere mob boss mostly watched primitive cooking videos or those men who went out into the wilderness and built houses from the ground up. Although, he was too lazy to click on a button to skip your video, so he decided to give you a shot instead.

You were perfect. Too perfect. It was hard for him not to get sucked in and binge-watch every post you had made. He was absolutely enamored at the sight of you and your adorable children. He barely blinked whenever you came on the screen, and his eyes tried to get a good look and memorize your face completely.

You were just talking about how you liked to make things from scratch, how you kept a little garden in your backyard, and how you got the kids to help you out as a fun activity. He learned that the father of your children was a deadbeat who never wanted to do anything with the kids and left the moment he could. Judging by your frustrated tone in your ‘Get to Know Me’ video, you were upset that he had left you so soon and suddenly. It certainly wasn’t easy for you at first, and you talked about how you wished you had a mentor to help you. Thus, this channel came to be. You wanted to help other women and help all the families that were going through the same thing as you. You were an amazing person, mother, and you gave helpful advice to all the new parents out there.

You were the total opposite of him. You were better.

You wouldn't kill people, you wouldn't threaten and torture them to the brink of death, and you were sickly kind and sweet to everyone. It was nauseating for the man to even think about dealing with hate comments (he got them daily from the news outlet), to edit and figure out what to do for each video, and you started to open his eyes and made him realize that you were practically superwoman.

The yandere mob boss was so grateful that you had posted about a hundred videos on your mommy blog. A hundred videos for him to see a glimpse into your life. There was nothing safe about how you were so open and honest, and certainly, you should have kept your mouth shut about the new place you were about to move into.

For someone who was a YouTuber, you knew nothing about internet safety. He took a mental note of how the interior of your new house looked, and you even showed a bit of the exterior and the neighborhood. He wrote down in his notes to remind himself to look for the exact house on Redfin or Zillow.

The yandere mob boss knew your two children’s names: Lila and Finn. Lila was the youngest of the two; she didn’t look anything like you, which meant she looked like the baby daddy. It was a shame, really, that the cute small girl had to end up with genes from the horrible parent. The eldest stuck to you like glue. He clearly held a candle for his father still, and was having a hard time adjusting to the new lifestyle. Despite that, you continue to push on.

And so did he.

Yandere mob boss binge-watched all of your videos to the point where he knew everything there was to know about you. He knew all the schools you went to, all the partners (you were willing to share) you had previously dated, and he could feel his cold exterior start to crack when he let out a genuine laugh at your witty jokes. He spent hours, weeks, and now months watching your channel flourish and grow.

He smiled when you did. He too let out a sigh of relief after you saved your kid from tripping. He laughed, cried, blushed, and got angry when you did. The expressions and emotions he was feeling were all controlled by your content, and by you personally. You truly had him in the palm of your hand.

[fangdokja]

🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

❤︎ Synopsis. Caught in a web of lies, a spy's double life unravels when her mafia husband discovers her betrayal—turning their love into a merciless game of dominance, vengeance, and obsession. She was his wife, his possession, and now, his prisoner.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 -The Enemy in His Bed

♡ Word Count. 8,853

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, forced oral, fear play, knife play, needle play, heavy bodily injury, slut shaming, objectification, psychological torment, actual torture methods, mature language, humiliation, degradation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, groping, biting, bondage, nudity, fire play, gagging, physical assault and violence, choking / breath play

You are in a room that reeks of blood and mildew, the air so heavy it feels like it’s pressing down on your lungs. The faint hum of a fluorescent bulb flickering above casts the space in a sickly yellow light, illuminating the cold, concrete walls streaked with rust-colored stains. You’re tied to a chair—no, anchored. The ropes around your wrists and ankles are so tight you can feel the pulse of your blood struggling beneath them, the fibers cutting deep into your flesh. Your breathing is shallow, ragged, your chest rising and falling as if every breath might be your last.

He stands in front of you, a towering figure cloaked in shadow. His silhouette is broad and unyielding, the kind of presence that fills every corner of the room with an oppressive weight. This man—the man who used to call you lyubov moya—is no longer the husband you once knew. The ruthless Russian mafia boss whose name is whispered like a curse. His eyes, dark as pitch, are fixed on you with a predator’s focus, glinting with something primal, something vile. He’s not here to forgive. He’s here to destroy.

“Do you feel it?” His voice is low, gravelly, but it carries the force of an earthquake. He steps closer, the sound of his boots hitting the floor like a countdown. “That crawling under your skin? That’s fear. That’s regret. And yet, you still sit there,” he hisses, his tone sharp enough to flay skin, “with that fucking look in your eyes.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with bruising force. His thumb digs into the soft flesh just below your cheekbone, forcing your face upward. The light catches his features, and for a moment, you see the rage carved into every hard line of his face. But it’s his eyes that terrify you most. They’re dead things, black holes where love once flickered.

“You betrayed me,” he snarls, the words laced with venom. His grip tightens, and you hear the faint crackle of cartilage in your jaw. “My wife. My fucking wife. And all this time, you were a spy. An actress in my bed, a liar in my world.” He releases you with a violent shove, and your head snaps back, the base of your skull colliding with the chair’s hard frame. Pain blooms, hot and electric, as blood trickles from your nose, the metallic tang filling your mouth.

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing, heavy and deliberate, like a beast stalking its prey. He circles you now, each step echoing like the tolling of a bell. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, his voice quieter but infinitely more dangerous. He crouches down beside you, the leather of his gloves creaking as he pulls a blade from his belt. It’s thin, surgical, the kind of tool meant for precision rather than brute force. “Did you think I wouldn’t break you?”

The blade glides along your collarbone, its edge so sharp it almost feels cold. He presses just enough for the skin to part, a shallow cut that wells with blood and sends a sharp sting radiating through your nerves. “This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips so close to your ear you can feel the heat of his breath. “You don’t get to die yet. Not until I’ve carved every secret out of you. Not until you understand what betrayal costs.”

Your pulse is erratic, hammering in your chest as he stands again, looming over you like some ancient lord of vengeance. His fist connects with your cheek, and the world spins, your vision blurring as pain explodes across your face. Blood spatters across the floor in a violent arc, warm and sticky as it drips from the corner of your mouth.

“Where’s your defiance now?” he growls, his voice shaking with fury. He grabs a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back so your gaze meets his. “You want to look brave, milaya, but I know better. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already breaking.”

His lips curl into a cruel smile as he lets go, letting your head drop forward. The room seems to tilt, the edges of your vision darkening, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of your surrender. Not yet. Not while there’s still air in your lungs.

But he’s not done. He won’t be until every inch of you is stripped raw, every nerve exposed and screaming. He reaches for a switch on the wall, and with a flick, the room is bathed in red light. It casts his shadow on the walls, grotesque and distorted, like a demon looming over the damned.

────────────

The door creaks open, and a figure, one of his subordinates, enters the room, dragging a metal tray laden with an assortment of cruel instruments. Your heart races as the cold steel glints under the flickering lights, each tool designed for a specific kind of torment.

The Russian mafia boss nods curtly, his eyes never leaving yours as the man sets the tray down with a clatter. "You're going to tell me everything," he says, his voice low and deadly.

"And then, I'm going to show you what it means to betray the one who gave you everything." He leans in, his hot breath on your neck, his grip on your chin painful.

"But first, I want you to remember what you used to be to me," he murmurs, the words a dark caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand travels down, cupping your bruised cheek before sliding down to grasp your throat. You swallow hard, the fear rising like bile in your throat, but you refuse to show it. He squeezes, the pressure increasing until your eyes water, but you don't make a sound, not even a whimper.

His eyes narrow in frustration before he releases you, the hand moving to grip your jaw instead, forcing your mouth open.

With a sneer, he brings his face closer, his stubble scraping against your skin as he whispers, "You were once my sweet little bird, singing only for me. Now, you're a caged whore for the highest bidder." He slams his mouth down on yours, his kiss bruising and possessive.

You taste the rage and desperation in him, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a pang of pity.

But it's quickly replaced with a fiery resolve to survive, to somehow escape his clutches.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you bite down, hard. He pulls back with a growl of annoyance, but instead of releasing you, he laughs, a dark, chilling sound. "Good girl," he says, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"You still have some fight left in you." His eyes scan the tray, and he selects a pair of pliers. "Let's see how much you can take."

He reaches for your shirt, his fingers deftly unbuttoning it despite your struggling. The fabric tears away from your body, exposing your bruised and bound breasts. He squeezes them, watching the pain flicker in your eyes with a twisted pleasure. "These used to be mine," he says, his voice filled with a sadistic glee. He leans in again, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "But now, I'll make sure no one else ever touches them again."

The air in the dimly lit room reeked of sweat and copper, a metallic tang that coated your tongue as you gasped for breath. His shadow loomed large, an oppressive specter that seemed to drink in your pain. The pliers in his hand gleamed under the flickering light—a surgeon’s precision wrapped in a sadist’s grip.

His voice slithered through the silence, low and venomous. “Tell me,” he hissed, his words thick with cruelty, “whose touch you’ve dared to crave besides mine.”

Your chest rose and fell, trembling under his gaze. You held your tongue, the taste of defiance as bitter as bile. His jaw tightened. Then, without hesitation, he snapped the cold steel jaws of the pliers onto your right nipple.

The first twist came like lightning, sharp and blinding, a searing current that jolted through your body. The delicate tissues twisted under the unyielding bite of the metal, the nerve endings igniting like fireworks. You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached, your scream lodged in your throat like a jagged stone.

He leaned in closer, his breath an unwanted warmth against your cheek. “Still stubborn, aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and dark amusement. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The second twist was slower, deliberate—a calculated cruelty that made your skin crawl. He pulled, the pliers dragging the sensitive flesh in directions it was never meant to go. You could feel the tissue straining, tearing, fibers unraveling like the threads of a fragile tapestry.

Your vision swam, black spots blooming like ink blots against the edges of your sight. He laughed softly, the sound of a predator savoring its kill. “Beautiful,” he said, almost reverent. “Even in pain, you’re mine. Always mine.”

The climax of his sadistic art came with a grotesque pop, the sound of tissue surrendering to force. The pain was an inferno, all-consuming, burning through every nerve as he wrenched the nipple free from your body. Warm blood spilled in rivulets, pooling on the filthy floor beneath you. The ruined flesh hung like a torn petal before he carelessly tossed it aside, letting it hit the ground with a wet slap.

He stepped back, his gaze fixed on your bloodied chest—a grotesque canvas of raw meat and trembling sinew. The shredded skin wept crimson tears, each droplet sliding down to trace the curve of your ribs. The room tilted; your body screamed for reprieve, but there was none to be had.

“You’re breathtaking like this,” he said softly, running a gloved hand over your mutilated breast. His touch was clinical, detached, as if admiring the precision of his own handiwork. “But we’re far from finished.”

The metal tray clattered as he reached for his next tool—a scalpel, gleaming with sterile menace. But before he could wield it, he paused, considering. With a dark smile, he reached instead for the salt.

The coarse grains glittered like tiny shards of glass as he grabbed a fistful. “Let’s ensure you remember this moment,” he whispered, and then he scattered the salt into the gaping wound.

It was as if the salt detonated on contact, each granule a fresh explosion of agony. Your body bucked involuntarily, the ropes digging into your wrists as you thrashed against your bindings. The scream that tore from your throat was raw and primal, reverberating off the walls like a wounded animal’s last cry.

His smile widened, a cruel crescent etched into his face. “Much better,” he said, almost soothingly. “Now we’re making progress.”

The pliers returned, their jaws still slick with blood as they moved to your remaining nipple. This time, you could see the shadow of his intent, the cold malice in his eyes as he clamped down. The pain came like a tidal wave, drowning you in its depths as he twisted, pulled, and twisted again.

The nipple tore loose with a sickening crunch, cartilage snapping, blood spurting in a violent arc. Your chest was no longer your own—it was a ravaged landscape of gore, a grotesque testament to his control. The raw, exposed tissue oozed and quivered, a mockery of what it once was.

He stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes drinking in the destruction he’d wrought. “You’re exquisite when you break,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “But don’t worry, little wife. There’s so much more of you left to ruin.”

You hung limp in the chair, your body trembling, every nerve ablaze. Your silence persisted, but his words lingered, curling around you like smoke, a promise of horrors yet to come.

────────────

The mafia boss steps back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes never leaving the destruction he's wrought upon your body. His hand reaches down to adjust his crotch, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

He's enjoying this, the sadist, getting off on your suffering.

"You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice low and filled with a primal hunger. "You're going to beg for me to stop. And when you do, I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He moves to stand in front of you, his pants tenting obscenely. He unbuckles his belt, the leather making a harsh sound as it's pulled from the loops, the anticipation in the air thick and suffocating. He unbuttons his pants, and his cock springs free, hard and angry. He strokes it, the motion taunting you, a silent challenge to see how much more you can endure.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a whip crack that slices through the pain.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction, keeping your eyes cast down, focusing on the puddle of blood forming around your chair.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Look at what you've done to me," he snarls. "You've turned me into a monster."

He steps closer, pressing his cock against your bruised and bleeding chest, the heat from his arousal a stark contrast to the cold steel of the pliers still digging into your skin. He grinds against you, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You're going to take this," he says, his voice a mix of anger and lust. "You're going to take every inch of me until you remember who you are."

With a brutal yank, he twists the pliers on your nipples even more so, and you feel your body convulse in a silent scream.

He takes the opportunity to force himself inside your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. "Suck it," he orders, his hand fisted in your hair, pushing your face closer to his crotch.

With a burst of defiance, you clamp down on his cock with your teeth, biting as hard as you can, feeling the warm flesh between your teeth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the coppery tang of your own blood.

He roars in a mix of pain and pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrusts deeper into your mouth.

The mafia boss’s eyes widen in shock, but the arousal in them doesn't waver. Instead, it seems to intensify, his pupils dilating with a dark excitement.

"Fuck, you little bitch," he growls, his voice a mix of anger and desire. "You're going to regret that." His hand moves from your hair to the back of your head, pushing down harder, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a sickening rhythm.

You refuse to give in, biting down again, the pain in your breasts and the metallic taste of blood only fueling your resolve to fight back.

He responds by slamming your head into the chair, stars exploding across your vision, but you don't let go. The pain radiates through your skull, but you hold on, biting even harder.

The Russian's hand trembles with a mix of rage and arousal as he pours an unmerciful amount of salt into the gaping wounds on your chest.

The agony is instant and overwhelming, your body arching off the chair as the salt sears into your flesh, setting every nerve ending alight with pain.

The scream that rips from your throat is muffled by his thick cock, still lodged in your mouth. His grip on the back of your head tightens even more, his hips jerking as your teeth graze his shaft, the scream vibrating along his length.

He watches your face contort in torment, his own expression a twisted blend of love and hatred. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Scream for me."

He pours more salt, the grains falling like a sadistic rain upon your ravaged breasts. Your teeth clench around his cock as you fight back the urge to pass out from the pain. Your eyes squeeze shut, and tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood and saliva that coats your chin. He seems to revel in your suffering, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breaths more ragged.

The henchman, his eyes wide and slightly horrified, watches from the corner, unsure of what to do. The Russian mafia boss, noticing his employee's discomfort, turns to him with a wicked smile. "You want a taste?" he asks, his voice a dark promise.

The man shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the macabre scene unfolding before him. The mafia boss laughs, a low, chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Then get the fuck out," he snaps. "I'll handle this one."

The henchman nods hastily, retreating from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You're alone with the monster you once called your husband.

The salt has stopped falling, but the pain remains, a constant reminder of your betrayal and his wrath.

He pulls back a bit, panting heavily, his cock still hard and slick with your saliva. He looks at your destroyed breasts with a twisted kind of fascination, the blood and salt creating a gruesome tableau. "You're so beautiful when you scream," he murmurs, his voice almost tender.

His hand reaches out to trace the edge of one of the wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos.

You flinch away, the slightest of movements, but it's enough to snap him out of his daze.

The mafia boss’s hand clamps down on the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him again. His eyes are dark with lust and anger, a storm brewing in their depths. "You're going to pay for every lie," he says, his voice a promise of unspeakable torment.

He then pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound echoing through the room. You gasp for air, your throat raw from his rough treatment. He steps back, his gaze traveling down your body, taking in every bruise and tear. "But not before I make you feel everything I felt when I found out you were whoring around."

He grabs you by the hair, yanking you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles making you stumble. He pulls you to the tray of instruments, his eyes lingering on a long, thin knife.

The blade glitters in the light, a silent threat of the pain to come. He picks it up, his hand steady, his movements deliberate. "You're going to tell me who else has had you," he says, the knife hovering just above your skin. "Every name, every touch, every time you spread your legs for someone who wasn't me."

His grip tightens, his thumb tracing a line along your jaw. "And for every lie, I'll make sure you feel it here," he says, pressing the knife against your throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the power he holds over you.

You stand before him, your body shaking with pain and fear, but you refuse to speak.

The Russian's eyes narrow, and he presses the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up. "Tell me," he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

But you remain silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes locked on his.

He sighs, a sound filled with disappointment and resentment. "Very well," he says, moving the knife to your chest.

He slices through your shredded shirt, the fabric giving way easily to reveal your bruised and bloodied skin. "If you won't tell me willingly, I'll make you confess."

He starts to cut, the blade digging into your flesh, tracing patterns of agony across your stomach and ribs. You bite your lip, the pain a living entity consuming you, but you refuse to break.

He pauses, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and anger. "You're so stubborn," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I used to love that about you."

His hand moves lower, the knife grazing your navel, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You can feel your body responding despite the pain, a traitorous arousal building within you. He notices and smirks, the knife moving lower, hovering just above the fabric of your pants. "But now, it's just another reason to make you suffer."

With a quick movement, he slices through the fabric, exposing your nakedness to the cold room. He traces the edge of the knife along the line of your underwear, the threat of what's to come clear in his eyes. "You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a seductive whisper. "Or I'll start peeling you like a damn orange."

You force yourself to remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

He leans in, his breath hot on your skin as he presses the knife against your inner thigh, the tip just barely breaking the surface. "Who else has been here?" he asks, his voice a dark caress.

You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood, but still you don't speak. The mafia boss’s eyes flash with anger, and he presses harder, the blade cutting through your skin. You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to scream, not to give in.

With a snarl of frustration, he slices through your underwear, the fabric falling away to reveal your most vulnerable areas. His hand moves to cup your pussy, his grip bruising. "So wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

"Do you get off on the pain I give you?" He strokes you roughly, the knife still pressing against your thigh, a constant reminder of the power he holds. "Or is it the fear?"

His thumb brushes against your clit, and despite the horror of the situation, you feel yourself respond. It's a traitorous betrayal of your own body, but you can't help it; his touch has always had this effect on you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You'll always be mine." His hand moves from your pussy to your throat, squeezing tightly. You gasp for air, your eyes watering as he forces you to look at him.

"Say it," he demands. "Say you're mine."

You refuse, the word 'no' lodged in your throat, unspoken but clear.

His grip tightens, your vision swimming, but you stand firm, your resolve unbroken. He laughs, the sound a chilling echo in the room. "Fine," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "We'll do this the hard way."

The mafias boss’s patience is at an end, his rage and lust boiling over. He yanks the knife away from your throat, the sharp tip of the blade leaving a trail of fire across your skin as he moves it downward.

With a quick, violent thrust, he pushes the knife into your pussy, the cold steel parting your wet folds with ease.

You scream, the sound a mix of agony and despair, your body trembling as he uses the knife to fuck you.

He's merciless, his strokes deep and hard, the blade sliding in and out of your tight hole, the edges scraping against your inner walls with each brutal thrust. You can feel the warmth of your blood mingling with your arousal, the sensation making you want to gag.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. "You like it when I hurt you. Fucking masochist." His free hand snakes around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you on the edge of consciousness.

"You're such a good little slut, taking it all." He continues to use the knife, his knife thrusts growing more erratic as he gets closer to climax.

"Tell me," he grunts, his voice strained. "Tell me who you've been fucking." But you remain silent, your teeth clenched in a silent snarl of defiance.

The room spins around you, the pain in your breasts and the invasion of the knife in your pussy making it difficult to think straight.

Yet, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

The Russian's grip on the knife tightens, his strokes growing faster, harder. "I'll make you talk," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can't hide from me forever."

The knife twists, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, and you can't help the scream that tears from your throat. He smiles, the sight of your pain seemingly pushing him closer to the edge.

As you feel the world fading around you, the older man’s grip on your throat tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and arousal.

He slams the knife into your pussy one final time, the pain so intense you think you might actually pass out.

But just as the darkness begins to claim you, he pulls the knife out, the absence of the cold steel leaving you feeling violated and empty.

He throws the knife aside, his own breaths ragged and desperate, his cock pulsing with need.

"Fine," he snarls, his voice a harsh rasp. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way."

With a quick movement, he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, his cock springing free, thick and hard. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that you face the chair, your destroyed breasts pressed against the cold metal. He kicks your legs apart, and you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your bruised and bloodied entrance.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his breath hot against your neck. "You're going to tell me every name, every face, every cock that's been inside you."

His hand moves to the back of your head, pushing down until you're bent over the chair, your ass in the air. "And when you do, I'll make it all better. I'll make you forget them all."

His cock slams into you without warning, the pain so intense you can't help but cry out.

He's rough, his movements punishing, his anger and pain manifesting in every thrust. You can feel him stretching you, filling you completely, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

The Russian's cock slams into you with the force of a battering ram, the pain so intense it steals your breath away. He's not gentle; every thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a punishment for your silence.

Your body shakes with the impact, your bruised breasts smacking against the cold metal chair, the pain from the fresh wounds sending jolts of agony through your system. His hands are like iron bars, holding your hips in place as he uses you, his grip bruising your skin.

Each time he pulls out, you feel the warm gush of your blood and arousal, mixing with the sticky mess he's creating inside you.

"Who else?" he snarls, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain is a white-hot brand, but you refuse to give him what he wants.

Instead, you spit in his face, the saliva mixing with the sweat and blood that coats his skin.

He rears back, his eyes flashing with fury, and then he slams into you again, his hips moving like pistons, his cock a weapon of torment. "You think you can resist me?" he growls, his voice a dark whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "I'll make you beg for mercy, cunt."

You bite back a scream as he hits your g-spot, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses your body for his own sadistic pleasure. You can feel him thickening inside you, his orgasm building with every punishing thrust. "Tell me!" he roars, his hand reaching around to squeeze your throat again, cutting off your air supply.

"Tell me who you've been fucking, and maybe I'll let you live." Your eyes bulge, your nails clawing at the chair as you fight the urge to pass out.

After a particularly brutal thrust, the mafia boss releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your lungs burning. "You're going to tell me," he whispers, his voice a promise of more pain to come. "You're going to tell me, or I'll make sure you never feel anything but pain again."

His grip on your hips tightens, and he starts to move faster, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. You feel your body betraying you, your walls clenching around his shaft despite the pain, the traitorous orgasm building within you.

"Never," you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

It's all you can manage, but it's enough to fuel his rage. He slams into you again, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see white. "You're mine," he says, his voice a harsh rasp. "You've always been mine."

His hand moves from your hip to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the friction sending sparks of pain through your body. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a dark command. "And then you're going to tell me everything."

Your body is pushed to its limits as the Russian's relentless assault continues. Each thrust feels like a hot iron rod being driven into your soul, the pain unbearable as your body is stretched and filled with his monstrous cock.

The sound of your flesh slapping against his is like a grim symphony of agony, echoing through the cold, sterile room. You can feel your insides tearing, the warmth of your blood mixing with his seed, a grim reminder of his ownership over you. His hand on your clit is a sadistic maestro's touch, forcing pleasure from your bruised and abused body despite the pain.

"Tell me!" he roars, his grip on your hips like vice. "Tell me who's been inside you, and maybe I'll stop." His voice is desperate now, a mix of anger and love warring within him, his need for control overshadowing any shred of humanity he might have once had.

But you remain silent, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind a haze of torment. The only sound in the room is the harsh grunts of his exertion and your muffled whimpers.

The mafia boss’s sadistic stroking of your clit reaches a crescendo, and despite the agony of your injuries, your body responds to his command. You cum around his cock, your muscles clenching tightly, trying to push him out even as they pull him deeper.

He groans in victory, feeling your pussy pulse and spasm around him, his own orgasm building. He fucks you harder, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing down mercilessly on your clit, forcing wave after wave of unwanted pleasure through your trembling form. You scream, the sound a mix of pain and climax, your body shaking as you cum for the second time, blood and fluids painting the chair beneath you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're in pain."

He doesn't stop, his thrusts growing more frantic as he chases his own release. You feel his cock thicken, his grip on your hips tightening until it's almost painful. "Again," he says, his voice a dark whisper. "Cum for me again." And despite yourself, you do, your body responding to the twisted game he's playing with your emotions and your pain.

The mafia man’s orgasm hits like a freight train, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his seed. You feel the warmth of his cum mixing with your blood, the sensation making you want to retch.

But you stay silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your despair.

He pulls out, his cock slick with your blood and his cum, and you collapse onto the chair, your legs giving out beneath you. You're sobbing now, the pain and humiliation too much to hold in.

He stands over you, his chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening. "Look at what you've done to yourself," he says, his voice a mix of anger and pity.

"This is what happens when you betray me." He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head up so you have to meet his gaze.

His eyes are wild, the love and hurt swirling together in a toxic brew. "But I can fix you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can make you mine again." He releases you, and you slump back down, your head hanging limply.

The mafia boss stares down at you, his chest heaving with his own release. The rage in his eyes hasn't dimmed, but there's something else there now. Something that looks almost like hope.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration. "You're still fighting." He steps closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw, his touch gentle despite the bruises he's left there.

"But you can't win, my love."

You spit in his face again, the defiance burning in your eyes like a dying ember.

It's all you have left, and you cling to it with everything you have.

He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand, his smile twisted. "Oh, how I've missed your fire," he says, his voice a low growl. He grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him. "But it's time to put it out."

With a swift movement, he pulls you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles cutting into your skin as you stand. He yanks your torn shirt up, the fabric sticking to your blood-covered breasts.

His eyes travel over your body, a mix of hunger and disgust. "You're a mess," he says, his voice filled with contempt. "But I'll make you clean again."

He pulls you closer, his cock still hard against your stomach. "You're going to tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "And when you do, I'll make you forget all about them."

The Russian's eyes gleam with a dark excitement as he takes in your bruised and bloodied form. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

His free hand reaches down to a specific part of his belt, unbuckling it with a sharp click that echoes through the room. He then pulls out a set of keys from it and unlocks a drawer in the desk, revealing an assortment of whips, chains, and other tools of torture. His hand lingers over them, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he selects a particularly vicious-looking whip.

The mafia boss selects the spiked whip, the leather crackling with anticipation. He takes a moment to appreciate the gleaming metal spikes, the sight of them making your stomach churn. He grabs a bottle of vodka from the same drawer, the clear liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it to your blood-soaked crotch.

You try to jerk away, but his grip on your hair is unyielding. With a cruel smirk, he pours the alcohol over your wounds, the stinging pain making your vision swim.

You scream as the liquid seeps into your freshly torn flesh, the coldness of the vodka a stark contrast to the heat of your blood.

He doesn't give you a chance to recover, instead bringing the whip down in a vicious arc that connects with your bruised and abused pussy with a wet slap.

The pain is a white-hot brand, searing through you as the spikes tear into your sensitive flesh.

You can feel the alcohol burning into your wounds, a fresh agony added to the symphony of pain already playing in your body.

He doesn't stop there, though; he brings the whip down again and again, each strike more precise and brutal than the last.

You thrash in his grip, trying to escape the torment, but he's too strong, too determined to break you. His strikes are methodical, a twisted dance of pain and power, the whip's spikes digging deeper with every hit.

The mafia boss then wraps the end of the whip around your throat, the spikes biting into your tender flesh as he squeezes, cutting off your air supply. You claw at his wrist, your nails leaving bloody furrows in his skin, but he only tightens his grip.

Your eyes bulge, your chest heaving for air that won't come, your vision swimming with stars.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction as he watches the life drain from you. "Tell me," he whispers, his voice a dark promise of more pain if you don't.

But you refuse to give in, even as your lungs burn and your chest feels like it's going to explode.

Your hands fall to your sides, your body going limp in his grip, the only sound in the room the wet, gurgling noise of your struggles. He holds you there for a moment longer, watching you with a twisted fascination before finally letting go.

You gasp for air, your throat raw and burning, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth. He smiles, a twisted parody of affection, and pulls out another tool from the drawer.

It's a metal rod, the end shaped into a cruel hook.

"This," he says, his voice a dark purr, "Is for when you decide to be more… cooperative."

He steps closer, the rod in his hand glinting in the harsh light of the room.

You can see your reflection in the gleaming surface, a broken doll covered in blood and sweat. He runs the hook over your skin, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch that's somehow more terrifying than the pain of the whip.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that's more unsettling than his previous roars. "And when you do, I'll make it all better."

You spit blood in his face again, your voice a harsh whisper. "Never."

The word is a declaration of war, a challenge he seems to relish.

He laughs, a sound devoid of humor, and brings the hook closer to your pussy.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, the hook pressing against your bruised and swollen flesh.

You tense, expecting the worst, but he surprises you by sliding it along your slit, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your pain. The mafia boss uses the hook to spread your labia, exposing the raw, bloody mess he's made of your most intimate parts.

"Look at this," he says, his voice filled with a twisted admiration. "You're so beautiful when you're broken."

He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he runs the tip of the hook along your clit. The sensation is so intense, you almost pass out from the pain.

"But you're going to be even more beautiful when you're mine again."

He pushes the hook inside you, the spikes scraping along the inside of your pussy, and you scream hysterically, your body arching in agony.

The mafia boss’s smile widens as he watches you writhe in pain, the hook still embedded in your pussy. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork, and then reaches for a small, black case on the desk.

Inside, you see a collection of needles, glinting in the cold light of the room.

His eyes never leave yours as he selects one, long and thin, with a wicked curve at the end. You can feel your body tightening around the hook, your muscles spasming in a futile attempt to push it out.

"This is for when you're feeling particularly uncooperative," he says, his voice a dark purr. He takes the needle between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

"But I suspect you're going to be feeling quite cooperative very soon." He brings the needle closer to your pussy, the curve lining up with your clit.

You can feel the sharpness of the tip against your swollen flesh, and you fight the urge to beg him to stop.

But you won't give him that power.

With a swift, precise movement, he inserts the needle, the point piercing your clit and sliding deep into your pussy.

The pain is like nothing you've ever felt before, a searing agony that makes you want to pass out.

You scream, your body jerking against the chair, but he holds you steady, his grip unyielding. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal.

"Take it like the good little whore you are." He starts to move the needle, twisting it inside you, the curve scraping along your inner walls.

Each twist sends a fresh wave of pain through you, making you want to vomit.

The mafia boss steps back, admiring his work, as you sob and whimper in pain. "You see," he says, his voice almost gentle, "It doesn't have to be this way. Tell me what I want to know, and I can make this all stop."

But you stay silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes squeezed shut.

He sighs, the sound filled with disappointment. "Very well," he says, his voice cold again. "But you're going to wish you had talked sooner."

He selects another needle from the case, his eyes never leaving yours.

He brings it to your pussy, the tip hovering just above your clit. "I'll give you one more chance," he says, his voice a deadly whisper. "Tell me who's been fucking you, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

You remain silent, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back your screams.

With a shrug, he pushes the second needle in alongside the first, the sensation of the sharp points tearing through your tender flesh making you want to pass out.

The Russian's eyes darken as he watches your silent defiance.

He starts to play with the needles, twisting and moving them with a precision that speaks of practice and skill. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

"So stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and anger. "But you'll break eventually." He grabs another handful of needles, his eyes traveling over your body, considering where to insert them next. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, the pain making your vision blur.

The mafia boss’s hand moves with the precision of a surgeon, inserting needle after needle into your pussy. Each one sinks into your flesh with a sickening pop, the pain so intense you feel like you're being torn apart from the inside.

You're a pincushion of pain, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body.

The needles are inserted at different angles, some going deep while others skim the surface, the varying depths creating a tapestry of torment that makes you want to scream.

Then the Russian's hand moves with a newfound fervor, the needles sliding into your flesh with an eerie grace.

The hook remains lodged deep inside you, the spikes scraping along your swollen walls as he twists it in a sickening rhythm that matches the insertion of the needles.

The pain is so intense, it feels like your entire body is on fire, your pussy a focal point of agony that threatens to consume you.

You feel the wetness of your blood mixing with the lubricant he's used, creating a macabre dance of red and clear fluids that dribble down your thighs.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've always been mine, and you always will be."

His words are a knife, twisting in the wound of your soul, as he adds another needle, the metal scraping against the hook with an almost musical sound. You can feel the sharp points digging in deeper, the pain an almost tangible presence in the room. "Tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that makes your skin crawl. "Tell me who's been fucking my wife."

The mafia boss slightly smirks, stepping back from you, as his eyes gleaming with a twisted excitement.

He reaches for a small, red canister on the desk, the label written in a language you don't recognize.

You know what it is, though; you've seen it used in interrogations before. It's a can of lighter fluid, and you know what he's planning.

He douses the needles and the hook with the fluid, the harsh smell of the gasoline-like substance filling the room.

Your heart races, fear mixing with the pain as he takes a step back and flicks open a lighter.

The flame dances in the air, the light flickering over the needles embedded in your pussy, making the metal glint ominously.

"This is your last chance," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, and I'll make it quick."

The flame hovers near the needles, the heat making your skin crawl. You clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the unimaginable agony that's about to come. "Who have you been fucking?" he demands again.

But you stay silent, your resolve unbroken despite the hell you're enduring.

With a snarl of frustration, he brings the flame closer, the heat growing more intense until it's almost unbearable.

You can feel your skin blistering around the base of the needles, the smell of burning flesh making you gag.

The mafia boss’s hand hovers over the needles, the flame reflecting in his eyes. "Fine," he says, his voice cold. "You want to play the martyr, I'll give you a performance to remember."

In one swift motion, he presses the lighter to the needles.

The fluid catches fire, the heat searing through your pussy in an explosion of agony that makes you arch off the chair.

You scream, the sound echoing through the room as the flames dance along the metal, the heat spreading through your insides like molten lava. The mafia boss watches you burn, his expression a twisted mix of anger and fascination.

The needles glow red-hot, the heat so intense it feels like your soul is being torn from your body. You can feel the flesh around the hook contracting, the spikes and needles digging deeper with each spasm of pain.

The flames lick at your tender flesh, the pain so intense that it's all you can focus on.

Your screams fill the room, a cacophony of agony and despair that seems to echo off the walls.

The mafia boss watches, his eyes alight with a perverse excitement as he sees you finally break.

Your body jerks and spasms against the chair, the ropes cutting into your skin as you struggle to escape the fire.

The needles are embedded so deeply now, the metal searing your insides as the flames dance around them.

The smell of your burning flesh fills the room, a sickeningly sweet aroma that makes your stomach churn.

────────────

The flames from the needles flicker and die out, leaving behind smoking metal embedded in your burnt flesh. The hook remains lodged deep inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance.

Your body is a wreck, a canvas of bruises, cuts, and burns, a testament to the extreme lengths he's willing to go to break you. Your breathing is shallow and erratic, each inhale a battle against the pain that threatens to swallow you whole.

The mafia boss’s smile fades as he watches you slip into unconsciousness, your body a broken doll in the chair.

He sighs, his frustration clear as he puts out the last of the flames with a damp cloth. He's impressed by your endurance, by the sheer force of your will to survive and not give him what he wants.

But he's not done with you yet.

He can't be.

You're his, and he won't let you die until you're his again.

The mafia boss leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, as he presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your bruised and bloody lips.

The contrast between his gentle touch and the agony of your burnt flesh sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand moves to the hook, gripping it firmly as he slowly pulls it out of you, the spikes tearing through your raw, swollen pussy with a wet, squelching sound that makes you whimper despite being unconscious.

The hook comes out with a final, sickening pop, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

"You're so stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a soft caress that seems to mock the pain he's inflicted on you. He carefully removes the needles one by one, his movements efficient and precise despite the anger that still lingers in his eyes.

Each removal sends a fresh wave of pain through your body, making you jerk and gasp even in your unconscious state. "But that's what I love about you," he says, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration.

The mafia boss sets aside the bloody needles and hook, reaching for a first aid kit that seems out of place in the room of torture.

He cleans your wounds with a gentle touch, his fingers deftly applying ointment and bandages to the burns and cuts. You can feel the coolness of the medical supplies against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the flames that had just been there.

He seems almost disappointed that you're not awake to see his 'care' for you, his eyes lingering on your bruised and broken form with a disturbing mix of love and anger.

"You're going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a strange blend of sweetness and malice. "I'll make sure of it."

He tapes the last bandage into place, his eyes lingering on the gaping hole where the hook had been. His thumb traces the edge of the wound, the pad of his finger coming away sticky with your blood.

He brings it to his lips, tasting you, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he opens them again, the anger in them burning like the embers of a dying fire.

You're vaguely aware of the pain as he tends to you, the fog of unconsciousness lifting slightly.

Each touch feels like a brand, a reminder of your submission to his will.

He wraps you in a blanket, lifting you with surprising gentleness from the chair, and carries you to a cot in the corner of the room.

He lays you down, his hand brushing through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "Rest," he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet glove. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

The mafia boss locks the door behind him with a final click, leaving you alone in the cold, sterile room.

The cot is hard and uncomfortable, but it's the closest thing to relief you've felt in what seems like an eternity.

Your eyes fully drift shut, the darkness behind your lids offering a temporary reprieve from the horrors you've endured.

But sleep doesn't come easy.

The pain keeps you on the edge of consciousness, a constant reminder of the hell you're in.

[d3stinyist1red]

GIRLIE, YANDERE OLDER MAFIA BOSS!!(TAKE YOUR TIME IF YOU HAVE OTHER REQUESTSSSS!!💗)

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ʙᴏss x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yan mafia boss who you work under, with him being your boss and your his right hand woman

yan mafia boss who treats you like you own him, following with whatever you say

yan mafia boss who doesnt like any medics touching him, wanting you to be one treating him

The medic was standing in front of him, clearly fearful for her life bc the man in front of her could kill her if she did the slight mistake. She tried to pat and help the wounds of the Mafia boss who smacked her hand away and huffed.

"Bring me my n/n, now." He said glaring at her as she quickly nodded, basically running to you. She told you about how he refused to let her help and touch him as you sighed. You rubbed your temple before nodding and smiling at her.

"Don't worry, Ill deal with him." You said politely, nodding at her before walking past her, going to the room where he was at. You opened the door and you saw the way his eyes lit up, and a grin landed on his usually nonchalant face. "Love!" He said, as you walked up to him.

"Why are always acting so stubborn to the medics? You know that they're there to help you, idiot." You said clearly irritated, making him pout and tilt his head. "But, I want you to help me!!...and have your hands all over my body..." He whined, grabbing your hand and resting it on his cheek, looking up at you with hearts in his eyes.

yan mafia boss who has to always be in constant contact with you

ʏ/ɴsᴅ𝟷ᴅɪᴄᴋʀɪᴅᴇʀ!

n/nnn

where are uuuuu

n/nnnnn

n/nnnn

...?

...

...

no reply?

Have other hoes?

YOU DO DONT YOU?!!!?!?!!?

i hate u.

You getting blocked.

dont talk to me. I know you hate me.

Okay, im going to kill my self.

...?

....

...

This is (yans name, yall could make sum up) cat, he just shot himself

do you love him

...

...?

baby you know that was all a prank

i love u

pls let me eat ur ass

i wanna slurp ur kitty so good that the only thing i could taste is u mami

(seen 1 min ago)

ʏ/ɴsᴅ𝟷ᴅɪᴄᴋʀɪᴅᴇʀ!

ur rlly gonna leave me on seen?

ur lucky i dont come and cream all over ur face rn

pls touch me

yan mafia boss who has his bodyguards protect you no matter where you go

"Okat sigma 1, hawk tuah, ohio go protect n/n, you better fucking protect her with your life, ya hear?!" He said to his bodygaurds aggressively, scowling them down as they shook in fear,....i think one of them peed their pants...erm!

yan mafia boss who is madly jealous, putting a bullet into anyone's head he sees as threat for your love.

yan mafia boss who when you arent around, he struggles to sleep. He tosses and turns, his mind racing with scenarios about what they might be doing or who they’re with. "is she with that ugly bitch from work again?! Is she with one of my bodyguards?! Is she cheating on me?!" He hiccuped through his sobs, biting on his nails, hair all messy from tossing and turning throughout his sleep

He often wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling empty without them next to him. If you spends the night somewhere else, he'll start spamming you on everything even roblox.. If you dont answer within 5 mins, he immediately sends his men to try to find you, and paces around his house, restless waiting for your reply. bruh u were js buying sum takis...

yan mafia boss who is your boss who favors you a little too much!!! <333

IM PROB GONNA UPDATE SOME MORE ON TUMBLR BUT IM STILL ON BREAK ON WATTPAD CUZ I LOST MY GOD DAMN PHONEEE

SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT I DIDNT RLLY KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR MAFIA BOSS YAN

[iaminpainfr]

-★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★-

A gang kidnapping or buying a hybridgirl reader for their beloved boss's birthday, only for them to realize she's not either a bunny, doggy, OR cat, but a Sharkgirl. They take her to the boss anyway.

The boss is confused and disappointed thinking he would get a submissive girl, but then she suddenly tackles him on the ground, the boss feels a sharp pain in his shoulder, looking to his right he sees a bite mark.

The sharkgirl smiles widely, pearly sharp whites showing.

"I'm not your bitch, you're MY bitch."

The boss should be terrified but he's turned on instead.

-★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★--★-

[meowhara]

Mafia!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader

tw : abuse, mistreatment, usage of bad languages, death, kidnapping

synopsis : In a world where hybrids are becoming a common thing. Scientists sells their experiments for a very high price in auctions, making it possible for anyone with such kind of money to own a hybrid or even more

author's note : OMG! this will be my very first fanfic ever. I hope y'all enjoy this little fanfic I made in such a very short time. I'm so so sorry if there's anything wrong with my grammars or maybe you got confused by how I write things in general. English isn't my first language :)

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮, 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓸, 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Experimenting with human beings are normal by now all around the world, making hybrids one of the most expensive and valuable assets. They're usually sold with a very high price in auctions, anyone who's able to lay a hand on those hybrids must be some very crazy rich and lucky people.

You're those kind of fine breed, sold for an unbelievably high price. But sadly luck wasn't on your side due to how irresponsible your new owner is. He never took care of you like how people should took care of hybrids. He abandoned you, feeding you poorly, using you only for your small and fragile body. Treating you like an animal and make you do his daily chores such as cooking, cleaning, and even doing his laundry. But you never complain, there's nothing you can do and nowhere to escape.

You don't even know how the hell he was able to purchase you from the auction since he doesn't even look like a wealthy man at all. Who's job is only to sell and purchase drugs from here and there then spend shit ton of money for women and other useless things. He woke up late at the day just to hurt you then leave and came back late at night. Sometimes he didn't even bother to come back home, leaving you hungry and lonely inside his small and packed house in the middle of nowhere.

For the past moths he has been stealing drugs from Mafia!Miguel. Miguel tried to track him down for months without any avail and lost him every single time. After learning your owner's pattern for months, he's finally able to caught him off guard.

But the bastard ran back home and hide just before Miguel catch him. Your owner ran back home and locked the doors, telling you to shut the fuck up if anyone come over to look for him and to not tell his whereabouts.

Miguel is one step ahead this time and he's able to track your owner's house. He then banged on the door which made you jumped in surprise. "Open the damn door, you bastard! I know you're inside." He shouted as he kept banging on the door with his men following and standing by behind him, guns in their hands.

Innocently, you walk over the door and open the door slightly ajar and peeked outside just to met his eyes. Miguel was shocked when his eyes met with your big vulnerable eyes and fluffy bunny ears, looking almost as if you're pleading with a small pout on your face. "Yes?" You said shyly with shaky voice. Miguel looks back at his men in confusion then look back at you. "Hello, little one. Is there anyone inside?" He asked, trying to be less intimidating and as friendly as possible in order not to scare you. You hesitated to answer but you shook your head anyway, since it's seems like the only safe answer to give. He examines your beautiful and small figure from head to toe just to find bruises everywhere then to your dirty clothes that you're wearing. You look up at him with tired eyes and flat expression, making you look like a broken doll.

Miguel is not buying your obvious lie. "Are you sure? You look... Tired. Are you okay?" He asked again. You just nod and rush to close the door but Miguel stopped you from doing so. He grabbed on the door and push it back open, making you stumbling back from the force. "Look, I don't want to hurt you. But I need to take a look inside, okay?" He gave signals to his men to search the house for your owner.

He didn't expect you to panic and starts shouting at him "No! Please! Master will get mad." You said as your eyes starts to well in tears, "He'll hit me and lock me up in the basement again..." You said while sobbing and pulling on his sleeve. Miguel can feel his heart breaking into pieces from how adorably you cried in front of him. As he wanted to hug you and calm you down, his men came back and drags your owner with them. He got a black eye on his right eye due to a hard blow given by Miguel's men right on his face when he tried to run away. They throw him on the floor to force him to get on his knees in front of Miguel.

When your eyes met his you ran towards your master in worry. "Master! Are you okay?" You got on your knees to check on him, even if he's a very cruel and irresponsible master you can't help but feel worried of him getting hurt. But instead of getting any answer back from him, he gave you a very hard and strong punch on the face. You stumbled back in shock and whimpers in pain as you cover your face with your palms from the fear and pain. "You useless bitch! I told you not to let them in!" As he's about to hit you again, Miguel stepped forward to protect you and kick that bastard's stomach with full force in anger. He still couldn't believe that a little angle like you would care so much about a devil like him.

He groans in pain from Miguel's kick and Miguel turned to look at you as you bleed from your nose and cry on the floor. Your owner look up at Miguel then at you "Oh I see what this is all about now. You like her don't you? Fine then, take her away as a compensation. She is a very fine and expensive hybrid." He said with a low chuckle as he gave you a dirty look. "Use her as a cock sleeve or just do anything you like at her, let all of your anger out at her as if she's a punching bag. You won't ever hear a peep out of her mouth, she's well trained for that." Miguel can feel himself boiling in anger but his eyes won't leave your figure, no matter how hard he tried. The idea of a pretty thing like you used and abused by someone like him are just too much for him to even imagine.

Yes, he is indeed a cruel mafia leader. He killed and will kill anyone who got in his way without any remorse or hesitation and punish those who got on his nerves. But seeing how a pure little thing like you getting such a horrible treatment without you deserving any of it, made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach. He got too deep into his thought as he pull a gun out from his pocket without realizing and thinking it through then shot your owner right at his face as you watch the scene in front of you in horror.

The bastard died instantly, his body made a loud thud noise when it hit the floor and blood starts to stain the carpet underneath. Your eyes widened as tears streams down your cheek. Miguel then turned and walks towards you slowly but you stood up and ran away as fast as you can towards your master's bedroom and lock yourself while crying. His men look at Miguel, waiting for his next order. "I'll talk to her." He said with a loud sigh.

He starts knocking at the door, "Little one, please open the door. I won't hurt you I promise." You starts to panic "No go away! Leave me alone! You just killed my master!" You shouted back. Deep down you know that you should be glad that Miguel had killed your master but that makes you feel powerless, knowing that Miguel is capable of hurting anyone let alone killing them.

"I have to okay? He got on my nerves and worse, he hurt you." He spoke again from the other side of the door. "You know nothing about me!" Tears starts to fall even faster from your eyes as the image of your master's dead body kept playing in your head. "Just open this door so I don't need to force it open myself." He said, starting to get frustrated by your behavior.

You ignores him and sat down in the corner of the room, hoping that he'll just go away and leave you alone. He kept knocking at the door but you refused to open it for him. "Fine you won't open this door? I'll have to force it open then." He said before he starts banging harder and harder on the door, cracking it with each of his forcefull movements against the door.

You know very well from how massive he looks that he'll break down the door easily if he wants to. You starts glancing around the room to look for something to protect yourself just incase if Miguel is trying to hurt you. You've been in this room a thousand time when your master forced you to sleep with him but you're never allowed to open his closet or drawers even when you're told to clean his room for him.

Opening the nearest drawer, you starts rummaging to find something sharp to protect yourself. To your surprise you can feel your hand brushing against a hard and cold metal. You never knew your master hid a small gun in his bedroom this whole time but now you're glad he did. Just as you get your hand on the gun the door bursts open and you yelped in surprise. You then points the gun at Miguel "Don't come any closer! Or I'll— I'll shoot you." You said hesitantly.

Miguel look at the gun in your hand with a expressionless face then walks towards you. "I— I said go away!" A step closer from Miguel means a step back from you. But he kept walking closer and ignoring the fact that you have a gun in your hands. Your back hit the wall, making it impossible for you to take another step back from him. He grabbed your hands and points the gun directly at his chest to challenge you. "Go on. Shoot me." He said menacingly. A shiver went down your spine as your hands clenches around the gun and hesitation floods your mind. You never hurt anyone before, how on earth are you going to shoot him?

Your eyes look up at him still with tears on display and your bunny ears tensed then pinned flat back behind you head in fear. Hands trembling badly as you pressed the gun deeper into his chest, not knowing what to do. "That's what I thought." He said before quickly ripped the gun from your hand easily then threw it away to the other side of the room.

You tried to run but he grabbed you wrist and threw you on the floor. "Stop making this harder on yourself." He said before crouching down to meet your eyes. "Please don't hurt me..." You begged while sobbing, hoping that he'll pity you. He just look at your face while caressing your cheek with his massive thumb. Making your face seems so much smaller compared to his hand. "To have such a pretty thing in front of me for free. How lucky of me." He continues to caress your face and admiring your beauty with the feeling of wanting to own you all to himself. Having you safe by his side in his mansion and to have you sleep by his side at night.

But his fantasy must be interrupted by his duty as a mafia leader. "Boss, it's Lyla." One of his men interrupted. "Tell her I'll be there in 10 minutes." He said with so much authority in his voice. "What about her?" His other man looked over at your vulnerable state. Your eyes are focused on Miguel, anticipating his next move. He cussed to himself and took out a syringe from his pocket. "W— what's that for?" You asked nervously. "This? Oh I bring these all the time incase if I need to take a pretty thing like you home." Miguel then cupped you face with one of his free hand and move your face to the side so he could inject your neck easier.

Your hand grabbed his hand, the one that's cupping your cheek. "I don't want this. Please just let me go." He ignores your plea and kissed your cheek softly. "Don't worry little thing, this will only hurt a little okay? Just obey and you'll be just fine." You shook your head but he injected you right away with the syringe. "Good girl." Your body starts to feel numb right away as tears continue to stream down your face. You rest your head against his chest for support. "Shhh that's it, just fall asleep for me like a good girl you are." He pulls you into a hug and starts caressing your hair this time. Your vision starts to blur as darkness starts to invade. Soon you're limp against his chest, breathing softly and peacefully.

He smiled and kissed your forehead before carrying you in his arms in a bridal style. "Let's get going, we don't want the cops to be here anytime soon." He said as he rushed towards his car with you in his arms and his men following behind him. He looked down at your unconscious form in his arms, "Sleep tight, little one."

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Ok, I just read your sweet yandere post and would like to add something.

I love the idea of like a mafia boss yandere or someone who is usually cruel (like maybe a Hades sort of character) but is an absolute sweet heart to their darling. One of my fave tropes

OOOOOOH I LOVE THIS TROPE! I have a character who's just like this actually, a total sweetheart to whoever he's with but has a very low tolerance for most other people.

Sorry, this is a long one lol

I'm gonna make headcanons now because you've inspired me lol.

(Banner/divider credit goes to @cafekitsune)!

Tw: Kidnapping, mentions of violence

Mafia boss! Charlie who is no stranger to violence. He's lived his entire life surrounded by it, in fact. Having a mafia boss for a father will do that to you, he guesses.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's spent his whole life working for the mafia, being trained to kill, smuggle, and deal ever since he was a child. He grew up living a life of crime, rising up the ranks (thanks to his father), before taking over as the boss when his father was killed by an unruly client.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's a cruel, ruthless man. He's killed dozens of people, injured many more, and runs his organization with an iron fist. He may be young, but he's learned enough to know that any show of trust, any display of kindness is a show of weakness, a show of vulnerability. He can't afford that, not when he's the head of the mafia, so he makes sure to make it so that no one will question or challenge his authority by any means necessary.

Mafia boss! Charlie who has very few real friends, keeping those he does have at an arm's length. He'd rather die than admit that he craves real relationships, that he desires to make genuine, true connections with others. But he can't, so he pushes his wants to the side, reminding himself that his only purpose is to keep his business running smoothly, nothing more.

Until he sees you, that is.

Mafia boss! Charlie who meets you out on a grocery run one day. Your interaction is nothing special, at least to you, but Charlie can't help but marvel at how easily you make conversation with him while ringing up his items, how seemingly unfazed you are by his snappy attitude and unapproachable appearance. It's been a long, long time since he's met anyone unafraid of him, and those people are usually rivals who are too cocky for their own good. So this, this is new. He knows it's stupid, he knows that your tiny interaction shouldn't have mattered much to someone like him, but he can't help but feel giddy about the connection he's sure he felt.

Mafia boss! Charlie who, against his better judgment, wastes no time in trying to find out who you are. It's not hard, he has an entire organization full of trained trackers, stalkers, and informants at his disposal, and by the end of the day, he has your full name, address, social media accounts, family tree, medical records, and much more safely in his welcoming hands. He knows this is a bit overkill considering he only met you today and your interaction lasted five minutes at most, but now that he has a taste of real human interaction, he's addicted. He needs more.

Mafia boss! Charlie who quickly becomes awestruck and obsessed with you. His whole life, he's been surrounded by the craftiest, cruelest, most violent people imaginable, so to see someone, especially someone as precious as you, live a completely normal life, naive to the dangers he faces everyday? It's captivating! Of course, he can't follow you all day, he is a mafia boss after all, but he has enough people following you around and recording your every move that he doesn't need to! He's never been happier to be who his is than now.

Mafia boss! Charlie who thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world. You're a sweet little thing, too gentle and too unaware of the dangers around you for your own good. He loves everything about you, no matter how weird or embarrassing. He's content to watch you carefully for a couple months, but as time goes on, his need to feel our touch, to talk to you, to see you face to face is too much. He needs you. He needs you NOW. It doesn't help that you're so vulnerable and weak compared to him, with no knowledge of weaponry or stealth to keep you safe. What if someone were to try and hurt you? Of course, his goons wouldn't let that happen, not if they wanted to keep their organs, but he would feel so much better if he could keep an eye on you personally. Not to mention, every mafia boss needs a spouse, and some of his higher ranking associates have been hinting that it's about time he found someone...

Mafia boss! Charlie who immediately starts planning your "transfer" to his house, meticulously drafting out every last detail to secure your safety. He chooses his best, most skilled employees to carry out his plan, only the best for his darling, and sends them out to bring you "home". That day you come home from work, completely unaware of the people in your apartment, completely unaware of the sleeping pills dumped into your water while you weren't looking.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's ecstatic to finally have you with him, to finally have someone to hold, to talk to, to love. He brings your unconscious body to your new room, laying you softly on the bed while instructing his employees to pack up all your belongings and bring them to him. He doesn't tie you down or chain you up, he has enough security measures in place to make sure you won't be able to escape. You won't even be able to leave your room without him being notified.

Mafia boss! Charlie who watches the camera in your room as you wake up for the first time in your new home, confused and disoriented. All of your stuff is here, but this is NOT your apartment. Where are you? He watches as you start to freak out, guilt flashing through him for the first time in his life. He doesn't want you to be scared, he just wants to keep you safe!

Mafia boss! Charlie who sends one of his gentler employees into your room to explain everything, too afraid of scaring you even further by showing up himself. He waits a few days before revealing himself to you, when your terror has calmed down and you've become more familiar with your surroundings. He kind of just stands there, unable to formulate a sentence, which is extremely unnerving to you. You've been told you're to be married to a highly respected and violent mafia boss, and here he is, just...staring. When he opens his mouth to speak, your surprised at how soft his voice is, calmly explaining to you that you're safe, you won't be hurt. He reaches out his hand to touch you, but recoils when you flinch, not wanting to push you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who does everything he can to make you more comfortable and less afraid of him, getting you anything and everything you've ever shown interest in, giving you as much space as you need, and letting you roam the rather large house freely. All you can't do is leave. He doesn't understand why you're still so scared, sure he's a criminal, but he promised he would never hurt you!

Mafia boss! Charlie who gets more desperate for your love as time goes on. He starts appearing in whatever room your in, softly talking to you about his day or about whatever you're doing, trying to get you to be more comfortable with him. Once you've gotten used to that, he starting slowly initiating physical contact, holding you in his arms like he's never going to let you go (because he won't). He tried his hardest not to push your boundaries, but eventually his need to be near you becomes too great. Rest assured though, he would never, ever dream of hurting you or purposely scaring you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who can't get enough of the feeling of your skin on his. He starts hugging/cuddling you whenever he can, holding you like you'll break if he presses too hard. He's always near you, cuddling up to you while telling you about how much he loves you, adoration shining in his eyes. He's the clingiest at night though, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep, him watching over you until he succumbs to his own tiredness. And his kisses? They are the softest, fluffiest thing you've ever felt. He cannot get enough of your lips, and he always kisses you passionately, like you'll disappear once he separates from you. With how loving and gentle he is, it doesn't take long for you to start loving him back.

Mafia boss! Charlie who starts giving you more privileges the farther you fall into stockholm. He'll even start taking you out in public on dates once he thinks there's no chance of you trying to escape him. He'd be able to find you if you did, he has many, many connections, but he trusts you won't. He loves going out with you and doing normal, coupley things with you, it's a nice break from his usual, violent life.

Mafia boss! Charlie who is insanely protective of you, never leaving you alone in a room with anyone except for himself. He knows how dangerous it is to be associated with him and now that he has you, he refuses to let anything happen to you. Any rival who attempts to hurt, kill, or kidnap you is met with Charlie himself, who enacts the most brutal, torturous death he can possibly think of on them. Nobody will come close to hurting you, he'll make sure of it. But no matter what happens, he'll always make sure you're far, far away from the violence. He never wants to subject you to the horrors he's seen (and done).

Mafia boss! Charlie who feels awful the first time you hear him raise his voice. It wasn't at you of course, he would never, ever think of yelling at his darling, you just happened to be in the room when he was meeting with one of his associates. It's scary seeing him yell, threatening brutal acts of violence on his own employee, and for the first time you realize how different he is with others than he is with you. He's quick to shut the meeting down once he realizes you're there, spending the rest of the night apologizing to you and assuring you he would never speak to you like that. This'll be the first time he truly opens up about what his job is like and why he has to be as cruel as he is, trying to help you understand why he behaved the way he did. It's difficult for him to make himself vulnerable, but he'd gladly to it if it meant easing your mind. From then on, he makes absolute sure you aren't around whenever he has to take care of business. He refuses to let you see him like that ever again.

Mafia boss! Charlie who never lets you forget how much he needs you in his life. You're the only thing keeping him from devolving into insanity, he wouldn't know how to handle himself if you were gone. He'll give you everything and anything if you listen to him and stay by his side, so please... please don't try to leave him.

Not that you would be able to, anyway.

[blarshwritezz]

Yanderr mafia boss x male reader prisoner, You are a rival of the mafia boss and your group was defeated by his group, thus becoming his prisoner.

Little did you know, he had lust for you and he decides that you will succumb to his desires whether you want to or not.

A new mafia boss coming right up! But no more new mafia bosses after this, guys. I know they're hot, but my masterlist will suffer also, changing it to leader to avoid confusion hope that's okay

Yandere Mafia Leader x Prisoner Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, noncon

How long has it been? For how many days have you been held captive here? You couldn't keep track. There weren't any windows or other ways to tell time in your damp cell.

You had to wonder if your comrades were doing alright. You weren't too close to most of them, but you were still worried. You hoped whatever they were going through wasn't much worse than what you were.

The leader of this mafia kept a constant watch on you. There was a single camera in your cell, which really wasn't strange, but you could often hear him right outside your door. He'd often come in and watch you "sleeping".

That was one of the more difficult things to do here; fall asleep. You really didn't struggle this much usually, but between the environment and the whole being watched thing, it wasn't easy.

You hoped you might finally get some rest tonight. Or...whatever time of day it was when you closed your eyes.

Your dreams almost came true...until they were crushed by the fact that you felt something choking you. You opened your eyes, taking only a few seconds to realize what was happening.

The leader was in here again, fucking your mouth! You tried to pull away, but he only gripped your hair and forced himself deeper down your throat.

He groaned as you gagged around his dick. It was almost enough to make him cum.

Oh who was he kidding? He didn't want to hold back. Not this time. With a few more thrusts, his seed was flowing down your throat.

He took both of your wrists in his hand as he pulled out, holding them tightly above your head. His free hand mover to roughly spread your legs apart.

"You're my new fuck toy, got that?" Without warning or preparation, he plunged into your ass with a pleasured groan. "I'll stop torturing you, long as you please me."

You didn't have a choice.

He was fucking you anyway, no care for how rough he was being. In fact, he seemed to like seeing you slightly in pain.

You couldn't get away, his grip on you was too tight. He smirked as you struggled, even though it was useless.

"Stop struggling so much or I'll just have to kill you, and fucking a corpse doesn't sound nearly as appealing."

He leaned down and started biting your neck, licking the blood clean as he did. He made sure the marks would be visible. You were his, everyone should know.

Despite knowing you shouldn't enjoy this, you couldn't stop the moans you made. You couldn't stop your cock from growing hard, twitching as it came closer to climax.

Finally, he slowed down, making you whine pathetically. "You want to cum? Think you deserve it? You just have to tell me you'll be mine. That your body belongs to me." He growled in your ear.

You couldn't! You refused, shaking your head.

"If you say so." He chuckled, pounding into you harder than before. Only to stop right as you were on the edge again.

And that became a cycle. He fucked you hard and stopped over and over until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. And of course, he couldn't be fair. While he denied you the right to cum over and over, he repeatedly filled your asshole with his seed. Over and over again until your insides were painted fully white.

All until you begged him for release. Saying anything for him to let you cum. Even that you and your body belonged to him.

"There's a good boy..." His hands released your now bruised legs and wrists, one moving to your nipple as the other made its way to your ass. In one swift motion, he pulled out and replaced his cock with his fingers. They curled in you, hitting all the right spots.

As his hands worked wonders on you, he took your cock unto his mouth and sucked you off. Pathetic as it was, it didn't take very long before you came. He moaned, the sound vibrating around your cock as he swallowed your cum.

"There we go. Not so difficult, right? And you get to cum like that whenever I want for the rest of your life~"

I think that one was pretty decent! or at least, I really hope so

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (IV)

Happy Holidays! Remember your plans to visit friends and family back in your home country? Scratch that. The Yakuza men have other ideas for you in this cozy Christmas special. And you finally get to meet their fearsome Boss, who has a request for you.

Content: female reader, fluff

[Part 3] | [Part 5] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

You stare at your phone in disbelief, rereading each line and hoping you've misunderstood the kanji. Daitou and Kazuya are quietly frowning behind you, unsure how to help in such a situation. Their lack of response only confirms it.

The brief paragraph is written in bold, red font: Due to weather conditions, all flights are cancelled until further notice. Passengers have been refunded and will need to repurchase their tickets at first convenience.

One glimpse at the last-minute prices and you're certain of it: you won't be going home for Christmas. You slouch and sigh, somewhat at peace with the idea. What else can you do? You might as well get yourself a KFC bucket and stare at the holiday lights in the city center. You and the couples taking cheesy Christmas selfies, who will later wonder about the gloomy loner behind them philosophically crunching on spicy wings.

"Don't look so defeated, (Y/N). You can just spend that time with us instead. We're not such terrible company, are we?" Kazuya jokes, trying to cheer you up.

"We could even go on a trip around New Year."

Your eyes light up in anticipation, the sadness vanishing almost instantly. 

"Can we go to one of those hot spring inns? I've always wanted to visit an onsen." You put your hands together pleadingly. 

"Whoa! Take me out to dinner first if you're that eager to see me naked." The blonde man winks at you smugly. 

"How would I see you naked? The baths are separated, aren't they?" You inquire. 

"We can't go to the regular ones." Daitou pulls his collar slightly downwards, revealing a fragment of his traditional tattoos. True. A yakuza would never be allowed among the civilians. "We'd have to book a private bath, so there wouldn't be anyone else."

You blush at the prospect of being alone with the two men. Kazuya notices your nervousness and is about to continue his teasing, but Daitou speaks before him, unbothered and oblivious:

"Besides, you've already seen me naked. I can tell you Kazuya doesn't look much different. There's nothing to be shy about."

The blonde man can only gawk, taken aback, and you shove Daitou in a flustered panic, fumbling to find an excuse or a change of subject.

He didn't have to make your business public like that, or he could've at least announced it without you being present. Judging by the blonde's speechless reaction, you're guessing he hasn't been told about your sneaky office smooching that led to the occasional sleepover. If you think about it, there's nothing shameful about being intimate with your boyfriend, but...It's not something you're fully accustomed to yet.

As promised, after the coworker incident you were soon greeted with a job offer in the neighborhood. When you went to your old office to discuss the mandatory year contract, the managers nervously handed you an approval for resignation and refused to discuss any details. You were free to go, no penalty or obligation. They had a fearful demeanor and you hoped Daitou didn't dismember anyone involved. Regardless of his means, you were now at the liberty to pursue other careers.

On the other hand, you were rather anxious about your new workplace. You had flashing visions of drug cartels and gambling parlors, with thugs rattling their drinks at you and demanding proper service. Windows breaking and masked men rolling onto the floor, armed to the brim. Ginza hostesses scurrying behind you and asking for help against an angered client. The night before your first day, you restlessly shuffled in your bed, plagued by second thoughts. What could you possibly do for the yakuza? What ghoulish demands would they prepare for you?

Daitou was the one to accompany you in the morning. He showed you to your desk, and you could discern the blurred frames of people angrily discussing matters in the opposing meeting room, separated by a large window. You gulped.

"They're building a new apartment complex two streets down." Your boyfriend mentioned casually, helping you settle with your belongings. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were curious about their talk."

"I mean, I am, but...Is that it?" You gazed at him incredulously. 

"What else? This is a real estate office. Upstairs is the stock investments."

"Oh...Oh...I thought..." You were a little embarrassed. The imaginary scenarios of bloody battles and crimes that kept you awake felt quite ridiculous now.

Daitou seemed to have picked up on your assumptions, because he chuckled and ruffled your hair, following with an explanation. 

"Boss is very strict with our Ninkyo-Do. If you're caught with drugs or petty theft, you're excommunicated. We used to have a bunch of gambling casinos as main income, but nowadays there's too much pressure from the police, ya know? Half of our members aren't even officially registered with the Yakuza, so they can't be tracked. We mostly do stocks and real estate. That's where the cash is. 

Heh. Kinda boring, ain't it? I'm afraid you showed up way after the golden times. Even I'm too young for it. If ya want, I can ask one of the retired seniors to tell you about it. He has a lot of great stories."

You held your tongue from bringing up his frequent killing sprees and just nodded, amused by the fact that his code of conduct didn't register human casualties as wrong. The Yakuza have strict rules of ethics that set them apart from regular mafia. Depending on the Oyabun, or Head of the Family, this chivalrous way of living is reinforced to all members or conveniently swept under the rug. Daitou's Boss seemed to fit in the former category. 

Therefore your "office job" turned out to be an actual office job without the quotes. Although you were often reminded the people passing by weren't your regular salarymen. Many of them were entirely transparent with you, striking up conversations about their latest arrest, or complaining about the poor quality of their pinky finger prosthetic they'd ordered from the Philippines. 

But this isn't the time to reminisce. The prolonged silence is unbearable and one could fry eggs on your hot, burning cheeks. Kazuya is the one to break the awkwardness. 

"Oh, yeah...You coming to the Christmas thing this evening?"

"We'll be there." Daitou smiles innocently, unaware of the discomfort he just caused.

Kazuya raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks at you.

"Did you...?"

"Yup. It's all fine." The dark haired man nods reassuringly. 

"Then I'll see you at dinner, little (Y/N). Don't catch a fever with all that steam blowing out of you." He laughs at your still baffled expression and places his large hand on your head, departing.

Daitou holds the door open for you and you hurry inside. As you both walk down the hallway of the luxurious restaurant, you can't help the nagging feeling that he's once again omitted some vital information. 

"Can you tell me again who else is coming? Just Kazuya?"

"Oh no, it's a Family meeting. So Boss and the rest of the Seniors, too."

You gasp in horror, but before you can scold him, you find yourself behind the canvas screen divider, facing a table of older men in suits, holding their drinks and eyeing you suspiciously. 

"Oi, who the fuck is this, Daitou?" one of them growls. 

"I already told you before, (Y/N). My girlfriend."

"Huh? Did you seriously just bring a civvy to our meeting? I knew you got a loose screw, boy, but this tops it all."

Daitou frowns and steps in front of you, visibly annoyed. 

"If ya got a problem with my woman being here, I can settle it for you, old man. When was the last time you fought someone?"

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've gotten too comfortable sitting up there and barking orders. Let me remind you why they leave the killings to me."

The thick tension in the air is quickly dispersed by a loud, relaxed laugh. At the end of the table, a heavily scarred man with grey hair is clapping his hands in delight, seemingly amused by the events unfolding. He glances at you and pats a cushioned seat to his right. 

"There you are! Come join us, miss (Y/N). Ignore those rusty grumps, they ain't seen a woman outside a host club." He throws the instigator a brief glare. "Is that any way to talk to my guest, Oota?"

The man swallows dryly and mutters an apology. He goes back to his drink, preoccupied, and the rest follow suit. 

You hesitantly kneel down to your designated place, sheepishly peeking at the mysterious figure. Could it be? As if reading your mind, Daitou places an encouraging hand on your waist and lowers his head to your ear, swiftly whispering "that's Boss" before going to greet the others at the table. 

"I-it's a pleasure meeting you, Sir." You mumble nervously.

"No no, pleasure is all mine. I'm Eiji Ijichi, 8th Head of our Family." 

His introduction is unexpectedly warm and his easygoing way of speaking reminds you a lot of Daitou. The faintest grin threatens to appear, but you cover your mouth. With enough imagination, this could be the equivalent of meeting your in-laws. This is Daitou's family, after all. A criminally scary one, but nonetheless you've been welcomed with open arms.

"Do you drink?" The older man asks you, raising his porcelain cup.

"Naturally." You exclaim and lift your own cup enthusiastically. 

"Attagirl!"

As the night progresses, the men at the table are loosening up under the influence of expensive alcohol. Kazuya seems to be caught in a terribly involved conversation with Daitou and one of their Captains, gesturing dramatically and occasionally raising his tone. You notice your glass has once again been filled by the waitress and take another sip, satisfied with observing their fun from the sidelines. Boss has a similar approach, gazing nostalgically over the rowdy group of thugs.

He reaches for his pack of smokes and you scramble to pick up the lighter, politely bowing as you light up his cigarette. He smiles at your gesture. 

"I see Daitou's trained you already."

He ponders for a moment, gently blowing a cloud of smoke upwards. 

"You'll make a good wife."

"Excuse me?" You question, startled by his sudden remark. 

"It's hard to tell, but I'm getting pretty old myself." He snickers at his self made compliment. "Soon it'll be time to pick my successor. I have no children, unless you count that rascal I picked from the streets." He says as he tilts his chin towards Daitou. 

"I love him like my own kid, but I'm sure you noticed he's a little off. Everyone is terrified of him. You can't have a leader if everyone runs away from him, ya know? I was starting to get worried I'd work myself through retirement. Kazuya can only do so much!

Then he comes up to me grinning like an idiot. I thought, 'There it is. He finally lost it', but instead he asks me if I want to see a photo of his girlfriend. Girlfriend?! I was ready to witness some crusty body pillow, my hand was on the phone to call our Family doctor. He shows me a cute foreigner standing next to him. Now I'm pretty sure he's not smart enough to fake photos like that, so it must be the real deal. 'How the Devil did ya pull this one?' I asked him. Cause listen, I was rather handsome back in my day and I still wouldn't have been this lucky.

And would ya look at that, it's the miss that moved into our apartments! How's the living conditions, by the way? Everything going fine?"

You nod energetically.

"Good, good."

He crosses his arms and nods himself, satisfied. He turns to gaze at you intently, with a face you can't quite read.

"You gotta excuse a drunk old man for rambling so much. What I'm trying to say...well...

Take care of him when he becomes the 9th, will ya? If he has you, I'm sure he'll manage. But don't tell him I said that! You gotta keep them humble. See, that's a lesson for you too. If there's one person the Head of the Family bows to, that's his wife! But I doubt he'd let the power get to his head."

You both turn to Daitou. He just finished pouring more sake to his superior and notices your stare. He blushes slightly and waves, unsure why he's suddenly being observed. 

"I think so, too." You respond, waving back. 

How would that look on a CV? Ane-san of a Yakuza family. 

[yanaleese]

LEMME SEE HIS MOUTHS AND MOSAIC SKIN! RAHHHHH

-🪷

"I'm...disgusting."

[darkbluekies]

Intruder 2024 ver

Yandere!mafia OC x reader

Summary: finding a mystical USB in your bag leads to more danger you ever could have anticipated. It leads you straight into the arms of a well respected mob boss.

Warnings: gore, kidnapping, breaking in, chains, crime, yandere

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I thought it could be fun to remake my first one-shot almost 2 years later to see how I have improved! I hope you like the new version♡

Your hands tear through the bag, impatiently looking for the lip balm that is somewhere in the mess of papers, water bottles, wallets and receipts. Your head is pounding, your back is sore and your fucking lips are dry and you can’t think of anything else. You grab the backpack and turn it upside down, shaking it violently until every little thing has fallen out. Receipts dingle down like snowflakes. The lip balm falls out on the wooden floor and when you bend down to take it, you notice that it’s lying beside something that you can swear that you have never seen before. A white USB. Confused, you turn it around, looking for some kind of indication to remind you of what it contains. No tape, no pen, nothing. You sigh and stand up. Before walking over to your computer to figure out what contains on the USB, you smother your lips in lip balm. It gets in your mouth, tasting buttery and putting a greasy layer on your front teeth.

You sit down in front of your computer, boot it up and press the USB into the right port. If you see what is on it, maybe you’ll remember what you have used it for. It takes a few moments before a file pops up at the bottom of your screen. You press on it and are met by multiple folders, all having cryptic titles.

When have I ever done this?

Is this a Friday night drunk act? It would be an answer to why you don’t remember anything about it. You decide to press on one of the folders. Pictures and videos. Hundreds of them. You click on the first picture. What meets your eyes puzzle you. For a few seconds you can’t even process what you are looking at. A mushy red sponge-looking … something. When it hits you that what you are looking at is a dead, mangled body you gasp and shoot your chair away from your desk. A wave of mixed fear, disgust and disbelief washes over you as millions of questions bash into your head. Panicked worries about where the USB came from, who was in the picture, how many more there are like this, why you have the USB and if you would get in trouble and. If you give the USB to the police, would they find you suspicious? Would they think that you had anything to do with this? And will the ones who owns this USB kill you for it?

You find yourself pacing back and forth in your room as your heart beats in your ears. What are you going to do? You have to get rid of it. Quickly.

You turn back to the computer and pull the USB out as quickly as if it was on fire. The grotesque picture disappears. You drop the white stick into your pocket, as if it was really in flames. Just holding it made you feel dirty. You wipe your hands on your shirt, expecting it to smear blood. Nauseous, you run to the bathroom. Despite washing your hands in water and soap until your heads become gnarly and sore, you feel as if you have murdered that poor girl yourself and nothing will clear you of what you have witnessed.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom, how long you’ve tried to wash yourself of sin and guilt. Suddenly, the front door’s lock seems to click. You freeze, listen closely. Perhaps it isn’t your door? You quickly find that it is, indeed, your front door creaking open. Quickly, you get into the bathtub and hide behind the curtain. Your entire body trembled.

“Little thing”, a deep voice sing-songs in what can only be interpreted as amusement. “I see that you have something that belongs to me.”

The voice is unfamiliar, which is only for the best. You’re able to locate him in your bedroom.

The click of a gun snapping in place makes you flinch against the ceramic tub. If he finds you, you will die.

“Don’t try to hide from me.” You can hear the evident smile in his voice. “I know that you are here somewhere. I saw you on that low resonate web cam of yours just ten minutes ago! I don’t have time to play hide and seek with you. The longer I have to look for you, the less fun it’ll be for you when I find you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that all of this is a horrible nightmare. Your chest is burning with fear. All you want is to scream and cry, plead and beg for your pitiful little life.

“Little thing, I know that you saw some gruesome stuff on that USB”, he says, his voice now drenched in false pity. “Don’t you want to get rid of that horrible filth, hm? I can take it off your hands. Just come out and give it to me and I will spare your life. What do you say?”

A silence follows. An excruciating silence that makes you want to claw out of your own skin. You prepare yourself to see him ripping the curtain away and putting a bullet through your skull.

“Oh, would you look at that?” His voice appears again, back to the amusement. “A call from your mother? Let’s answer, shall we?”

Panic goes through your entire body as you realize that he has your phone — and, indirectly, your mother, in his hands. You can’t let your family be involved in this! The more people who know, the more people will be in danger and the harder it will be to get out of this mess.

You hurry out of the bathtub, out of the bathroom. You make your way down the corridor and storm into your bedroom. The man is tall with hair as dark as night and when he looks over his shoulder you can tell that his eyes, as well, are as dark as his ruthless soul. He’s standing in front of the same computer you watched the picture on — the same computer he claims he saw you through. He smiles at you, a triumphed ‘i told you so’ smile.

“Please don’t”, you beg. “Don’t answer the call. Please.”

He clicks away the phone call before throwing the phone on the bed. He turns to you. He’s wearing a black suit.

“There you are”, he smirks and tilts his head. “You look much better in person.”

With trembling fingers you fish the USB out of your pocket and throw it at his feet. He looks at it for a few seconds, appearing clueless.

“Take it!” you shriek. “Take it and leave me alone!”

The man scoffs out a surprised laugh and lifts his eyebrows before slowly bending down and picking it up. He looks at it for a few seconds and then at you, meeting your eyes. They’re surprisingly calm.

“Please, just take it and go.” Your voice is barely audible.

The man stays silent for a few seconds before opening his mouth again. “I don’t think I can.”

“W-What? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know how it ended up in my bag, I didn’t steal it. I don’t even know when or how I got it.”

The man seems amused by your rambling. As if he’s hearing a little kid try to reassure their innocence in a sandbox fight.

“I know that you haven’t done anything”, the man calmly answers. “My man’s incompetence of carrying an USB is not your fault. But you have seen what’s on it. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“No”, you lie and shake your head.

He scoffs. “I saw you on your webcam. I know that you understood what was on it. Do you think I can just let you off the hook and walk straight to the police? Now that you’ve seen me too?”

You are going to die. Holy shit.

“I-I won’t tell anyone!” you stutter and start to back away from him. “I will pretend that I have never seen anything. No one will know. Please.”

Before you have time to run, he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him. You scream and try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. He slams his hand over your mouth, forces your back against his chest. You sob and shake your head, your pleas getting muffled by his hand.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing”, he says. “It doesn't suit you.”

With that said, he pulls you out of the apartment. You can feel the gun in his pocket poking your back. You have never been this scared before, and have no idea what your body will do when it is this panicked. To your surprise, it decides to black out.

For a few seconds you're sure that you have dreamt the worst nightmare in your life, until you open your eyes and find that you aren't in your bed. You aren't even in your apartment. Quick eyes search around. A bunker or a basement. Those are your best guesses. Blood, both dried and fresh, covers the cement walls. You hurry to look around your body to make sure that none of the blood belongs to you. For the moment you seem to be unharmed. But for how long? You have chains around your wrists, ankles and throat to keep you in place. Like a dog. You repeat your name, your background and family in your head, just to not go completely insane. Will you ever see them again?

You damn that little piece of plastic and metal, wish that it would self-destruct and ruin that man's life. Such a little thing got you in such big trouble.

A door creaks open above you and your man starts to walk down the stairs to the basement. He's wearing a black buttoned shirt. He has something in his hands.

“Awake now?” he says.

You don't answer. He strolls over to where you're sitting and crouches down. He reaches out for you, removing some hair from your forehead. You will bite his fingers off if he doesn't keep them to himself.

You glare at him. You wish that your eyes could penetrate his skin and pierce his ice cold heart.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?” you ask carefully.

“It might be so that you'll have to stay here with me for a while. Telling me your name will make it easier for me to talk to you.”

“What's your name, then?” you ask.

He smiles, and the smile is almost soft. He seems amused by your counter question.

“Silas”, he says. “Achilleos.”

The name rings a bell in your brain. You've heard his name before. On the news. He's a mob boss. Your eyes widen. You really have screwed yourself beyond belief.

“My name won't hurt you”, he smiles.

“It's not the name I'm scared of”, you mutter.

“And your name?”

You hesitate. You know better than to give your name to a literal mob boss, but you also know better than to lie to one.

“Y/N”, you whisper, hoping that he won't hear and that you won't have to repeat yourself.

Silas makes himself more comfortable on the cold, hard floor. He leans on his arm.

“I have to say that I am genuinely sorry for this”, he says. “I don't like pulling innocent people into something they don't have anything to do with. Especially this kind of shit. I have more important things to do. My man stupidly dropped the USB into your bag and now that you have seen what's on it and know who I am, I can't let you go.”

Maybe you shouldn't have asked for his name.

“Normally, I would have killed you”, he says. “But I think that I'm going to keep you for a little while. You interest me.”

You lift your heavy, chained hands and cover your face. Sobbing. Silas removes your hands and lifts your chin up with his index finger.

“Let's make a deal, shall we?” he asks. “I will not hurt you … if you do as I say.”

“So I can't go home again?”

“No, because the second you put that USB in your computer, and I got the notification that someone had opened it, you’ve belonged to me.”

Beyond screwed isn't even enough to describe what you are.

“So?” Silas says. “Do we have a deal?”

What choice do you even have? You nod shortly.

“Good”, Silas says.

He reveals what he had in his hands when walking down the stairs. A small yogurt packet and a spoon. The text on the packet isn't in English.

“I used to eat this when I was a kid”, he says and opens the lid, giving it to you. “I guess that you're hungry.”

You shovel it into your mouth. It tastes like strawberry and is smooth in texture. It's first after eating it all that you remember who gave it to you and perhaps that you shouldn't have eaten it.

“No, I haven't poisoned it”, Silas scoffs. “Didn't I just tell you that I have planned to keep you alive?”

“You could have lied”, you whisper.

He scoffs again as he starts to remove the chains. The weight drops off of you like angel light. Silas pulls you up on your feet, buy your knees buckle the second you try to put pressure on them. Silas catches you and lifts you up in his arms. He carries you up the stairs, to a hall, and then up another flight of stairs. Your body aches.

Silas walks into a bedroom, dressed in modern interior design. You're placed down on a king sized bed, tucked in under heavy blankets. The crinkle of chains makes you flinch. Silas lifts an identical cuff to the ones you wore five minutes ago.

“This is just to keep you here”, he explains and places it around your wrist. “Sleep now.”

With that said, he walks out and leaves you alone. The door closes. You tug at the chain, but it's obvious that you'll stay there. Too tired to cry, you sink down on the mattress. Too alert to fall asleep you stare up at the ceiling. A thought crosses your mind, quick and easy, buy loud enough for your heart to ache. You have to get out of here before it's too late.

[yanderedrabbles]

pls!!! more yan gangster!! im begging!!!!!!😖

Yandere Ganster - Rainy Days

It's a miserable day to do collections. It's raining cats and dogs and the gutters are spilling onto the sidewalk. Everyone with sense is tucked away inside, except for him.

The butcher is his last stop and then he can finally head back to you. Maybe you'll ask him to sit with you infront of the fireplace or maybe he can bring you some hot coffee and...

It's criminal instinct that makes him duck when the bat comes swinging at his face.

It throws up sparks as the missed swing scrapes against the brick wall. He's already tossing his umbrella and rolling up, fists ready.

Three thugs, sporting a mean assortment of brass knuckles and metal baseball bats.

"Look at that, the bitch's guard dog," one sneers.

"How 'bout you just hand over that fat stack of collection money and we call it a day? What d'you say, pretty boy?" the speaker drags his bat across the sidewalk and the harsh rasp of it is almost louder than the rain.

Three against one and the alley traps him right in the center of them. He grins. Maybe if he comes back with a nasty bruise you'll kiss it better?

Tired of waiting for a reply, the first guy swings. But he's still too slow and Yandere! Gangster ducks under it and punches at his gut. The man falters for a second that's all he needs to grab the bat and yank it out of the guy's hands.

"Well, well..." He twirls the bat and pulls back for a vicious strike that hits the guy right in his throat. He goes down with an ugly gasping sound, clawing at his neck. "I'd call that a home-run."

The other two are more wary of him now and they back away, circling.

Personally, he thought the whole home-run thing was a pretty witty thing to say, if a bit inappropriate. He wonders if you'd have cracked a smile at it.

The thugs try and rush him all at once. One manages to land a punch on his cheekbone but he snaps the bat backwards into the guy's nose and he stumbles away, cursing.

The other guy is ready for him, his own bat braced to guard his face. So Yandere! Gangster pretends to swing and then steps under his guard, his switchblade already in his hand. The cut he leaves behind is deep and nasty.

Three down. Too easy.

His grin is fading now and there's a strange look to him that makes the thugs shiver. "Bitch, was it?"

When he's done, the rainwater runs with ribbons of thick blood that swirl in pinkish eddies down the gutter.

He's totally soaked and his umbrella is ruined too. Well... At least the blood won't stain.

He rubs his cheek as he walks home. Maybe you'll notice it and tell him what a great fighter he is?

.......

You lean your head on your hand and look at him. His shirt is almost transparent and clinging to the muscles of his chest. An angry red bruise is forming on his cheek.

The only sound is the soft plink-plink of water dripping from his clothes onto the marble floors.

"Sorry ma'am." He looks down, sheepish. "Ran into some trouble."

"Taken care of?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good boy." You stand, bringing your brandy with you. "Come here."

You stand infront of the fireplace and point at your feet. He sits down carefully, aware of the small puddles left in his wake.

The fire warms him almost instantly. Cold, wet clothes are the most miserable thing in the world, he thinks. He's never going to take -

He jumps, his hands instinctively grabbing the towel you drape around his shoulders.

It's warm and he pulls it tighter around himself.

"Look at you..." you drawl, "You poor, soaked thing."

You gently work another towel through his hair. Your nails occasionally scrape his scalp and send shivers racing down his spine.

It takes a while before you're finally satisfied but when you stop, he can't help feeling an awful sense of disappointment.

You put a single finger under his chin and tilt his head up. His eyes are dazed and half-lidded. His skin is still cool to the touch and you click your tongue in irritation.

"You should know to take better care of yourself."

"Sorry ma'am."

You rest your brandy glass against his lips. There's a lipstick stain on the rim and he can taste the faint tang of cherries. He grins a little. Doesn't this practically count as a kiss?

The brandy touches his tongue and spreads a comforting fire down his throat. Is this what you taste like? Sharp and woody and under it all, just a little sweet?

You lean forward and slip your hand down his chest. He's sure you can feel the way his heart is pounding - do you realise what your touch does to him? Your lips are just a hair's breadth from his. For a second, he actually thinks you might kiss him.

Instead, you grab the envelope of collection money from his inner jacket pocket and pull it out.

He almost reaches out to stop you. Your touch is so warm, so perfect. Why are you taking it away after giving him such a small taste?

Thankfully, his brain kicks in and reminds him exactly how dangerous you are.

You tap the envelope against his cheek.

"You did good today, cucciolo."

Dimly, he realises that you called him puppy. And when you dismiss him with a casual wave, he jumps to obey just like a loyal dog should.

[queenie-avenue]

This is a man's world, but she rules it.

💌 ⤻ THE MAFIA BOSS, VITTORIA COSTANZA ft. THE COVER

—> the devil wears prada.

⤻ reader is female (i really needed some delulu), kidnapping, typical mafia activities, toxic behaviour, posesseive and obsessive behaviour, mentions of misogyny, conversion therapy and homophobia, death, non-consensual kissing

notes: thank you to @ciaheyhimm for allowing me to use this character! isabella was originally a character from a mafia roleplay set in the 1940s to 50s. please go check that blog out, they are a historical blog and i believe that she is writing a book at the moment!

💌 ⤻ archives.

"Thank you for your help in locating down my dearest [y/n]." The woman in the shadows spoke. That accent, that strong accent and overbearing smell of perfume... you found yourself thinking of one single person that came to your mind. Even her heels, branded with her own fashion brand 'Costanza' confirmed to you who this person was.

"Of course, I am a bit disappointed that you — how do you say? — compromised their location and safety to me, even as their bodyguard." She spoke, your body still laying paralysed against the lush bed that Vittoria had no doubt prepared for you. Ribbons of the finest silk bound your hands together, even as the drug forced you to stay put. It seemed she wanted to be very very sure that you wouldn't escape her, again.

Even the dress you were wearing, it was designed by her. Her brand's ribbons were on your body, a mark of her.

Your Father had disapproved of your relationship, with both of you two being girls and all... but you hadn't expected her to go this far.

"I can't trust someone like that out of the field. Who knows, if someone offers you some money, if you'd spill the beans on this little stunt of mine." You heard something click, and your head snapped over, eyes widened.

Then a gunshot sounded, causing you to scream before a body slumped to the ground, blood bleeding out from the shadows.

"Ay, aye, my Belleza, you should have told me you were awake." Her hips swayed as she emerged from the shadows. Her beautiful crimson red dress showed off the body you loved so much.

"Vitta, what the hell." You muttered as your attempted to raise yourself out of bed, only to be held down by the drugs in your system and the silk ribbons restraining you.

Slowly, she stalked towards you, like you were a prey she was ready to kill and feast on. But then, she simply sits on the edge of 'your' bed and begins to undress herself, slipping her zipper down as it revealed a petticoat underneath, and a corset that held her curved body together like a contorted doll, laced too tightly. You were so happy to get her out of it at one point, but when she stripped this time, it was intimidating.

"Darling." She whispered as she leaned in to caress your cheek. "I had to." She smiled, and that smile was so wicked, like the demoness Lilith had come to life in front of you.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When you first met Vittoria, it was at a gala. A gala meant to celebrate Vittoria Costanzo's newest fashion collection, based on something you didn't bother listening to. You dressed in whatever your Father wanted you to dress in, which was most of the time, dresses that appealed to the male gaze in hopes of finding you a catch of a husband he could give you away to.

"Ah... Mister [l/n], what a pleasure to meet you." The woman that approached you was stunning. Her strawberry blonde hair was tossed into victory curls, showing off her gorgeous neckline and strong collarbone. She was dressed head to toe in red, the colour of blood. Even her lips, so delicate and beautifully shaped, were stained in that perfect shade of crimson that seemed to draw in attention to her and only her. You wondered whether she had informed everyone that she was the only one allowed to wear red on that day.

"And who might this cute little lady be?" Little lady? You were about the same age as her.

"Ah, this is my daughter, I don't believe you've met." Grinned your Father as he pat you forward, introducing you to the woman.

"A pleasure to meet you." You curtsied quaintly.

Instead of returning the curtsey, Vittoria snatched your gloved hand and planted a kiss there. Like a gentleman would to a lady. The red lipstick stained your gloves, marking you as her own.

"The pleasure is all mine." Her eyes glinted and you felt your cheeks heat up, as if she could see right through you. "As much as I'd love to stay here and chat with the both of you, I have to go entertain the rest of my sponsors." Vittoria grinned charmingly, "I'm sure you understand, Mister [l/n]." She waved goodbye to the two of you and you swore you saw her wink in your direction.

Before you could compose yourself, you heard your father groan and gag. "I cannot believe a woman like her would dare show her face and intentions like that."

"What do you mean?" You turned to him. Your father was never a pleasant man, but he would never say something so outright.

He narrowed his eyes at you and leaned down. "That woman is rumoured to be queer." He spat out the word like it was the worst thing he could say. "Of course, a working woman would be something like that. She has no man in her life, so she wants to prey on innocent girls." Laughed your Father, which made you cringe.

"I will go get a cup of lemonade." You said to him as you flitted away like a butterfly as he went to talk to some other influential man.

Just as you picked out a drink, one of the waiters came over to you. "Madam Costanza has told me to deliver this message to you." You tilted your head as you looked at the tray he was carrying, a small card placed on it. You hesitantly took it and flipped it over, only reading it when you saw that no one was looking in your direction.

"That dress looks amazing on you. Perhaps if you come to my studio one of these days, I could design an even better dress for you." The card was sealed with a kiss from her red lipstick. Your gloved fingers smeared over the stain as you let out a sharp breath. The card wasn't signed, but you knew who had written it to tempt you.

Thus was the start of your affair with Vittoria Constanza, the most skilled fashion designer in Italy.

So how in the world did it end up this way? Your Father had figured out that you were having an affair with the lady and barred you from leaving your room, trying different forms of 'therapy' on you to convert you back into a normal woman. But nothing worked. He grew angrier day by day because of that. Not to mention, an illusive crime syndicate had decided to ruin his business with backstreet dealings. They exposed his tax fraud and more, which caused your Father to grow bankrupt and yet still, he did not allow you out of his grasp.

Then, that same mafia that ruined your family's business stormed your house. It was too obvious, not at all like the subtle actions the mafia normally acted out. It was chaotic and messy as they slaughtered any and all bodyguards that tried to fight back.

You felt strong arms behind you, force-feeding you some spill that you almost puked out. But the man simply shoved it in.

The last thing you saw was your Father's head being blown open by the a gun that Isabella held. She had pulled the trigger, and you screamed weakly before collapsing in the arms of the man.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Vittoria leaned over. "Are you feeling better? You've been out for a bit." She said in such a sweet tone, cooing at you like she had done when she cradled you in her arms inside of her fashion studio.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Vitta, Darling. Your Vittoria." She smiled. "Don't tell me those drugs changed your memory, my dear!" She chuckled. "I would have to kill the scientists that gave it to me."

"That's not what I meant!" You tried to get up, but you were restrained. Thank god the drug was starting to wear off, though, at least you could use your hands now. "You- you're part of the mafia." You said, terrified of the woman seated over you.

"Oh dear, I'm not just part of the mafia. When I join something, I make sure that I'm always at the top of it." Overconfidence dripped from her tongue as she rolled her eyes, "I rule the mafia. And I've taken you in to be a Queen by my side."

"Are you fucking crazy!" You yelled at her.

"Crazy in love, yes." She leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. "I understand that you don't want to forgive me right now, but this is just a spat between lovers. You'll forgive me eventually." She smiled softly, pressing yet another kiss to your restrained form.

You weren't sure of what lay ahead this odd fate God had thrust you into but you were sure you would never forgive Vittoria.

"I love you." She whispered, pressing yet another kiss, this time to your forehead.

"In this world of shadows, you're the only light in my life. So I won't let you escape."