#lucky luciano | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintmurd0ck · 7 months

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moth to a flame

masterlist

pairing: charlie "lucky" luciano x f!reader

summary: time, space and even circumstance aren't enough to separate the two of you. and when you do eventually reunite, the plans are set into motion in the best way.

warnings: yearning, charlie luciano's pretty mouth, alcohol, cigarettes, kissing, m!receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good things

a/n: based off of that one scene in s1 ep6 (iykyk) that i cannot get out of my mind. dedicated to @murdock-and-the-sea for getting me caught up in this bullshit 💗

glossary: dolcezza = sweetheart

There was always something wondrous about Charlie’s girl.

The exclusivity, the lack of labels for whatever that relationship became never mattered. Because even on days where things took a turn at every second, when sleep — or life — was never guaranteed, she was the kind of solid permanence that’d ease his mind. And, in almost all cases, make him hard, but that’s a story for a little later.

Lucky Luciano, they called him. He earned that goddamn nickname, but it was ironic, because it only really stuck when you were around. It wasn’t clear as to how you made this happen, or if it was some kind of recurring fluke, but you just had that effect on him: the kind where all of a sudden his operations would go down without a hitch, where law enforcement happened to look the other way rather than come knocking at his door. His pockets would become heavier, his enemies would come crawling out of the woodwork, and things just worked out. Even Lansky agreed — you were good for business, and Charlie’s spirits.

As much as you were a tether in his life, the fractal patterns began to fall into place. Simply put: you’d go through the motions, things would get rocky, and then you’d pull away. It wasn’t that being with him was bad for you, per se, but rather a constant whirlwind of emotion, with so much left to the unknown. You never knew if he’d come home that night, because he was probably out doing Rothstein’s bidding three cities away, or, and this scared you most of all, if he’d realise the true power he possessed deep within. He had the makings of a great leader; an orchestrator, a divine influence, rather than a foot soldier. Charlie wasn’t made to be muscle, or a gunman in some boss’ grand scheme. You knew that when push came to shove, he’d one day call the shots. You were terrified of being left in the dust — stranded, abandoned — with nothing but a broken heart and feelings for a man who would have the world at his fingertips.

And, to your consternation, you couldn’t actually figure out what kept you coming back for more.

You weren’t sure if what you had was love; at least, it wasn’t the kind you’d read about in books, or heard discussed in hushed tones amongst your innocent friends. You weren’t even in it for the money, the status, or the protection he could provide. That had always seemed so trivial to you.

Maybe it was the sex. It definitely wasn’t solely sex, because Charlie did make you laugh, and make you feel all the things you thought were supposed to happen when it came to courting. It was consistently the best sex you’d ever had, and he made sure you knew it. Your pleasure became his native language, and even so, he grew impossibly more fluent as time passed on.

It’s like he could read you; not the superficial mask you put on every single day, but through to the molten core underneath. It was the same the other way around. Charlie had Meyer, the perfect partner-in-crime, but only you understood his motivations. His intentions. His desires. Charlie could be safe around you; perhaps the only person with which he could let his guard down.

You could forget about sleeping with anyone else; you wished they were Charlie anyway. Sure, it made you feel like you were a bad person, but no-one compared. Nobody made you feel as good as Charlie Luciano. Whatever it was, you could never get him out of your mind. That was an impossible task, one that with the mightiest of efforts was still rendered futile.

Hell, he didn’t even have to tell you where he was, because somehow, you’ve always found your way back to each other.

And tonight was no exception.

Somewhere along the grapevine, you’d heard that he was back in Atlantic City, and all it took was one well-placed telephone call to confirm what you’d already known.

So when you find yourself traversing the halls of the Traymore Hotel, the door to the Executive Suite looming larger with every step, your decision is made in a split-second. There isn’t more to contemplate or to consider. You’re sure of it, the same way you’re sure that if you hold a flame to the end of a cigarette, it’ll catch alight.

It’s clear now that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon; at least, not from each other. Life with Charlie would be wildly unpredictable, and involve more running for cover than you wanted to admit, but saying he’s irresistible is an understatement in itself. That, and the fact that you’ve proven your worths to each other more times than you can count. There’s no need for deliberation. Not when you’ve got him, right in your grasp.

Your palms turn clammy at the first instance of the door swinging open, and you feel your eyes tear away from the opulence of the hotel — diving from the ornate wall trims and plush red carpets to settle on him instead.

The corner of his mouth quirks to the side as he looks you up and down, his gaze pinned to the woollen coat belted tightly across your waist, as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to conceal. You’ve missed that stare. His stoic, almost-arrogant posture. The genteel expressions masking the white-hot fury beneath.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.”

You breathe, willing your muscles to relax, doing your best to find your footing despite the fact that there is no way to calm your racing heart. Charlie has always made you weak at the knees, and it shows. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, taking a sip of amber liquid from the glass he’s been holding in his hand. “Ongoing business with that Darmody fella. You know the one.”

You swallow dryly, running your tongue along your teeth. “Are you here to stay a while?”

“I dunno. That depends, don’t it?” He arches a thick eyebrow.

“Hm?”

He downs the last of the whiskey, setting the glass down on the hallway entrance table, before taking a step towards you. Soon he’s so close that you can see the crease in his brow, the hint of stubble along his jaw. He cocks his head to the side as he approaches, letting his tongue flick out to wet his lips. “I’ll be here s’long as I need to. And when I go back to New York, I want you to come with.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know exactly what you were expecting, but this is playing out far better than you could’ve envisioned. “You mean it?”

Charlie lets out a soft chuckle, thoroughly amused at the genuine surprise lining your features. “‘Course I do. And don’t you start talkin’ about it bein’ a bad idea.”

You smile furtively, feeling a warmth spread outwards from the centre of your chest. Out of all the things you’ve experienced in this life, one facet — one person — has always made sense, in its own way. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. At your admission, your agreement, a glint appears in his hazel eyes — the kind that doesn’t need words to explain, but is communicated far better through actions. Biting down on his grin, and caring not to break eye contact, Charlie Luciano does as he has always done, and throws caution to the wind.

His lips crash onto yours before you can think twice, his hands moving to cup your jaw, to tangle themselves in your hair. He steers you into the entryway table, impervious to the sound of it thumping against the wall, or the ornaments that get bumped out of the way. Gentleness is not an option right now, because you can’t get enough of him either. Not the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder, not the feeling of his solid body melding to yours. He closes whatever gap remains between the two of you as you slip your tongue into his mouth, relishing in the alcohol still coating his tastebuds.

It feels good to kiss him. To be right here, where he is.

Charlie nudges your chin upwards, trailing his kisses along the curve of your jaw to nip at your pulse. He moves with purpose, intending to touch every inch of bare skin that he can see, but he stops at your collarbone, stepping back with a smouldering look that promises nothing but trouble.

“Say uh… you got somethin’ for me?” he smirks, hooking a finger into the knot you’ve tied at your waist.

It’s the heat searing your face that tells all.

He leans in to kiss you as he undoes the knot, deftly working to pull it apart. When the fabric goes slack, he doesn’t stop himself from yanking your coat open and pushing it off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it, letting the material fall into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Charlie blows his breath out, surveying you like his life depends on it. “Dolcezza,” he grits, blinking at your naked body, save for a pair of lacy thigh high stockings. You sit back on your hands — as far as the shallow width of the table will let you — and spread your legs, moving your hips slowly until his eyes go glassy.

He sputters and shakes his head, moving right back to press his lips on yours. “You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against the base of your neck, “I ain’t never met a broad as naughty as you.”

“Aw,” you croon, grabbing a hold of his vest and tugging him closer, “but you like it, don’t you?”

He groans into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, allowing his hands to slide under your ass so he can hoist you up. It only takes him a few strides before he sets you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, bracketing your head with his forearms. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, and although he knows your body begs for release, to be touched anywhere else but this, he savours the sensation of your lips, of your body squirming underneath. Charlie isn’t a stranger to pleasure, but to savour it, to take his time, is a scarce luxury.

You see the opportunity when Charlie relaxes his shoulders and releases the duvet crumpled in his fist. Using your hips for leverage, you roll on top of him, hissing as his erection makes contact with your pussy. Bracing your knees on either side of him, you lean forwards, leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck as you unbutton his vest, and then the shirt underneath. He sits up, reaching to grip your thighs, taking a moment to flash you a playful grin while you get to work slipping his tie off, his vest, shirt and suspenders joining the pile of clothing on the ground shortly after.

He grunts when your lips brush the hollow at the base of his neck, and the sound alone coils the tightness in your stomach to breaking point. You need him to fuck you, bad, but there’s no way you’re letting it happen before you take him in your mouth first.

As you leap off of him and point to his slacks, it becomes a wordless exchange. It’s the careful tracking of your lust-blown pupils towards the outline of his cock, straining against the fabric, the pursing of his lips as you lean over him, naked and insistent. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the thought of how he’s going to feel inside you, and Charlie must be thinking the same, because it spurs you both into action. His slacks are gone before you can count to five, and along with them go your stockings, which he helps to remove while his teeth scrape your inner thighs.

It feels like a dance; not something rehearsed, but a rhythm that falls into place in the most organic way. He leans against the bedpost with a hand wrapped around his cock, ever-aware of the precum gathering at the tip and the fact that you seem to be salivating already. You press yourself to him, leaving lingering kisses down from his neck to his torso, fingers trailing themselves in the dark curls that lead towards what you want the most.

His hand reaches to squeeze your breasts, to swipe his thumb over your nipples, grunting in tandem with the moan you leave on his skin. You kneel before him, tracing patterns on his thighs with your tongue, working your way up until your mouth seals over his cock. He bites down on his lip as you start to move, his gold signet ring cool on your scalp when he cards his fingers in your hair. His eyes widen, almost uncomprehending at just how good you look with his length disappearing past your lips.

Flattening a palm on his hip, you begin to increase the depth of your strokes, feeling the tip of him hit the back of your throat with a delicious ease. The grip in your hair tightens as you alternate the pressure, swapping between pressing your tongue against the sensitive underside and featherlight swirls on the head. His cock is heavy on your tongue in the best way, and with what your mouth can’t fit, your hand makes up for in synchronicity. Though your focus remains on his pleasure, you feel the heat of Charlie’s gaze burning down to your core. Despite his fluttering eyelids and the groans that grow in volume and frequency, he can’t tear away.

He’s always loved watching his girl work.

He feels a smug sense of satisfaction seeing you unable to fully wrap your fingers around his shaft, and at the fact that you’re so willing to spend this time making him feel good. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the same for you — in fact, he’s dying to taste you, to lap you up with his tongue until you’re flooding his face with your arousal. It’s just that you were always the one to walk away first, so by having you here, choosing him and pleasing him without forethought… it feels as if it’s properly cemented the positions you now hold in each other’s lives, and what you’ve agreed to tonight.

“C’mere,” he rasps, breaking the string of saliva connecting himself to you, hauling you up to your feet. He plants his hand on your waist, driving you backwards into the bed, letting out a single taunting chuckle before knocking your knees apart with his leg. He stares at you, a wild and untapped look in his eyes, free from restraint.

A mix of awe and undulating want runs through you, chilling you from your head to the base of your spine. “Are you gonna do something, Charlie? Or are you gonna make me wait all night?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, straightening at your comment. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

A grin splits your face. “Prove me wrong.”

Charlie drags his hand up your folds, as if he’s marking his territory, an unruly smirk dancing across his lips at the wetness he finds there. He’s purposely stringing you along now, delaying his own gratification just enough to see your guard drop.

He sees you, wanting to retort, your mouth parting to form the words, but before you can say anything, think anything, he leans down and buries himself inside you with one sharp thrust. Cradling your head with his arm, he shudders into your body, growling at the sensation of you stretching out around him. He moves at a steady pace, his hands finding their place in your hair as if they’ve never left.

“Charlie,” you whimper, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back in delirium because his cock feels so goddamn good.

“Yeah,” he groans. “Wasn’t such a bad idea, huh,” he adds, whispering it down by your ear. “Showin’ up, like this.”

Your fingernails latch onto his back, and you wrap your legs around his waist in response. The sound of your moans echo throughout the spacious room, his far more audible than yours as he turns you to putty. Each stroke drives into that spot inside of you, punctuating your thoughts until you’re all-consumed, with him and only him on your mind. You’re not drifting off; you’re present in this moment, aware of not just how he feels for you, but of how good your pussy is for him.

Tipping your head backwards, you press your lips to his, running your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it inside his mouth. He runs a hand along your collarbone, palm resting at the base of your neck, deepening the kiss with every subsequent snap of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to raise your hips to match every thrust, or for your fingers to fumble in his curls — needing to grip his hair tightly, if only to bring him closer to you.

Charlie’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing at how tight you are, how you feel like you were made for him. It’s obscene; the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt, knowing that each movement is designated to bring you both closer to the edge.

You yank his head back as you cum around his cock, surging upwards to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His groan reverberates through your chest, abs tightening against your stomach, and you lay panting despite the fact that he keeps going; a man on a mission to get you to unravel as many times as possible before he gives into himself.

You find your release a few more times, with his mouth roving along the contours of your face down to the sensitive spot by your shoulder, before he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach.

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, his voice gruff yet as smooth as molten honey.

You catch yourself flashing him an insolent smile, but your body does as he says, your hands finding the brass metal railing at the foot of the bed. Like the good girl you are, you stick your ass up in the air, shuffling backwards until you find stability. The mattress dips as he climbs on, and you sneak a peek behind you, swallowing a moan at his ruffled hair, the brows furrowed in concentration, the sweat beginning to shine on his chest. Your pussy throbs at the absence of him, from that fullness you’ve grown deviously accustomed to.

He meets your eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, and guides himself into you. His hips jerk uncontrollably as he’s enveloped by your heat, unable to contain the dulcet moans spilling from his lips. He fucks you with languid strokes, hinging forwards to plant kisses down your spine, all blissed out yet with so much more to give.

“Fuck,” you grit, your knuckles going white from squeezing the railing. With the way your back is arched, and the sharp angle of his thrusts that grow more forceful by the second, it’s a wonder you’re able to function at all. He fucks you like he means it, as if to make up for all the lost time, for all the incidences when he thought it was going to be the last time he was inside you.

A growl escapes from somewhere deep in Charlie’s chest as he picks up the pace, unrelentless in the way he’s driving into you. He grips your waist with both hands, fingers digging into your soft skin, frenetically crazed because all he wants to do is lose himself in you over and over and over again.

You clench around him, utterly incoherent at the snug fit of his cock, and the way he has you balancing on a tightrope; ready to fall over at any given point in time. In combination with the haphazardly strewn sheets, the bed begins to rattle, smacking loudly against the back wall. Frankly, you couldn’t care any less, because Charlie’s hitting so deep it takes all of your effort not to scream, not to wake the entire hotel.

Your moans turn breathier, higher in pitch, as your muscles begin to tighten again, your next orgasm building in exponential waves. The string of noise turns to a repetition of his name, and pleas for him to go with you when you cum. With every grunt, his cock drags along your walls faster, harder. Charlie hisses through his teeth, his movements becoming erratic, surrendering control of his rhythm to the sheer desire of filling you up.

He wraps a thick forearm around your stomach, driving both down onto the bed. He manages a few more strokes, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, before exploding into you with a cry half-muffled by your skin. He takes you with him, of course, and your pussy is a vice that milks him for every last drop he has to give. He bottoms out, panting as he fucks his cum into you, the new position dangerously euphoric.

You both remain there for a moment, content and satisfied with each other’s presence, shivering despite Charlie’s hot forehead pressed to your back. He slides out of you with a final grunt, reaching backwards for the silver cigarette case perched on the nightstand. It doesn’t take him long to light it, or to lay next to you with the cigarette clamped delicately between his teeth.

He takes a drag as he props himself up on his elbow, and you lean in to kiss him — first on the temple, then on the mouth, being careful to let him exhale first. “So, New York City, huh? Where are we going to live?”

Charlie’s eyes sweep over your body, and he breaks out into a roguish grin. “Eh, we’ll find somewhere. Close to business, to A.R.” He pauses to kiss you. “What about you?”

You scoff. “What about me? You know I’ll support you, wherever you need to be.”

“You’re too nice f’your own good sometimes.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to the side. “S’that so? ‘Cause I could give you hell, if I wanted to.”

The challenge in his tone pools between your legs. “Yeah?”

He puts out the cigarette in an instant so he can focus on dragging a hand up your side, stopping only when he gets to your breasts. Charlie moves closer, planting another chaste kiss to your lips.

“‘Sides,” you continue, “I don’t think it matters what I do.” You don’t try to bite down on the mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Not when I’ve got all the luck I need.”

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