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gutsby · 1 month

Text

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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sunderwight · 4 months

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With moshang I think I'm equally fond of the possibilities/concepts where either Shang Qinghua is ludicrously attractive to demons in a broad sense (but doesn't realize it), or, where Shang Qinghua is just some weird little gremlin and everyone else cannot wrap their head around why THE Mobei Jun is so smug about seducing this man.

Or a combination, where no demon in their right mind would ordinarily look at Shang Qinghua and perceive a sex icon, but because such a high-ranking demon has clearly done so, they go "well there must be SOMETHING going on there" and then look closer and before they know it they're on the slippery slope to being horny about a guy who could help file their taxes or arrange to have their clan base's faulty plumbing fixed.

Basically it's all good. Demons en mass going "yeah yeah big scary dudes who punch good are a dime a fucking dozen around here, but do you know how hot someone who can skillfully use an abacus is?" vs demons going "the ice king is a respectable ruler but he has garbage taste in men, we all just smile and politely nod while he insists the weird rat guy he fixated on as a teenager is a catch" vs demons going "I really don't see the appeal -- wait he did what? he killed how many guys at once with 1 trick? he betrayed WHOMST? and lived?! and he knows how to get my door to stop making horrible squeaky noises?! okay yeah figures the king would marry him" but every option is a winner.

I'm also a big fan of both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua being not very attractive to demons in general, but it also being really common for demons to get super weird about first crushes and fixate hard on them, so in that sense they are completely normal choices for a couple of high-level demons to marry. Like the demon populace can appreciate the emperor actually landing his hot teacher and the king successfully marrying his teenage sweetheart. It's an idealized fantasy in terms of the scenarios, even if the actual guys are just weird humans. Nearly every average demon has lifelong daydreams about successfully seducing their first crush, so regardless of who those crushes turned out to be it's still a power move for LBH and MBJ to actually succeed.

Bonus if the fact that both SQQ and SQH are peak lords from the same sect leads to a bunch of demon kids developing crushes on the other remaining, unattached peak lords, and chaos ensuing. Especially for Liu Qingge. I think it would be funny for him to gain a flock of teenage demons with crushes, whom he keeps trying to fight off, only to discover that beating them up does NOT discourage them at all (actually makes the crushes worse). Or Yue Qingyuan getting mobbed like he's a pop star any time he makes a diplomatic visit to the demon realms. Sha Hualing deciding that she's just waiting for Liu Mingyan to become a peak lord before they make things official, since That's Obviously How It's Done, or Qi Qingqi doing a head count one day and realizing she suddenly has a bunch of unfamiliar "guest" disciples who sigh at her a lot and have funny-colored eyes...

#svsss #moshang #bingqiu #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system

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equalseleventhirds · 1 year

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"I don't understand how I'm losing," Reigen said, his hands flying over his keyboard. It was so late now—too late, maybe—if only he'd used the same technique as with the Player Killer from the beginning, he might have stood a chance, but he hadn't seriously thought he'd lose—

"Shishou," Mob said, "why is this so important? You already have second place from Twitter."

Reigen laughed, not at all nervously, and splayed a hand across his forehead. "You don't understand, Mob. The publicity from something like this, even a rematch, would do wonders for Spirits and Such. This is about business."

(He would never admit to his pride being on the line.)

"And anyway, who is this guy? A radio host? I've been on TV, you know."

Mob carefully did not bring up what had actually happened when Reigen made his television debut.

Ritsu had no such qualms. "When they exposed you as a fraud? That was publicity too, right?"

"Hey—!"

Serizawa leaned over Reigen's shoulder to see the computer screen, careful not to spill the tea he placed on the desk. "Oh, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale? It's been a while since I listened to that, maybe I should catch up."

Reigen stared at him. "You? What? Serizawa?"

"Ah... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Back when I was... well, when I didn't leave my room much, the podcast was popular. I guess it gave a sense of... community? Feeling less alone, even when you are." He shrugged. "Plus, hearing another gay man in a show like that was comforting."

"He's gay? Canonically?" Why can't I be gay canonically?

"Sure, he got married in episode 100. It was very emotional."

"I nearly died in our chapter 100—"

-- -- -- -- --

Well, listeners, there's still a few hours left on the poll, but I'm now leading at 56%! I must say, I did not expect this, especially after Twitter users so clearly forgot—or perhaps never knew—about my Tumblr Sexyman Origins.

But, that's neither here nor there. I certainly am grateful, if a bit bemused, about all of this, but let us not forget that this is all a friendly competition. Unlike the annual War On Christmas—and let us all take a moment to remember our fallen allies against that terrible holiday foe—this is a battle of kindness. Love, even. The love we feel for Tumblr, for our favorite sexy men, for pressing a button on a meaningless internet poll. The love we feel, listeners, for each other.

And in the spirit of that love and friendliness, I figured I'd get to know my opponent a little better! A bit of googling, which of course you know means searching via every search engine but Google, what with the Town Council imposing the Google Search Tax and getting all Night Vale IP addresses shadowbanned, has led me to... oh my, listeners. I do not know who made this, but Reigen Arataka has the single most beautiful professional web page I have ever encountered. It's... words do not do it justice. I am tearing up. This... I could not make anything better myself.

A-hem. Listeners, now that I've wiped away the tears such beauty inspired in me, I can now see that Reigen's website advertises his business, one Spirits and Such Consulting. Well! We may be rivals in this moment, but I am overjoyed to learn that Reigen runs such an innovative and important business! I am nearly ashamed that, while my opponent works to make the world a better place, I, a mere community radio host, am winning the sexyman contest.

Nevertheless, we must respect the polls. Not respecting polls could get us in hot water with the Town Council, or with the demigods of numbers who lurk in the sharp edges of percentages. So since I can't hand my victory over to him, I think I'll do what I can as a community radio host, and promote Reigen Arataka's important business!

So if you're a spirit in need of counseling, a ghost in need of therapy, or an eldritch beast in need of a shoulder to cry on, head on over to Seasoning City and pay our good friend Reigen a visit! I'm sure he'll be pleased as anything to see you.

#long post #fanfiction #algie writes things #fjskdlfjdk SORRY ABOUT THIS BUT #i had to i had tooooooo #hammered this out v quickly and i am feelin v sleeby still so it's not polished but it IS funny #.......i think. i think it's funny. u kno.#anyway #sexymanotd #tumblr sexyman rematch #cecilsweep

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skeletonpunching · 1 year

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Buddy Daddies character bios

Kurusu Kazuki

28 years old, assassin

Lives with his colleague and buddy Rei, and looks after his daily needs. When working with Rei, his responsibilities are mostly arranging the contract, gathering intel in advance, and setting up the plan for execution. Excellent communication skills. Fond of women and gambling. Good at cooking and cleaning, and periodically chides Rei for his sloppy lifestyle. Was married in the past, and his wife was pregnant, but she died as a result of some shady business dealings.

Suwa Rei

25 years old, assassin

A man of few words. Usually doesn't even bat an eye when Kazuki comes staggering home. Outstanding physical ability; at the top of the field in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. There is a drastic contrast between his ON (professional) and OFF (private) modes - at home, he just shuts himself in and plays games. Born into a large mob family, he received special assassin training from his parents ever since his childhood. Unable to escape the conflicts in his family, he has no understanding of normal parent-child relationships.

Unasaka Miri

4 years old

A truly lively, innocent girl with absolutely no fear. Her father is a prominent human trafficker and a mafia boss. Her mother is the boss's lover. She showed up at a hotel in search of her father, and got caught up in a gunfight, but was rescued by Kazuki. An affectionate child, she calls Kazuki "Kazuki-papa", and Rei "Rei-papa".

Kugi Kyutaro

32 years old, cafe owner

A go-between who coordinates jobs for Kazuki and Rei. Usually puts on a friendly demeanour as the owner of the cafe “Mistletoe”. Keenly perceptive, and remarkably well-informed. Knows a lot about Kazuki and Rei's pasts, but for some reason, has never intervened, and keeps their relationship squarely within the limits of a business transaction. Generally acts like a kind older brother, but when a job goes wrong, will also readily discard all that to be completely businesslike. A reliable partner to Kazuki and Rei, but keeps them on their toes.

#buddy daddies #figured i might as well post these since i had them #i guess this is a thing now #buddy daddies character bios

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wifeofnatasharomanoff · 1 year

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Sinful Affairs

WARNINGS: Nat has a dick, reader and Nat aren't married but they have a baby, arguing, slight angst, guns/knives, violence, fingering (reader receiving), oral (Nat receiving), daddy kink, breeding kink, degradation, edging, choking, slapping/spanking kink (only a bit) jealousy, possessiveness , fluffy ish at the end

WORDS: 2,779

PAIRING: dark/toxic!mob boss!Nat x f!Reader

A/N: silly little me wanted to write this, i hope you guys have been doing well <3

There it was again, her. The woman you shared many nights with. The woman who couldn't be there for you and the child you had together. But you see her again. You felt your breath catch in your throat. Her red hair was pulled up into a braid. A little boy in her arms. “Natasha. W- what are you doing here? Why are you here?” her lips formed into a sly grin. “Why? Can't I visit my son and my girl?” You glared at her. Her girl? If you were hers, she wouldn't have left you time after time with that dumb little note every morning. ‘Sorry sweetheart, work issues. Had to leave, I'll be back.’ and every time you believed her. You had begged her to stay. To quit her job and live with you and the baby, it's not like she lacked the money for it. She knew you were upset. And that she was the cause of it. “Natasha please just leave.” she sent you a stern look and carefully put down the baby in his crib.

“And why should I listen to you?” she said as she leaned against the wall. “You don't have to. But I want you to.” she seemed unphased by your little comment. She was more humored that you didn't want her here. Or that you attempted to lie in order to get her to leave. “If you aren't going to stay, then there's no point in coming here. You're getting my hopes up, and Alex would know you well enough to remember. Remember that his other parent could care less about him and his mom.” she faked a look of pity as she backed you out of the nursery and into the bedroom.

“You don't realize that if I stay, you two would get hurt. Do you even know how many enemies I've made in my line of work? No. Exactly, so you can't be upset at me for something you don't know.” you scoffed, “oh, so you visiting makes it any less dangerous for us? Nat– you‐ God! I don't even know what I feel when I'm around you.” was that a confession, or were you still fighting? “Well, I'm being careful with my visit times. I don't show up whenever I want to.” so she chose to ignore that last part.

You couldn't tell if you were mad at her or if you wanted to risk it all for one more night with her. So you stayed silent as she brought up a finger under your chin to direct your face to hers. “Natasha– if you stayed here, you would be able to protect us. What if you don't come home for over a week and you show up to find us dead? Hm?” her grip on your face slightly tightened. How could you say something like that? “Detka.. I–” your gaze dances over her features. She accidentally let her insecurities slip, you could tell. Her brows softened, and her eyes were a bit glossed over.

“You what?” she slid her hand from your face and down to your neck. Her fingers hesitated before clasping around your neck and pushing you up against the wall. Her hold was tight but not yet unbearable. You felt your oxygen cut off at some point, making your head go all fuzzy. She was always violent but never over matters like this. When she noticed your hand around her wrist loosen, she stopped. Did she go too far? No. In her mind, she was always right. You gasped for air the second she let you go. “Y/N—” you coughed as you leaned your head against the door.

“D- don't you think you've done enough Nat?” you couldn't bring yourself to look at her. “... What if I marry someone else? Alex wouldn't mind a stepdad or step-mom. At least they'd be there for him—” that was it. She had enough of you by now. You winced as you felt her palm harshly hit your cheek, reddening the side of your face. “Don't you fucking say that you little slut. Alex is perfectly fine with the way things are.” you blinked back some unshed tears, “how do you know that? He's just a baby. He can't even talk yet! Did he tell you that he was okay with all of this? Did he?” she sighed as she shook her head.

You watched her slowly bring a hand up to her pocket and pull out a blade. “Natasha put that down.. fuck– put it down, Nat!” you shouted as you threw the pillows that sat on the bed at her. If anything, it angered her more. “Natasha stop! I- I can call 911. You've been wanted by the police for a few years, isn't that right?” she huffed as she threw you onto the bed with ease. “Please Tash stop!” you cried as you felt her cold touch underneath your shirt. “You aren't marrying anyone. If you do, it'll be me. You're mine. You hear that?” you had to give in. Or else she would've done something to you. “Mhm! I'm yours. I'm all yours! Please Nat stop.” you held your breath as you felt the tip of the knife gently hit your skin.

She's not going to kill you. Right? She has hurt you before, but you doubt that she'd kill you. Or maybe she would. A shaky gasp escaped your mouth when you sensed the head of a gun underneath your chin. It can't be loaded. Can it? You whimper as she harshly tugged on your hair and pressed the gun harder against your skin. “Natasha! Nat.. please t–that's empty, right?” her lips grew into a slight smirk as she lowered the gun and pulled the trigger, aiming for the wall. You felt your blood go cold, it was loaded. She was going to kill you, wasn't she? That's what she wanted you to think. The second you heard the shot, your body slightly jumped. The knife that she held against your stomach lightly touched your skin.

“Natasha please. Let me go. I won't marry anyone, okay? Nat, we have a son– you aren't home half of the time! I have to take care of him. Please, Natasha.” you were thankful she put the gun away, but she still had the knife pressed against your body. “Thank you. I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have said I'd marry someone else. I'm sorry Natasha—” “turn around.” you look up at her with a confused look, “what?” without letting you process any of what she said, Natasha grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over. You heard the knife clatter on the floor as she threw it onto the ground. You lay flat on your stomach on the bed. “God, you're so fucking annoying.” she quickly slid your pants off, leaving your legs exposed. “Natasha..” you stopped yourself from complaining. She was already upset, you didn't want to upset her more.

You felt her palm roughly hit your ass, causing you to slightly wince. “Count for me, kotenok.” she whispered as she sent another smack to your skin, “o-one.” she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your face off the mattress. “Recount for daddy sweetheart.” you nodded as her hand hit your ass once more, “one.. t-thank you daddy.”

She traced the hem of your panties, chuckling slightly when her finger came in contact with damp fabric. “You got all worked up over that?” you didn't answer her. She slid her fingers against your inner thighs, relentlessly teasing your sensitive areas. “N-Natasha I..” she tore off your panties and tossed them on the floor. Your words get cut short with a muffled moan as she rubbed her fingers through your slippery folds, slamming your face against the mattress. “mmnh..” her touch felt like fire on skin, burning you up. “Tell me.. do you want daddy to fuck you?” you felt her press her fingers on your slit, gathering your slick and spreading it all over your cunt. “Nata– daddy please.” you didn't know if you were begging her to stop or to keep going.

“Get up.” you bit back a whimper and sat up on the bed. You watched patiently as her hands went to discard her jeans and boxers. Your eyes go straight to look at her thick, hardened dick. “Well?” you turn your gaze away from her. “Are you that dumb?” she sighed as she gripped onto your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. She pulled your face closer to her length and shoved a few inches inside your mouth. “mmph—” she buried her hand into your hair and pushed further into your mouth. “Be a good little bitch and suck.” you rolled your eyes and flattened your tongue along the veins of her cock.

She guided your head around her dick, shoving it deeper into your mouth. You slightly gagged as her tip hit the back of your throat. “Take it all in, baby girl.” her breath labored as your tongue teases and sucks her length. “Fuck..” her grip on your hair tightened as you sucked her cock vigorously, drool dripping down from your chin.

You didn't want this. She didn't care for you, but it felt so natural like it was meant to be. Like you were meant to be hers. But she wasn't yours, was she? She was yours too. You just didn't know. She didn't want you to know.

Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as her dick popped in and out of your mouth. “oh God!” her head threw back as you sucked harder on her girthy length, sinking it deeper and deeper into your mouth. It was then that she thrust her hips forward and her tip pushed back into your throat, causing you to gasp for air as you choked on her length and tears to spill from your eyes. “mmnph!” she didn't stop fucking your throat, her hand buried into your hair as she forced her cock deep into your mouth. “Fuck– I'm gonna cum in that slutty little mouth of yours. Take it.” you hear her say, and you felt two ropes of thick cum release into your mouth.

She pulled her length out of your mouth and brought her hand down to her dick and began pumping. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.” you could tell from her voice that she was close, you closed your eyes shut as her cum sputtered all over your face. “Shit..” she moaned softly as she came on your face. She lowered her hand down to grip your face, “daddy's sorry for having to ruin such a..” she examined your fucked out face, her cum and your saliva dribbling down the corners of your lips, tears rolling down your blushed cheeks. “..pretty little face.” she chuckled as she tapped her palm against your warm cheek.

“Get on the bed.” you complied and got up with shaky legs and laid on the bed. Natasha walked over to the edge of the bed and pulled your legs around hers. “What do you want daddy to do kotenok?” you were about to respond, but then she slipped her hand in between your thighs, making you let out an embarrassingly loud whimper. “Daddy please.” she raised her brow up and slid her thumb against your glistening slit. A cocky smirk played on her lips as she watched your hole twitch, and your body squirm underneath her. You let out a sigh of relief as she inserted 2 fingers inside of your pussy. She quickly pumped her digits in and out of your tight cunt, stretching your walls out for her cock. “Daddy– oh my God, I'm so close!” she pulled her fingers out of your cunt, “whores like you don't get to cum this soon.” you whined as you felt her leave you empty.

She grabbed the knife and swiftly sliced off your blouse, along with your bra, leaving your chest and stomach uncovered. “Natasha put that down. Please, please, I'll do anything.” you chanted pleas and begged her to drop the knife as she gently stroked your bare skin with the metal of the knife. “Nat..” you whimpered in fear as she poked your stomach lightly with the tip of the blade. She sighed as she threw the knife onto the floor.

“Shut up.” she muttered as she roughly held onto your hips and pushed a few inches of her length inside of your aching cunt. “oh daddy fuck!” she rocked your hips back and forth whilst she shoved deeper into you, sliding inside inch by inch. “How are you still so– fucking tight after all of that?” she grunted as she struggled to fit her cock entirely into you. “mm! You're so big daddy..” she thrusted deeper inside of you, earning a moan from your mouth as it hit your sweet spot. “oh fuck– right there daddy! You feel so good inside of me..” you hesitantly grip onto her muscular shoulders as you cry for more. She leaned down to press her lips against yours, pulling you in for a slow kiss. “You drive me crazy detka..” she mumbles breathlessly against your lips. You moan into the kiss as she thrusts deeper inside of you. “nmh.. Natty!” you gasp softly as she snapped her hips upwards.

“Are you close?” she grunted as she fucked harder into you. “..y-yes.” you were surprised that you were able to respond as your nails dug deep into her skin, leaving crescent shaped marks. “Beg. Tell me why you deserve to cum.” you mentally scoffed at her, “daddy please. Please I need to so badly.. please- please- please!” she snickered at your desperation. “Fine. Do it now it you won't get to cum later.” she said as she continued pounding away at you. You scream in pleasurement as you came all over her cock, your thighs trembling as your nails scratching at her back and shoulders, hard enough to draw blood.

She continued her movements on your cunt as she rolled her hips against yours, “ngh– daddy stop..” you muttered, all out of breath. “oh.. sweetheart, I'm not stopping till I finish inside of you.” she seemed unbothered by your whines and complains, her strong hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you from moving away. “N-Natasha please.” despite your attempts of getting her to stop, the whorish moans never stopped leaving your mouth. You clawed at her back as her tip pushed up to your cervix, “Gonna cum inside you baby.. fill you all up.” she groaned when she felt your spongey walls clench around her cock. She slightly smiled as she leaned down to pepper light, feathery kisses all over your stomach. “mhm..” you were at the point where you couldn't speak properly, everything seemed like a blur, all your words came out incoherently.

Her breaths became more strained and heavy as she fucked vigorously into you, “tell.. tell me you want me to cum inside you.” she breathed out, clear sweat glistened on her forehead. “I wan’ you to.. ” your mind hazy as you barely finished speaking. “You too tired to speak detka?” she chuckled, “no– Nat cum inside me.. please.” her lips curled into a small smile. “Whatever you say moya lyubov.” she said as she came deep inside of your cunt, painting your velvety walls white. “Fucking hell..” she panted as she laid against your limp body. “Natasha pull out.. ’m too sensitive.” she placed her lips over yours, softly kissing your plump lips. “Okay..” she whispered against your mouth as she slowly pulled out.

“Natasha..” you mumbled out her name, “yeah?” you weakly grasped her hand. “Stay.” her gaze softened as she lightly squeezed your hand. “Detka you know I can't.” tears pricked your eyes, “stay. Natasha, please.” you could hear your voice cracking as you spoke. “Please.. darling, I need you home. We need you home.” she wasn't going to stay. She'd leave like always. Right? She wouldn't listen to you. The thoughts spun in your head, “okay. Just this once.” your hand fell from hers. She was going to stay. “I can't let them find you two.” you furrowed your brows, “who?” she smiled and kissed your forehead. “Nothing. Go to sleep baby.” she dodged your question, but you were too tired to argue with her.

“Lay with me?” she nodded and lies down next to you. Snuggling her chin in the crook of your neck, “I love you.” she said as she pecked your cheek. A smile appeared on your lips when you felt a squeeze at your waist. “I love you too.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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winterarmyy · 1 year

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Plot Twist | Part I

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Run-through: I just need to get this out of my system. Most of arranged marriage mob/mafia!au I've read has a strong/bratty reader. And a really mean/asshole Bucky. Which is absolutely fine btw but its getting repetitive for me. I wanted to see a reader who's actually soft but fierce when she wants to be. And Bucky who is generally cold and seems to be married to his job but notices small things that the reader do, thus subconsciously started to care about her. They don’t hate each other, nor do they are infatuated. I don’t know if this exist, so I decided write it myself just in case. Enjoy!

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 1.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just fluffy and wholesome stuff here. Nothing graphic or explicit.

P/S: I like to write in 3rd pov btw. There's a few mentions of y/n sometimes too. Beware of the grammar mistakes, English is not my first language. This might be 2-3 parts type of fic, so tell me what you think so far.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

“He's late.”

The soft clinking sounds of his rings colliding with each other and onto the dresser woke her up from her deep slumber. Though her body remained still, her mind continued to wonder,

“Late. Again.” She thought.

The sound of fabrics rustling about hinted her of what was happening beyond her closed eyes. The shut of the bathroom door confirmed her speculations.

“So, what if he came back home late? Why does it concern you?” She questioned herself.

Only a fool would believe if she said that she didn't care at all about the whereabout and well-being of this man. He is her husband after all.

Six months ago, she stood on the alter with that man. They swore an oath. They sealed the kiss. He was hers and she was his.

James Buchanan Barnes; Bucky was what he preferred to called. He is what every man wants to become, and every woman wants to be with.

An Adonis of a man; impossibly tall, 6'5"; body armored with thick layer of muscles. Bucky is huge, that if he trapped her against the wall, she might just see the resemblance of him to a grizzly bear. His dark hair flowed just above his shoulder and his steel blue eyes were as cold as his personality.

Though she wouldn't compare him to a frozen blizzard during the winter, he was more like the first day of snow, when the white flakes started to fall.

Cold enough to make you shiver and warm enough to lure you out but most importantly, obscenely beautiful.

However, of course, the main reason of the marriage set up by her father was not because of how beautiful he is, but to fulfil his hunger for power. As if the territories that their family has wasn't enough, her father arranged this union to extend his reign.

Y/N protested at first but knew better than to fight against her father. Being raised in such family, at a very young age she learned to think always ahead; pass the emotions and intuitions. What's the rational and logical way to solve a problem.

Took her a week to wrap her head around the matter, research about Barnes and go through the agreement between her father and her then husband to be. Barnes had listed some main demands regarding the union and although most of them were about their business, but one particular demand had caught her attention.

“After marriage, the couple must be faithful to one another. Any romantic/sexual relationships prior must be severed/resolved immediately. Failed to do so will result to termination of the contract.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She thought.

Not that she was in any relationship at the time, and all the research result to possibly positive outcome. So, in the end, she complied.

Which then explained why she was sleeping in Bucky's bed six months later.

“I know you're awake.” Bucky's gravel voice startled her internal thoughts. She could feel the indentation of the mattress on his side of the bed, the fresh and clean scent wafting from him. She nearly purred from a sniff of it.

She slowly opened her eyes as if she was trying to peep and god what a sight to see after a restless sleep; Bucky's idea of pajamas was basic pants and nothing above and Y/N didn’t know what to feel about that. Does she hate it? Absolutely not. Does she like it? Well, he is easy on the eye indeed.

The room was dimly lit, but she could see his slightly damp hair; it looked longer than it is dry. Her eyes followed the outline of his body leaning against the bed. The soft light reflected on his metal arm particularly follows the gold lines decorating the dark surface.

She often had intrusive thoughts of tracing the lines; what would it feel like against her fingertips. Does he feel anything? Is it cold? Will it feel good?

“You do know that it’s a waste your time to wait for me, right?” He huffed a heavy breath. She could hear the fatigue in his sigh.

And how does Bucky know that she waited for him before admitting her defeat to the drowsiness? Somehow, Bucky always managed to know things, to the littlest matter, even when he’s million miles across the world.

Just like when she found a copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bed a few months ago. The day before she received it, her copy was drenched in coffee; a young woman bumped into her in front of the café she often visit. He was in Russia that time. “Was it Clint? Did he tell Bucky?” she wondered.

“Whoever said I was waiting for you?” She scoffed, yet if the room was well lit enough, Bucky would’ve seen how playful her expression was.

He hummed a deep voice, “Hmm.” there’s a hint of doubt in his tone.

Y/N quickly follow her previous sentence, “I was simply enjoying my reading, that I lost track of time.” She shifted to face him and tucked herself further into the blanket, hiding the lower half of her face as she looked up at him. She wondered if he could tell that she was smiling just from her eyes.

Bucky’s gaze remained still on her, as if he was trying to reach into her soul, before he leaned closer to peek on the book on the table. Pride and Prejudice written on it.

He chuckled, which was rare. At the least the real ones are.

Of course, she had seen him smile and laugh countless of time. Especially during those gala they often attend. But those were just another set of armor he wore on a daily basis.

Bucky tried to bite back a smile, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, “Lost track of time, huh?” Yet, somehow Y/N can hear the smile in his tone.

“A good read?” he asked as if he did not know why his wife brought up about the book. She never said anything about the gift; not a thank you or a complaint.

She simply cherish it in her own way. He heard from Clint that she rearranged her whole bookshelf just to make space for the book he gave her. Maybe this was her way of saying thank you.

He had been giving her books every week, since.

She pulled the blanket away from her face, lips curled into a genuine smile, “Always.”

Bucky preened to her reply before suddenly, “Okay, enough chit chat. It’s late.” he said almost monotone sounded, as he made himself comfortable under the blanket.

Before she could overthink of what went wrong, why the sudden drop of chemistry; that was when she felt his hand roamed to find hers. Bucky brought her palm closer to his face, she could feel his hot breath against her cold skin.

He leaned his lips on her palm, leaving a soft and tender kiss as he mumbled, “Goodnight, doll.”

Rush of red shades bloomed on her cheeks, before caving into the feeling of his stubble on her hand. She gently caresses the side of his cheeks, hoping it soothes him to sleep.

The corners of her lips curved upwards into a smile, "See? Like, the first day of snow."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: It’s my first fic so... share your thoughts? ily 🤍

#winterarmyyfics #plottwistfic #mafia!bucky #mob!bucky #bucky barnes au #mafia!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x reader #arranged marriage #husband!bucky #beefy!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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waywardcrow · 2 months

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I’d do bad things with you.

Summary: The day after the wedding, Bucky and his new wife go to Stark's house to plan their next step because that's why they are married, right? Not because they love each other.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Stark!reader.

TW: Really not so many, talks of murder but very lightly, implications of mafia kind of stuff but please remember all I know about this I learned from SoC and fics lol, allutions to death, mention of cheating and sex, lots of angst, curvy!reader, no mention of y/n and reader's nickname is Bells (context coming soon), kind of enemies to lovers but not really enemies, arranged marriage, this will be a +18 story so minors dni.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, please tell me if I make grammar mistakes.

Part of the Yours to lose series.

All eyes on us <<<

Pictures from pinterest and graphic and dividers by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

Bucky didn’t dare to say anything when his wife closed the door of the guest room, how could he? His dragă asked for one thing: help to protect her family.

That didn’t mean she owned him something, she was his wife but not his woman, not anymore.

If only he wasn’t so impulsive, if he weren’t so blind to recognize what he had in front on him, they wouldn’t be in this situation, their wedding wouldn’t be an arrangement, he would had ask her to marry him instead of trapping her.

Still, he had hopes, he would never give up in getting her back, and when Bucky finally did it, he would make up for the lost time.

Alone in her room, Bells felt the Barnes’ family ring heavy in her hand, not only for the rose diamond, it was heavy because she didn’t deserve it. She was well aware she only had it because she ended up being a Stark, there was no way this could ever happen to her being the mistress on turn for the Winter Soldier.

And even knowing it, she missed those times.

Everyone that worked in the restaurant knew she was sleeping with him, they also knew it was better for their tongues that she never heard them talk about it, Bucky made an example of the first and only one who tried, a jackass named Julian who liked to make women uncomfortable.

After that, everyone turned a blind eye when Bucky when to the bar and talk to her for hours, when he called her to his office and she used disappeared in there to don't go back to work for the whole shift, they saw them going home at night, both being walking proof of the affair.

Her friends sometimes looked at Bells with concern; especially Kate but no one said a thing.

She would get in the car with Bucky who would try to convince her to stop working so he could spoil her and Bells would gave him the same answer, she only wanted him, not his money.

It was so stupid of her, to believe he could feel the same one day but how could she not think it when he played his part so well? Treating him like she was something delicate, something beautiful, she wanted to believe he could want her, love her.

That was why she spent most of the nights with him during the months her fantasy ran wild, she was even familiar with his men, Steve and Sam adored her, Scott, Thor and Clint were sweet with her, even the stoic Loki smiled sometimes at her jokes.

Bucky made her feel at home, she had free reign in the house except for his office and they found their routine very quickly.

Even in the nights Bucky couldn’t join her right after work, he would find her sometimes eating alone in the kitchen or taking a shower and he would made up to her, he was so tender with Bells, making her feel everything was right, maybe it was because she never had a real home and she craved it that she was so easy to fool.

After taking the dress off her and removing her make-up, the girl curled in bed, refusing to cry again for him.

“Good morning, dragă, I made breakfast” was the first thing Bucky told his wife in the morning. His wife, he would never get tired of saying it even if it was only in his head.

She looked beyond beautiful, the ivory set of pants and jacket hug her curves and he was loving the cleavage cut he could see from his place in the counter. His wife looked like what she was, a Queen.

“Don’t call me that, James” hearing his name on her lips hurt but he deserved it, at least she didn’t call him by his last name.

Their last name.

“Does my lady prefer any other nickname?” he asked without stop smiling, serving her coffee like he knew she liked it.

“I have a name, stick to it”

Her name was beautiful, both of them, the one her parents gave her and the one he met her with but she was the woman he loved, dragă was really appropiate.

“You used to love when I called you that, I don’t think I should change it if we want this marriage to be believable” he shrugged, knowing well why his wife didn’t like it anymore.

“We made a deal, Barnes” oh, James was gone “you will not make anyone believe this after we deal with our enemies”

She really did believe he would give up on her, which almost made him smile. His dragă still had to learn a few things about him.

“You should eat, Mrs. Barnes, we have to be at your brother’s house in half an hour”

Bucky was the least happy about working with Tony Stark, he supposed they could have been friends in another circumstances but he hurt his sister, if Natasha would ever did the same to Becca, Bucky would never forgive her.

Thor drove them to Stark’s mansion and Bucky hated how at ease his wife was there, that wasn’t her home, not anymore.

Russo and Castle were waiting besides Stark who hugged his wife and kissed her cheeks, taking her away from Bucky, leaving him scowling beside Steve and Sam.

“You look like you drank your weight in alcohol, Billy” she giggled and Bucky’s heartache increased, when was the last time he made her laugh? He couldn’t remember.

“Are you trying to tell me something, topolina?” Russo inquired with an offended look while they walked to Stark’s office.

“Yes, she means you look like shit Bill” Castle answered before his wife could and they all laughed but Russo and Bucky, Sam and Steve were too busy talking with Thor to notice. He watched as they took her inside the house bringing back her sweet personality, all the love she felt for them that made him mad watching the “proof” of her betrayal slapping him in the face once again.

Maybe Hydra staged all that but it was his fault, his own insecurities and ghosts were what made her hate him and he couldn’t see the way out of the mess he created, not when the scars that piece of shit gave her in his murder attempt were visible every time Bucky could see her arms.

“Are you ok Buck?” Sam asked quietly, his gaze following Bucky’s, his dragă was smiling at Pepper and Tony, touching her sister in law’s bump. He might never get that with her and if it wasn’t with her- Bucky knew it now, if it wasn’t her, it was no one.

“I’m fine, let’s go”

Pierce had endless resources, deals with powerful people, enough money to buy himself a kingdom, lots of people who would kill for him without hesitation but with all that, he had an Aquiles heel.

“We know he feels like he already won the reelection for Mayor but I’m not so sure” Bells projected a picture of a handsome man dark hair. He had a kind smile and even the red sunglasses didn’t disminished his likable aura “Matthew Michael Murdock was born and raised in Hell’s kitchen, he graduated Columbia with honors with his best friend, Franklin Nelson, the current District Attorney and he was a champion of the people as a lawyer in his neighborhood despite he had multiple chances to work for a big firm, all of that changed when his soon to be wife, Karen Page, got in the way of Wilson Fisk”

Billy raised his hand as if he was in a classroom.

“Why does this sound like someone talking about their crush and how this helps us?” next to him, Maria hit him in the head and he yelped “I’m just saying!”

“She has a point, you would know it if you let Bells finish” his sister smiled at her friend “please go on topolina.

“Thanks Maria, you’re right as always” Bells winked at her and Maria blow her a kiss “Murdock it’s going to help us beat Pierce in the legal side and meanwhile dear Karen would help us convince him to let us give his campaign a hand” there was a mischievous grin in her face that Bucky had never seen before and it took everything in Bells to look away from him.

Pepper then cleared her throat and Bells took her seat, everyone looking at the ginger.

“Since Fisk got killed in jail, Miss Page got out of witness protection and Mr. Murdock reinforced his fight against the system from the political side” Bells helped her showing reports of Murdock’s popularity, his good press, all the people that supported him “we are going to destroy Pierce taking everything from him. Natasha and Yelena are working with Wanda and Maria to take more territory from him, Madani and Torres keep going after his most powerful lieutenants just like we talked about the last meeting.”

The map in the screen showed the comparison of the before and after, all the east side of the city that once was Pierce’s now it was all theirs, there were still parts resisting the change, it would have been quicker if the group didn’t tried to make the transition the less bloody as possible.

It wasn’t about power, even if it was what their line of work demanded, it was about revenge.

Pierce took something irreplaceable from each one of them, it would be only fair they’d leave him with nothing.

This time Bucky catched Bells eye and refused to let her go.

If not for Pierce, maybe they still would been together but maybe not, Bells was so afraid to tell him the truth about who she really was when Tony found her and it just added to the impending disaster they were, they would been living a lie, she would have been just the mistress, the toy on turn for someone that didn’t loved her.

Bells had to remind herself she didn’t need Bucky, she couldn’t, not after being the target of his cruelness, she couldn’t wash the memory of him fucking Jenna on his desk after telling Bells he loved her hours before.

She knew the truth now, she couldn’t forgive him, not when Bells’ heart was still aching for Bucky’s betrayal, for his lack of faith in her, for his lack of love towards her.

On the other side, Bucky was proud of her, his dragă was born to rule at his side and he didn’t care if he had to hunt Alexander Pierce himself, he would do anything to do this right.

If the murder of his father taught him something, it was that he wouldn’t fix anything feeling sorry for himself, Bucky had all the chances in the world to make amends and he would pay for every mistake with the blood of their enemies.

Tag list: learisa blackhawkfanatic queerqueenlynn calwitch pono-pura-vida

Hiya! This took me so long but it was only because I was stressing myself about it, then I decided to do whatever felt right and here we are! Also the nicknames I used here:

dragă: sweetheart.

topolina: little mouse.

Let me know what you think.

Love, Lily.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #mob!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst

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janeyseymour · 19 days

Text

La Cosa Nostra- pt 1

*clears throat* ...hi. i present to you, the first part of the fic that @schemmentis are co-writing. and damn, if i do say so myself.

Summary: You're a part of the mob. Melissa is a part of the mafia. Together... it makes for an interesting life.

Let us know what you think because we are having an absolute BLAST with this!

WC: ~3k

You really don’t know how you ended up in this position.

One day, you were working at the local hair salon, the next, you learned that your boss was tied up in the mafia and needed some help getting out. Luckily for him; you already had contacts. Just not on the side he was with. Which means you couldn’t entirely get him out of trouble but you could help. And you did. You had called your “Uncle'' Joe for a favor. A big one. Taking the loans of your boss at the hair salon off the Italian’s books and claiming them to the Irish instead. At least then, you knew exactly who needed to be spoken to for the loans and what was owed. And that’s how you met Melissa Schemmenti.

Melissa had been sent on behalf of the Italian’s. To negotiate taking the salon’s books. She hadn’t given it up easily. The only saving grace was the fact that the Irish taking the books meant the Italians didn’t have a problem to worry about anymore. It was hard not to want to agree from the Italian side of it. They had nothing to lose. And you were indebting yourself a great deal to your own “family” by taking it on. Except you knew you could turn a profit if you were given the chance. You argued with the red-head spokeswoman tooth and nail, like your life depended on it. Yours didn’t, not yet. Your boss’ life did, though.

When Melissa finally agreed to turn over the books, she’d shaken your hand with an all too satisfied smile. One that you hadn’t forgotten since. You went around everyone in your extended “family” to ask her out. You half expected her to cuss you out and make it extremely well known you had tried. Instead, she’d said yes and told you to pick her up at six.

Fast forward seven years: you now own the hair salon, that red headed woman is your wife, and you have two beautiful little girls together. Everything is great- you would even dare to say perfect. Your front is working perfectly while still being one of the best hair salons in all of Philadelphia, your wife’s restaurant has taken off and she’s been named one of the most up and coming restauranteurs in the city, and your two children are well on their way to blossoming into two of the smartest kindergarteners you know.

The day your daughters were born is second only to the day you married Melissa in the happiest day of your life. Deciding to start a family as soon as possible, you began to lay down the foundations for a family. It had been decided that you would carry while attempting to find a donor that was as similar to your wife as possible.

The two of you had tried a few times before and hadn’t managed to get pregnant. The day that you went in to take a test and the doctor told you that were indeed pregnant was one that you’ll never forget- Melissa jumping out of her seat and tackling you in a hug, her hand already resting gently on your flat stomach. And when you found out that you were blessed enough to be pregnant with twins, Melissa had gripped your hand, making a cross over her chest with the other. She thanked God for blessing you with two; she thanked you for carrying them since she couldn’t imagine being the one to.

Having you carry was risky though, and it never left either of your minds through the entire pregnancy that you were technically on the forefront of this illegal business that you found yourself a part of now. But you were able to make it through your entire pregnancy without a hair on your head touched (you’re fairly certain Melissa had threatened both sides that if you were even looked at the wrong way they would be taken care of).

Melissa, even five years later, is positive you were only flattering her when you had requested to name one of your girls in honor of her. She was the love of your life, after all, you had argued. Caterina Ann had been born first, and two minutes later her sister followed. Melissa named her Rosalina Marie. Gifting one of her sister’s middle names despite their estrangement. When the two of them did finally reconcile and Kristen Marie met your rays of sunshine, she wept at their names.

And then, it all comes crashing down on you. You’re out with your wife to pick up the girls from their day at school when your phone rings- and not your personal phone: the phone that you use specifically for your business.

“Hello?” you answer softly.

“Y/N,” the manager on call replies. “We have a bit of a problem over at the salon.”

“You can handle it,” you roll your eyes. “I’m out getting ready to pick up the girls.”

“They ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says lowly. “Insisting you come speak to them directly.”

You hazard a glance at your wife, who is looking at you with furrowed brows. “Let me pick the girls up, drop the family at home, and then I’ll be in.”

“Make it quick.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” you reprimand your employee. “Don't forget I can fire your ass.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t get down here sooner rather than later, there’s gonna be a much bigger problem on our hands than we have now.” He hangs up.

You stuff your phone in your pocket, look up at the sky, and audibly ask the question, “Why?” All you wanted to do was pick up the girls and have a nice family night. You’d finally been able to take the day off after almost a month of straight work. Now though, that was being taken away from you, and you couldn’t even get a clear answer as to why.

“Why what?” your wife asks you, clearly concerned.

“After we get Cat and Rosie, I have to head down to the salon,” you huff. “Tony called and said someone is down there specifically asking for me over some sort of problem. So, I’m either giving out a ridiculous credit or I’m dealing with...” you trail off, knowing she’ll understand.

Melissa squeezes your hand. “Go. I can handle ‘em. Just... please be back for bedtime, because then I have to head to the restaurant to prep for tomorrow."

“I’ll do what I can,” you promise her. You peck her lips, and you turn in the direction of your business wondering what the hell you’ll be walking into.

You walk in through the staff entrance of the salon, swiftly ducking into the back office before anyone up front can notice. You dig through desk drawers and the small filing cabinet in the corner. You quickly slip one binder, the ledger of the illegal side of the business into the space between your belt and back before you tuck your blazer coat back over it. You grip the other binder you’d grabbed, the legal ledger, as you step back out of the office and towards the front.

“Tony,” You greet your manager with a big smile. Your eyes flashing your annoyance at him. “Who do we have here?” You quickly turn your attention to the two individuals standing in front of Tony. You hold your hand out to shake.

Instead of a handshake, a badge is flashed from each of the suits now focusing on you. “Agent Danik, and this Agent Shaw, FBI. You own this establishment?”

“I do.” You confirm. “What can I help you with?”

“We have reason to believe this salon is laundering money. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Danik tells you lowly.

“I’d be happy to answer what I can.” You say, attempting to seem cooperative. You know it won’t help you to dig your heels in. “But I can’t imagine where you’d get the idea of money laundering. I’ve owned this salon for almost a decade.”

“And you bought it from Bobby Esposito, is that right?” Shaw asks, brow raised.

“That’s right,” you tell them honestly. “I worked for Bobby for a few years before that; managing the office and schedules. All that.” What you’re saying is true- for years you had sent out schedules, managed different finances, and became the best stylist your business has to offer.

“Were you aware Bobby was murdered a few years ago?”

You blink. You did know. It would be next to impossible for you not to know. “Uncle” Joey had ordered the hit on Bobby and informed you about it so you wouldn't be surprised. Now, you make an effort to look shocked. “Bobby? Murdered?” You echo, your brow furrowing. “Why would somebody do somethin’ like that? Bobby’s just…an old man by now.”

The agents’ faces don’t change. You feel a shot of ice down your spine at the thought they don’t believe you. “We were hoping you might have an idea about that. The PPD has been kind enough to lend us a room. You mind coming down to the station with us, have a chat about all this?”

“I don’t mind.” You answer as calmly as you can. “But I have two little girls waiting for me at home. I promised them a bedtime story and all, you know how it is. Couldn’t I meet you down there tomorrow?”

“I know how it is.” Agent Shaw answers with a sigh. “I have a little girl myself. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to miss the stories tonight.” He does seem a bit regretful at the knowledge of you having children, but it doesn’t change the fact that they need you down at the station tonight.

You curse in your mind. Not only are your girls going to be disappointed; so is your wife. Not to mention the binder you’re still hiding that is definitely going to be noticed at some point.

“Right…” You murmur, glancing away from the agents. “Tony, call Mel for me, won’t you? Let her know I’m gonna be late tonight.” You say before starting to follow the agents out. “Oh,” You say, pretending to remember something. You glance over your shoulder. “And tell her to take that ziti of hers off the menu, huh?” You pretend it disgusts you to even think about it. It’s something you’d never dream of saying seriously. Which is why you say it now. When Melissa hears you said to pass that along, she’ll know something is wrong. Very wrong.

As you make your way out of your business and are escorted to one of the cars out front, Tony practically shits himself inside. He knows what’s happening, and he does not want to be the one to have to relay this information to your wife. Still though, an order from the boss is an order from the boss. He calls her cell phone on his own.

“Hello?” she answers as she juggles making dinner, assisting the girls with their reading, and making a list of things she needs to purchase for her own business tomorrow.

“Melissa? It’s Tony,” your manager sighs into the phone. “Don’t shoot the messenger when I tell you this, but Y/N ain’t gonna be home for bedtime stories tonight.”

Your wife nearly fumes. “What do you mean she isn’t gonna be... yeah, Rosie, that says ‘think’, good job sweetheart... What do you mean she isn’t gonna be home tonight?”

“She’s handling her business,” Tony states. “And you need to handle yours. Y/N said to take your ziti off the menu- it’s lacking.” And then he hangs up.

Almost immediately, the redhead knows something is wrong. That anger that had been there just a few seconds ago disappears in a flash- you’re in trouble somehow. You would never, ever tell her that her ziti is lacking. It’s your favorite dish of hers, and has been- it was the first dish that she ever made for you and had secured a place for her in your heart. It was the dish that you insisted be at your wedding because you knew that it would only make the one of the happiest days of your life even better.

She knows she has to call her manager and let her know that she won't be in until late tonight, if at all. The restaurateur is able to relay this information, along with the ingredients that she’s managed to put on a list to go shopping for, before turning her attention back to your girls and the meal that’s being made.

Once dinner is on the table, Cat and Rosie chat your wife’s ear off about their days- and while she would usually listen avidly, her mind wanders to you and what you could be dealing with right now.

“Mommy?” Rosie waves a hand in front of her mother’s eyes.

Melissa blinks a few times. “Sorry, baby. Mommy’s a little distracted thinking about the restaurant right now. What were you saying?”

She makes an active attempt to stay as engaged with the girls as possible. And they’re fine, up until bedtime. They know you’re supposed to be home by now; you had promised them that you would be home for a family night and to read them a story like you haven't been able to for a bit now.

“Mam is running late,” Melissa tells them regretfully. “But I’m sure she’ll read you a story another time, so can you please just let Mommy read and get to sleep? You have school tomorrow.”

That throws both of your girls into absolute conniption fits, and your wife can only get them to settle with her in the bed that the two of you share, each of them clinging to one of your pillows. The woman who so desperately needs to attend to her own business sighs as she settles into the middle of the bed, one of your twins on either side of her, and prays that you’re okay.

You rub your eyes as you sigh. Both Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek are sat across from you at the small table. The small interrogation room feels even smaller than it did when you entered. It’s warm with its lack of windows. It takes a good portion of your concentration every few minutes to remember you can’t remove your blazer despite the Agents having removed their’s a long time ago.

“For the fifteenth time,” You grit out between your teeth. Your hand falling away from your eyes to thunk onto the metal table. “I have no idea who would wanna hurt Bobby. He was a nice enough boss even if he was clueless about how to balance his accounting. I didn’t wanna hurt Bobby. I bought the salon from him years ago, which would have been the only thing he’d have that I’d want anyway.”

“Y/N, you know that just telling us the truth would get you out of here a lot faster.” Agent Dinek says. She doesn’t lean forward or uncross her arms that are over her chest as she looks at you. She looks bored now.

Your hand on the table curls into a fist. You’ve let the interrogation go on this long, hoping it would just be a few questions you could bat off. A couple answers and then home. Now, it’s nearing three in the morning and you’re still sitting in the uncomfortable chair. The agents are still staring at you from their seats next to the door. You swear the thermostat has risen a couple times since you’ve been here.

This, being in an interrogation room at the PPD with FBI agents, is dangerous. Asking for your lawyer is even more dangerous. If you have to resort to that; you’re well and truly fucked. In the few times you’d been in interrogation rooms, you’d only had to answer a few questions, clear up a timeline. That was it. Those moments though were never with the FBI.

They had only been with the PPD. Police officers you were more than familiar with. People from your neighborhood. People who knew you. People that came to the salon or your wife’s restaurant. A small handful on the force know exactly who you are and what your business really is. Those people though are in the families pockets. Irish or Italian, or both. Paid for their information their unique positions give them access to.

Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek aren’t in anyone’s pocket. They seem to know exactly who is, at least on the streets, though. They’ve brought up plenty of names you’re overly familiar with over the last twelve hours or so. Triple checking how you know them, and how well you know them.

You’re reaching your limit. If you don’t ask to speak with your lawyer, force the “interview” to end, your only other option is to come clean. You think about emerald green eyes. The eyes you fell in love with practically the first time you looked into them. You think about little faces that look like little minis of your wife even though she claims they look more like you. If you come clean it isn’t just you paying for this. Nevermind the people beneath you and the rest of the families.

What kills you to picture is your wife and your daughters paying for it. You don’t really care what happens to the Irish or the Italians at this moment. The entirety of Cosa Nostra could fall apart and you wouldn’t give a damn. If your wife or your girls are touched even the slightest, even just inconvenienced, you would raise hell.

You slowly lean back in your chair, feeling the binder beneath your blazer press into your spine. “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.”

TAGS, and let me know if you want to be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

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billybob598 · 9 months

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Secret Recipe (Lucy Bronze x Reader)

Another fic LFG!!!!!! This was requested by the anon who asked for a Lucy x Secret wife chef reader. Hope this is what you wanted! Got a Katie McCabe fic next. As always, any feedback good or bad welcomed! Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.3K (LFG!!!!)

For years now whenever Lucy came to camp she would have lots of packed lunches to fend off her hunger. The girls sometimes gave her a hard time about it, but for the most part, they don’t think too much about it most of the time. That is until one day Keira missed the served lunch due to a meeting. Keira was really starting to get hungry, but all the food was gone and they had training again soon so it’s not like she could make a quick sandwich or something. Then, Lucy became Keira’s saviour when she shoved a brown paper bag at her. At first, Keira was confused, but then it dawned on her that it was the same type of bag that Lucy always brought her packed lunches in. She gratefully grabbed the bag mumbling out a thanks before eagerly ripped open the bag. The team had never seen Keira so excited about food before. It was a mixture of her own hunger and curiosity as to what was in the bag that fueled Keira as she devoured the contents of the bag. In the bag, there was a container of what Lucy called burrito bowl. After each bite, Keira would let out a satisfied sound, a sound that had all the other girls giggling at her. She was too in love with the food to care.

“If you were eating this right now, you’d be making these noises too,” she tries to defend herself as everyone keeps laughing.

“Is it good?” Georgia asks.

“Unbelievably good,” Keria says, shovelling more food into her mouth.

“Wait, wait how is it really good? Lucy sucks at cooking,” Lucy goes to protest, but Millie keeps on talking, “Don’t even deny it Luce, there’s no way you could make something Keira likes that much.”

For the rest of camp, Lucy gets bombarded with questions on how she’s getting these packed lunches. The team just cannot seem to figure it out.

“Maybe she buys them?”

“No, no they’re definitely not bought, she brings them in like plastic containers.”

“What if she gets her mum to make them?”

“Nope, her mum lives too far away for that.”

“What if she’s got like a deal with a mob boss, so they make her lunch in exchange for her to keep her mouth shut.”

Everyone really seems to like the last idea Rachael suggested. Lucy just rolls her eyes at their silliness.

“Well, you’re all wrong. What if I actually do make them all by myself?” She remarks. Everyone makes disbelieving noises.

“There’s absolutely no way you can make food that good and that often,” Georgia says. Lucy did have to concede that one, it was a well-known fact that Lucy could make a decent meal every once and a while, but every day? No way.

On the last night of camp, Lucy decides to Facetime you, she had told you about the incident, and you actually found it really hilarious. As she was telling you about their latest ideas you can’t help but let out a little snort,

“They think you have a deal with the mafia?” You say while trying to hold back your laughter.

“Yep, they’re so dumb. And also, do I really seem like someone involved with the mafia?”

“I mean, you do kinda give off those vibes, love.” The look of betrayal on Lucy’s face has you in stitches.

“You better stop laughing Y/N. I would hate for you to be offed by a mob boss,” she says with a grin.

You guys continue to talk for a bit when you ask her about something that had been nagging you for a bit.

“Why don’t you just tell them about us?” The question was very out of the blue so, it caught Lucy off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you just tell them that you’re married and that your wife makes your lunches and everything? Why keep it a secret anymore? They’re going to figure it out soon.” You weren’t mad at her, you were just curious as to why she never wanted to tell the team about you guys.

“I don’t know babe. It’s just easier. Plus, if I told them about you, they’d definitely want to meet you,” she sighs.

“I’d love to meet them.”

“I’m not sure if you would, they can be very…overbearing,” Lucy warns you.

“Come on Luce. I spend like twelve hours a day overlooking a kitchen and dealing with other peoples’ problems as if I’m their mom. I’m sure I can handle twenty footballers,” you say confidently.

“Okay, then. How about I invite them over for dinner in a couple of days? I’m sure they’d love for you to cook for them,” Luce suggests. You nod happily, excited at the prospect of finally meeting all of Lucy’s friends.

When Lucy invites the team over the next day she gets a lot of excited murmurs and questions on whether she was cooking or not. She’s seen the girls loud, but it was something else when she told them that her wife would be cooking. After announcing that, she very swiftly made her exit.

As the first Lionesses make their way inside you and Lucy’s house, they can’t believe all the pictures of you and her.

“This is her, right?” Lotte says as she points at a photo of you and Lucy on your wedding day.

“Yup, that’s Y/N,” Lucy says with a proud smile.

“She’s really pretty.” Everyone snickers at the glare Lucy gives to Lotte. “Is she in the kitchen?” Lucy nods and shows them the way.

You look up when you hear loud voices carry into the kitchen. Wiping your hands off, you make your way around the island to meet everybody.

“This is Y/N, my wife,” Lucy introduces you. You hear a chorus of “Hi Y/N”s. You give them all a warm smile before they start banging out questions,

“So you guys are married?”

“How long have you been married?”

“Why didn’t we know about you sooner?”

“Are you actually a cook?”

“Do you own a restaurant?”

“What’s your favourite dish to make?”

So, you make all of Lucy’s lunches then?”

You are a bit surprised, but you compose yourself and answer all their questions,

“Yup, we’re married and have been for five years now. After we got married we just thought it easier to keep it on the down-low so we could focus on our careers. I am actually a chef, and I run Midsummer House which has two Michelin stars and is in Cambridge. At the restaurant we always make lots of fancy dishes, but sometimes I just like making pepperoni pizza. Yes, I make all of Lucy’s lunches for camp.”

As the night progresses, you can understand why Lucy likes going to national team camp so much, everyone is extremely kind to you and there is lots of banter and telling stories that you haven’t heard yet. You get a number of compliments on the food you had prepared for dinner. Rachael starts complaining about how it’s unfair that only Lucy gets your packed lunches. You laugh stating that something could be arranged for the team. This gets everyone very excited and makes it a little harder to get everyone out of the house after. All in all, it was a pretty successful first time meeting the Lionesses. As you clean up the dishes, you feel someone’s arms wrap around you from behind.

“Everything was delicious, love,” Lucy whispers into your ear.

“You liked it? It was a new recipe,” you reply, still washing some things.

“Mhm, it was very good,” you turn around in her arms and give her a kiss. She sighs into the kiss before pulling away and helping with the clean up.

The next camp, everyone is ecstatic when you show up to St. George’s Park with twenty-three packed lunches and a big smile.

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze #woso imagine #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #woso fanfics

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navybrat817 · 1 year

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Harmonious

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You may think you're a pawn in Bucky's life, but you are his queen. Word Count: Over 1.7k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, implied vaginal sex, possessive behavior, dirty talk, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Nix gifted me with this beautiful edit and I decided to make it a prequel to Husband and Wife. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You weren't sure how you found yourself in Bucky's study, which would also be yours in time. The day passed by in a blur as you tried to remember when exactly you went into the warm, spacious room and shut the door. You weren’t sure why you chose that spot in particular to hide. As if you could escape from your fiance long enough to get peace.

Maybe some sick part of you wanted him to seek you out, which he did. Even if you tried to run, he’d hunt you down. He'd always find you. He’d win.

"Your move, Printsessa."

Bucky's voice beckoned you back to present as you realized he started the game. You stared at the chessboard, like it would provide answers to the questions about the future you didn't dare ask, before you lifted your gaze to the man you would soon marry. He chose to slick his hair back tonight, which drew your attention to his sharp blue eyes and well-groomed beard. The tuxedo, tailored to perfection, emphasized how large and imposing the member of the Bratva is.

Knowing personally how large Bucky is everywhere had your thighs rubbing together before you could stop yourself. Your traitorous body outweighed your heavy heart. One day they would be in harmony.

What’s so wrong with loving him? Why shouldn't I let him consume me?

You tore your gaze away to look at the chessboard again. He opened with the King's Gambit. Fitting since he lived like royalty. A ruler of everything he touched.

Including you.

So would you allow yourself to be his queen? To be by his side through everything? The ring on your finger may say you'd be his, but he wouldn't own you. Not yet.

In time.

Bucky would see to it.

"Do you remember what happened the last time I beat you at chess?" he asked as you slowly moved a piece.

"You put this ring on my finger," you told him, holding up your left hand.

And he spent the night ruining you with his mouth and cock.

"You almost beat me. It isn't often someone keeps me on my toes," he said, smirking when you wrinkled your nose. "It was a beautiful night. I won’t forget it."

You didn't need the reminder, but you refused to tell him that. How could you deny the beauty of it when he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you? Could you argue when he whispered how much he needed you by his side? The man had the world in the palm of his hand, but he needed you.

Why?

You hadn't done anything special to get his attention, but you had it all without asking. Even when you tried to close yourself off to him, he wiggled his way in. How did he do that?

"Am I just a game to you?" you asked suddenly as he made his next move.

"We're playing a game, but you are not a game to me."

"Why do I feel like a pawn then?"

Bucky appeared unphased, but you knew better. This was a man who would destroy anyone who looked at you the wrong way if you asked. To suggest that he was using you for anything was an insult.

"You're not a pawn in anything," he said fiercely, keeping his eyes on you as he brought his drink to his mouth and downed it in one gulp. "You're my queen, Solnyshko."

You ignored the flutter in your heart when he set the glass down and reached across the table with his metal hand to touch yours.

"And who said you're my king?" you whispered.

"You did when you said 'yes'," he told you, pulling his hand away so you could take your turn.

"I haven't said 'yes' yet," you retorted, knocking one of his pieces away with more force than necessary.

He snorted as he watched the pawn hit the carpet. "You're mine, Printsessa. Or did you forget?"

Your pussy clenched in interest at the thought of him reminding you, but your mind refused to let you give in.

At least, not right away.

"Like you'd ever let me forget," you said, pointing a finger at him. "It's your ring on my finger and your last name I'm taking. What are you taking of mine, besides my body?"

Bucky's eyes darkened a shade as he sat back in his leather chair. Goading him into a fight wouldn't do you any good, but he liked that you pushed. He craved both a worthy opponent and a partner in his life. You were the one he chose to let in.

But the man had many doors to open and you only had so many keys in your grasp.

"It's your heart I want," he said more to himself than you, but you caught the longing in his voice as he looked away.

You paused for a moment, his admission nearly bringing tears to your eyes. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry you if you didn't have it."

Despite the fact that he could bend the world to his will, he would never force you to be with him. There was still so much you didn't know about him though, like his past. You knew just enough to acknowledge that his family wouldn't be there. Not with his parents in the family cemetery.

Did he not trust you with his secrets or did not he not trust himself?

He didn't smile when he looked back at you, but his shoulders sagged in relief. "And I'm yours as much as you're mine."

Fighting him was a losing game. He defeated you the moment he decided he wanted you. What was it you were arguing about to begin with?

Bucky Barnes is a dangerous man, yes, but he would never pose a threat to you.

You would always be in his care.

"Beat me and we can move the wedding up a week," you proposed as you resumed the game.

Bucky considered it with a grunt. The sound brought a smile to your face. No one else would dare tease him about his reactions to anything.

"Two weeks,” he suggested, licking his lips. “And we leave right for the honeymoon after the ceremony so I can fulfill my duty to you as your husband."

"We're having a reception," you stated, wrinkling your nose again to hide your growing arousal. "But we can move it up two weeks if you win."

"When I win," he corrected you with the utmost confidence.

"Just play," you grumbled as he chuckled.

Neither of you spoke for almost an hour as you concentrated on the game, but you stole glances at each other between moves. Why did he have to look so handsome in his tuxedo? Did he wear it just to have you lust after him? A taste of what your wedding day would bring?

He probably had the bowtie in his pocket to use around your wrists later.

"Checkmate."

You sighed, but nodded when he grinned triumphantly. He beat you fair and square. You should have seen that coming.

"Good game," you said, putting your hand out for his in a mock handshake. "You get to marry me two weeks sooner."

"It's a good thing I already prepared for that," he smirked as you raised an eyebrow, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it instead of shaking it. "Oh, I moved the date up this morning."

"You what?"

"I moved the wedding up," he said as you yanked your hand back. "Are you that surprised? I want you to be my wife sooner rather than later."

"Jackson. Buchanan. Barnes."

The cocky look on his face had you seeing red, but part of you also felt flattered that he couldn't wait to make you his wife.

I can't let him know how gone I am for him, fiance or not.

"Get on the table and I'll say I'm sorry."

It was your turn to smirk. "No."

The dangerous glint in his eyes as they raked over your body made your core throb.

"I can either apologize with my tongue or with my cock," he offered in a low voice. Possessiveness knew no bounds when it came to him. "Either way, you will get on that table and spread your legs so I can worship you."

Suppressing a shudder, you reached under your dress and slowly removed your wet panties. You surprised yourself by making it through the entire game. "Make me," you said, tossing the fabric into his lap.

If he wanted you so badly, he could work a little for it.

His hand shot out, the chess pieces scattering across the floor along with the board. You didn't flinch. Having the attention of one of the most powerful men in the world would make a lesser person crumble. But you weren't easy to break.

You are his equal.

"Is this a taste of what our honeymoon will be like?" you asked as he got to his feet.

"Not just our honeymoon. he rest of our lives," he said, moving around the table to tower over you. "There is no me without you, Solnyshko."

You didn't stop him as he gripped your arms and pulled you to your feet. You allowed him to devour your mouth with his before he put you on the table, careful not to hurt you. Those very hands of his destroyed his enemies, but he only brought you pleasure. He would give you a home. A future.

All you had to do was let him in.

"Show me why I'm making the right choice by marrying you," you challenged him as he shoved your dress up around your hips.

Bucky sank to his knees, digging his fingers into your flesh as he spread your legs. The man who bowed to no one else dropped down to service you. That was the kind of hold you had over him.

In your heart where you tried not to acknowledge it, he had the same hold over you.

"If the mess you make on my beard won't be enough to show you, I'll make sure to do it with my cock."

He laced his fingers with yours, anchoring you to him as he got started. Your king would take his queen tonight and many nights after. He would prove that you brought harmony to each other. And you wouldn't do a damn thing from this day forward to stop him.

I love them. Can't wait to share more of their journey. Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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ja3hwa · 1 year

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Day 25 : Manhandling/Strength Kink - Yunho

「Title」 : Figure You Out

「Word count」 : 2.71k

-> Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mafia Au

Paring: Mob Boss!Yunho x Reader

[Warnings] : Mention of mafia work. Daddy issues. Mention of death. And dead husband.. Insecurities. San and Wooyoung have a little cameo. Making out. Hickeys. Fingering (f receiving). Some clit play. Panties breaking. Beefy 6'5 Yunho (cause that's a warning). Soft but rough sex. Emotions are all over the place and it's just a big mess. Dirty talk. Swearing. Sir kink. Sub reader. Soft Dom Yunho. Slight choking. Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: Since a lot of people wanted a part 2. Hwre ya go ♡♡

February Filth Fest Event Day Calendar

Reader Part One -> [Here]

You couldn’t understand why you were tossing in your sleep, unable to find a peaceful slumber. Opening your eyes suddenly, you look around the dark room. Sweat covered your body making your bed sheets stick to your flesh. Thoughts were running on overdrive in your brain. You couldn’t help it. Once you realized that you want the only thing you’ve only known and seen in your life it scared you… A relationship that your father has. Unloving. Being thrown around and manhandled. It shocks you. You tried so hard to be different, not following the path of your family. But yet you seem to crave the cruel side of life. Maybe you were more like your father than you wished.

“Miss Park…” You heard a small voice echo beyond your bedroom door. The door opens ajar, letting the light from the outside pool inside. You hummed letting the person who owned the voice know your presence. It still felt weird, to hear people reference you by your born name again. Park… Not Kim. It almost made you feel like you were widowed. Well, I guess that wasn’t so far from the truth.

“I heard a commotion. Are you okay ma’am?” The fragile little maid that normally cleans the house while everyone is sleeping, comes in with concern on her face. You felt embarrassed really, she must have heard your night terrors.

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” Your voice was groggy, scratchy like you’d been screaming for hours.

“Would you like me to find Mr Jeong? His meeting should be finished―Oh no, no that won't be necessary.” You cut her off with a small―but fake―smile. She nodded with a slightly breathy ‘okay’ before taking her leave. And like that, you were in the dark again, quiet, lonely.

“Fuck….” You mutter under your breath, leaning over to grab your phone on the side table. It was three in the morning and you spot a miss call from none other than your father, probably wanting to discuss the fact you disappointed him yet again. Staring up to the ceiling for a moment you decided whether to bite the bullet or not, calling him back… You lazily throw your phone behind you, choosing to let him wait.

You slip on some pants before heading out the door. Walking down the hall you find yourself at the door of the large meeting room. You knew Yunho was inside, hearing banter coming from behind the oak framing. You wanted to see him, seemingly craving his touch. It's only been a couple of weeks since the night at the gala, and you still haven't made anything official. You needed to stay at your estate until you could tell your family you weren't planning on marrying Lucas. Even though you both would have loved to move in together straight away, having these ‘sleepovers’ seemed like the only option for the moment.

Reputation was something everyone cared about in this field. And being painted as a slut while Yunho would be painted as a homewrecker. Neither of you wanted that. So why were you standing out the door of a meeting room filled with gang members that would spill your secret the minute they found out? You couldn’t answer that question even if you tried.

“This is stupid.” you chuckled. Were you really that desperate for him that you were going to expose yourself? You just might be. But before you could do anything the door opened, revealing a tall slim man with dark-pitched hair. His features were one of a feline description. His eyes creased with half moons as a smile grew on his face. You gulped taking a step back slightly from him.

“Well hello there.” He bent down slightly so he could take a better look at you. His eyes racked over your form making you slightly uncomfortable, but he stood back within the second, fixing his tie as he stood up straight. “So this is the one huh?”

Before you could even say anything Yunho steps out from behind him. A smile painted him, with a loving glint in his eyes. He pushes passed the other man, hooking his arm around your waist. You were a bit shocked at his bold movement but your anxiousness dies when another man speaks.

“So this is the woman that has captured our leader's heart.” A Shorter more giddier man cheered from behind the two. You looked up at Yunho seeing a grumbling expression suddenly appear on his face. His grip was tighter on you, pulling you closer. Your hands land on his chest feeling yourself slightly trip. you were becoming slightly overwhelmed, especially when you realise you were underdressed. God, you feel dizzy.

“Let’s give my girl some space huh?” Yunho pushes his members away, walking back down the hall with you while they all started yelling, asking questions about you and dropping phases along the lines of ‘but I want to know the details’, ‘do you treat her well?’ and more mumbles that were merely not safe for work. But you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the hand wrapped around your hips and the other closed around your wrists. His grip was strong and the tug on your body was enticing. Your body was craving more, to be roughed with. What was wrong with you?

You rip your wrist from his hand and he lets go easily with a slight stab in his heart. He felt like he might have hurt you as if you’d just slapped him non-verbally. Both of you are in shock at your reaction, not knowing what came over you.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks quickly and sincerely. God, you don’t deserve him. What have you ever done to deserve him?

“Yes, I’m okay,” you answer softly. “I just… I,” You trail off realizing you can’t find your words. What do you say? I want you to treat me like all those other men? I want you to throw me down and fuck me? Hah! You can’t. But it's Yunho. He wouldn’t hurt you even if you asked. Would he? He walked ahead of you opening the door to the bedroom but not going inside. Instead, he stood by the door, waiting for you with a hand out for you to take.

“Whatever you want.” You took his hand and he pulled you slightly. “Whatever you need.” he kissed your forehead. “ I’ll make it happen.” Silence fell as he tugs you inside, closing the door behind you. You placed your hand on his cheek, looking at him with tears threatening to escape. A smile broke on when a tear fell, making him surge with worry, but it soon fell away when you whispered.

“I want to be loved. I want to know what that feels like.” You lent into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. He strokes your head softly, swaying you slowly, comforting you.

“I can do that.” He whispered in your ear.

“But,” You pull away slipping your fingers through the button loops of your sleep shirt, unbuttoning them while staring at him. “I want to feel the cruelness.” The fabric slips off your shoulders before it falls onto the floor leaving your top half bare. His expression turns to one of filth and lust, curiousness wonder as to what you might be up to.

“What are you saying, doll?” He tilts his head, licking his lips. His gaze watches your body as he steps closer to you, but you step back, until the edge of the bed hits the back of your legs.

“I want to feel something. Anything. Even if its pain.”

Oh, your words just clicked something in him. His heart quickened, and his breathing hitched. As if you couldn’t get more perfect because even though you thought he was soft and caring, he did, after all, have a dark side. A cruel side. That’s what made him the perfect leader in one of the best gangs in Seoul. He didn’t speak, not when excitement riddled his nerves, instead he bent down wrapping his arms around your legs. Lifting you up before throwing you lightly on the bed. You gasped at his actions, watching as pillows bounced off and the sheets crumpled under your body. He chuckled watching your expression change from desperation to slight shock. He took off his suit jacket and belt swiftly. His eyes never left yours. He tilted his head upwards in a bob motion, gesturing for you to take the rest of your clothes off. And of course, you listen, hooking your fingers under the hem of your sleep shorts. But you leave your panties on, crossing your legs with a smirk. If he wanted them off, he’d have to take them off himself.

“I’ve been thinking…” He slipped his shirt off, leaving himself in only his boxers. “about all the little things that you've been missing” He crawled onto the bed sitting on his knees just by the edge, just watching you with an unreadable expression. He leaned forward slowly, like an animal stalking his prey. His fingers wrapped around your crossed ankles before he harshly tugged them on either side of his thick thighs. You slide fast against the silk sheets until your ass gently hits his knees.

“Hi.” He leans down so his face is inches from yours.

You blushed, biting your lip. You wrap your legs lazily around his waist before whispering “Hi..”

His lips locked on yours, it was slow, loving. Something you aren't used to, but yet it felt familiar. It felt safe. He leaned more into the kiss, moving so he was completely over you, his body grinding into yours. You hummed at feeling bucking your hips up slightly. He matched your movements, feeling himself get hot and bothered by it. Teeth clashed and tongue danced. His hand travels up your body before grabbing yours. Fingers intertwined together and moans grew louder making him want more. He wanted to be sweet and cruel, cause why not? He can do both. And he knows you’d love both. His free hand moved to grab the hem of your panties pulling them away from your skin before letting go, making the band snap against your flesh.

“Yun…” You moan tilting your head back, letting him latch his lips on your now-exposed neck. He sucked in a few hickeys, littering your soft skin with bright marks. Marks to show you were his. His fingers that are still hooked around your panties suddenly tug again but only this time, you hear a tear. Then a snap.

“Whoops.” He chuckles sliding the broke fabric off your body. You whimpered at this, seeing the veins on his arm. He could snap you in half if you tried hard enough and it made you wet just thinking about it. He sat up, getting off the bed completely, his boxers falling off as soon as his feet hit the ground. You sat up slightly yourself, leaning on your elbows as you watch him. “Move forward, now.”

His dominating voice enticed you, making you move forward slowly, but it seemed too slow for Yunho to take, grabbing just one ankle this time, he yanked you with force until your legs dangled over the end of the bed. His strength showed no bounds, making you question just how strong this man actually was. But that was a conversation for another time. Right now, the big beefy mob boss, watched you with fire in his eyes as he got down on his knees in front of you. His large hands gripped the back of your thighs so he could place your legs on his shoulders. The position made you feel light-headed, him being face to face with your pussy.

“I could love you with my eyes closed.” His sombre voice melted your heart, while his fingers that ran over your clit set a fire to brew in your gut. His tongue licks up your slick as he pushed two fingers inside you. You wanted to cry out, scream for him. Grabbing his hair, your body shook at his thrusts.

“I could kiss every part of your body, blindfold. And I’ll still find the parts you need me to touch most.” He wanted, no, needed to tell you how much you mattered to him. Show you how much love he wanted to give to you. Make you feel what he feels. That he’s the right man for you. The right person to love and hold you. The right person to marry.

“I have you figured out.”

You came all over his face when his thumb pushed just the right amount of pressure on your clit, making you gasp out for air. Yunho sat up without you noticing, and it wasn’t until you felt his hand graze your hips that you opened your eyes to see him towering over you. He flipped you without a sweat, pulling your ass up while your face lands on the mattress with a huff. He rubs your cheeks before giving them a slap making you grip the sheets below you while chanting his name.

“You like that Darling? You like it rough?” he slapped your redding skin again. You couldn’t answer him with words, instead, you moaned louder, arching your back so your ass would rub against his cock.

“P-Please Sir….” You didn’t mean to drop the pet name but it slipped off your tongue before you had time to think. Yunho seemed to like the nickname cause the moment he heard it leave your sweet lips, he trusted deep inside you without a second thought. His hand snaked under your body, gripping the front of your throat. He pulled your body upwards your back was flushed against his chest. His grip was tight making your head spin in the best way as the snap of his hips started to make you see stars. He had such a tight hold of you that even when your body started to feel limp, you wouldn’t move from his grasp.

“My baby, and here I thought you were innocent. It seems I got myself a filthy little wife.” He grunts in your ear making you cry out. Tears broke down your face and you feel another high coming to pass, but your brain couldn’t help but replay the words that slipped off his tongue.

“W-Wife…” You whined.

“Yes, Doll. My wife. Come tomorrow I want to propose to you, properly. Tell the world about how I shall make you my wife.” the snap of his hips come to a stop, suddenly letting go of your body, making you fall onto the bed. He flipped you over again before lining his cock with your soaked pussy, slipping in with ease. His pace was faster, and the sounds of wet skin and moans filled the room. And a sudden sound of…. wood?

You tilted your head seeing a huge spilt in the headboard. Yunho seemed to notice as well as his thrusts got hard. your hands fly to his biceps that were on either side of your head, nails digging into the flesh, threatening to draw blood. Your emotions were on overdrive, feeling yourself getting lost in complete ecstasy.

“Y-Yun I gonnn…gonna- I know baby, together okay.” He cut you off, locking his lips against yours once again. The knot in your stomach finally snapped and you tipped over the edge. Yunho wasn’t far behind, feeling his load shoot out inside you with a couple more thrusts. With each breath, his hips got slower and slower until falling to a stop. He didn’t pull out though, instead, he focused on kissing every part of skin he could reach. You lay there, letting him have his way while you feel like you are near passing out.

“You with me darling?” His voice was so soft and quiet you almost missed it, but you hummed in response once you heard him.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you…” You blurted out in between pants.

Yunho sat up coming face to face with you, gazing at you with passion, “I think I’ve fallen in love with you too…”

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𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

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supernovaa-remnant · 1 month

Note

how ctechno tries to court cdream? Like what methods he uses?

well, he tries a lot of things from a wide variety of cultures because, again, he's not entirely sure what culture dream is from.

first, he tries other nether customs because he may not know what dream is, but he's pretty sure dream grew up with sapnap who was raised by bad... or something.

the thing is, though, techno is trying to show that he's very serious about respecting the merging of their two cultures. so, he decides to add some piglin flair to everything. how does he do that? by making it all a competition. because competitiveness is a love language, especially in piglin culture where by engaging in competition, you're showing that you're on equal footing and will make a good match.

this means that with everything techno tries, dream just assumes it's a part of their rivalry.

"hey dream. I bet I can loot this fortress before you." "okay so we both walk into a fortess, get ourselves withered, and see who cracks first and drinks milk." "we both have to raise and defend these turtle eggs. whoever's turtles are healthiest, wins."

that... doesn't work. dream is really into it, of course, and takes all the opportunities he can get to try and rack up his wins against techno, but he doesn't show signs of taking the courting to the next step.

so, techno is kinda in this limbo where he's engaged to the guy, but he can't seem to figure out what he needs to do to get the guy to actually marry him.

phil is... equally baffled. listen. listen. phil is married to the goddess of death. that is... not a normal relationship, so he doesn't really have a good basis for giving relationship advice. he just thinks dream is testing techno, seeing if he's really the best suited partner, but they can't figure out what dream wants techno to do.

it doesn't help that dream is also oblivious to the more obvious human customs. the dates techno takes them on? dream thinks it's another level of their rivalry. baking date? okay, so they're seeing who can bake the best cake. going for a nice evening stroll around the server? dream will be sure to kill more mobs than techno.

it just... doesn't occur to dream that techno's essentially flirting with him. dream's mind is so jumbled with everything happening on the server that he never even stops to consider it.

but, well, his rivalry with techno is the one thing that hasn't changed during all of this, so he'll keep it for as long as he's able to.

#bonus: techno makes dream a ring? obviously dream needs to make him an even better ring with even harder to get materials #when techno gets the ring from dream he almost cries showing it to phil cause making jewelry for each other #is such a big part of piglin culture and dream did it perfectly #c!rivals duo #rivalsblr #dreblr #accidental courtship au #stella answers #anon

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mirnilop · 8 months

Text

𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

#🐇 penned #🌈🖼️ wh #feat. some random ocs i made up for the sake of the fic #welcome home #welcome home x reader #wally darling x reader #x reader #reader-insert #yandere x reader #i love randomly throwing in ronald dorelaine #cause we have no idea who he is or what he's like #so he can be whatever i need him to be #yandere wally darling #yandere wally darling x reader #welcome home mob au #clownsuu

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