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exhaslo · 7 months

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Puzzle Pieces (Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Part 1 of who knows how many parts :)

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

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The heavy sound of rain flood the streets of Nueva York. The dim street lights felt faded as the mist blocked their glow. Despite the downpour that washed the streets, the stench of blood still lingered. A foul odor that could never truly be cleaned from this city.

Nueva York was riddled with crime. Each part of the city was owned and govern by their own mafia. Drugs, alcohol and fights were always a topic and always a cause to stay indoors. Only the smart stayed away from the mafia. They were the ones to survive this city unscathed. They were the ones to avoid trouble.

You had just moved into the city, unaware of its true face, nor did you really have a choice. You were desperate to get away from your old life. Despite for a fresh start. So much so, that you landed in one of the worst parts of the city. The place you rented was small, but it was enough to keep you hidden.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you near cried at the sight of a roach. Tears threaten to spill as you sprayed the roach spray against the foul creature for dear life. You had just moved into the place. You were warned by your friends and family of the filth of the city, but they didn't know anything. They didn't know the pain you were in.

"Ew, ew!" You whined as you grabbed the broom, throwing the roach away.

Once you were freed from that horrid task, you continued to clean and unpack. You double checked everything for roaches and mice, wanting to sleep soundly for once. You shuddered at the thought as you pulled out old photographs of your high school days. Within those pictures was the cause of your depature.

Your ex.

You had fled your hometown due to your abusive ex-boyfriend, Eddie Brock. The man was so kind to you at first, treating you well until you officially started dating. Your college life was cut short due to his beatings and yelling. You were always at fault. You could never be good enough for him. You were always the problem.

The thought made you sob. You moved to this city on a whim thanks to your small job. You just wanted to stop living in that hell. Everyone loved your ex. They never truly saw what he was. They never even asked how you were.

"I-I need to s-stop crying." You whispered to yourself as you looked out the window, "I-I have work tomorrow. I...I need to be ready."

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Meanwhile, a few blocks over, Miguel was sitting before his large patio, watching the rain. He held a glass of vodka in his hand, watching the lightening brighten the sky more than the city lights itself. He inhaled to the loud roar of thunder before being interrupted by a knock at his door.

"Que? (What)" He hissed lowly. Lyla smiled as she walked over with a folder, placing them on his desk,

"Just something for the morning." She chirped and approached the door, "There's another one waiting outside. Shall I send her in?"

"Ha, and get some fake praises. She can only come in if she wants a quick fuck. I won't deal with gold diggers." Miguel grumbled.

Lyla just hummed in response before shutting the door. Miguel could only groan in annoyance as he placed his glass down. His night would have been better off alone. Closing the blinds to his patio, Miguel approached his desk to the file. It was going to be another long day tomorrow.

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There was a scurry to your step as you tried to please your new boss. It was your first day working in the chain supermarket, and you were stressed. This version of your old job was far busier, louder and ruder than what you were used to. You were a shy and quiet person, so having so many people yell and pull you around was breaking you.

"(Y/N)! Deli needs a hand, you ever did that?" One of your coworkers asked. You flinched at the sudden yell,

"I-I have helped packaged an-"

"Good enough, go help and put a kick in it!"

You just agreed and hurried to the deli. You grabbed a hair net and gasped lowly at your fellow coworkers there. They were all so tall and mean looking. You were like a deer in headlights the moment they saw you enter their kitchen. You just bowed your head slightly and quietly made your way to the meat wrapping station.

"Why'd they put her here? She don't know anything yet," One of the taller men whispered. You're ears perked up since whispers weren't exactly in their volcabulary,

"She's a scaredy cat. Ain't nothing comin' outta her mouth. Same like the rest of us,"

You wanted to ask them what they were talking about, but you were too scared to find out. That, and you learned the harsh lesson of minding your own business. Dear ol' Eddie gave you that cruel lesson. Shaking your head at the thought, you didn't want to be known as the employee who cried on their first day.

"Hey, new kid," One of your coworkers called out, approaching you, "Yer new here, so let me warn you. We got three freezers in the deli. One is full of the fresh meat we get. Leave that to us big guys. You can enter the second freezer with the small cuts for the customers. The third freezer, you never enter. Don't ask questions about it. Don't peak into it. Just pretend it never exists. Oh, and don't make eye contact with those who enter it."

"Okay,"

Hell fucking no. You were going to stay far away from dear freezer number three. That was a lot more information than you even wanted to hear. Hell, you weren't a fan of entering freezer number two. Once your coworkers were reassured by your understanding, they returned to work.

Your hands trembled over your station as you tried to focus on your job with the seven men yelling around you. This was your sad new life. You had to get used to this. You were either going to make it in the city or die trying.

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Miguel lazily glanced out his window seat, spotting the upcoming supermarket. There was a rumble in his throat as he leaned back in his seat. His men tailing behind him in different cars. Miguel told his driver to stop, wanting to walk the rest of the way while his men parked around back.

"Peter, take our guest into the freezer. I'm going to make a pit stop at the deli," Miguel said over the phone.

"Miguel, we talked about this. You're the boss, let us handle the work." Peter tried reasoning over the phone.

Miguel wasn't even paying attention. He hung up and proceeded to enter the supermarket. His presence alone made the managers cower and the workers silent. Of course, none of the regular customers knew anything. None of them suspected that he, Miguel O'Hara, CEO of Alchemax, was the leader of the Spider Mafia. One of the biggest and ruthless mafia in town.

"The usual?" One of the deli men questioned. Miguel glanced over his shoulder, noticing you shaking like a leaf while avoiding your coworkers,

"And they say I'm cruel. New hire?"

"Transfer from out of town," The man replied.

Miguel raised a brow towards you. You were pale in the face as you apologized for getting in people's way. Miguel couldn't help but snort. It was cute. Something he was not used too. Returning his attention to the deli worker, Miguel could only smirk as he watched his men drag their guest into freezer number three.

"The bird needs to be plucked." Was all Miguel said for the man to understand.

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You whimpered softly as you moved away from everyone's path. It had gotten far too busy for your liking. Once you caught a break, you noticed the deli supervisor talking to a handsome man. You tilted your head, stealing a glance. The man was tall and gorgeous. He wore a slick all black suit. Something very fancy for this part of town.

The man took notice of you and smiled. Your cheeks immediately started to heat up as you quickly returned to your job. As you did, you noticed some men enter the third freezer. You paled instantly. It was your first day! Biting you lower lip, you tried to focus on your work. Right as you did, you noticed the handsome man from earlier walk by you and towards the freezer,

"Keep up the good work, conejita (bunny)." He whispered.

You felt your heart race as the door shut. His voice was so deep and low. If only he hadn't entered the freezer. Perhaps, you would have gotten to know him as a regular.

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Next Chapter!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse

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kentopedia · 9 months

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dating port mafia boss dazai

contents: f!reader, implied violence, mostly dazai spoiling you so much, dazai is very soft in this, one litte nsfw scene !!

note: this reeks of self indulgence :,) my current obsession is pmboss!dazai being so sweet & gentle to his s/o

it goes without saying that if you're in the port mafia when you start dating dazai, he’ll probably want you to take less work in the field.

bc his main goal is keeping you safe, and he constantly worries about you when you're going on dangerous missions !!

though, sometimes you miss being in all the action. so, dazai will send you on missions with chuuya or akutagawa from time to time

he still worries, but he has no doubt they can keep you safe!!

he hates being nervous about whether or not you’ll come back to him, but he never wants you to feel like you're a prisoner in your own home.

if you want to go with him, anywhere or anytime, to any meeting, you just have to ask!

bc he trusts you completely <3 and he also knows you can take care of yourself.

if you want to work in other parts of the mafia, whether that be in training, intelligence, or behind the scenes work, dazai doesn’t care

he pretends to be uncompromising on some issues, but you can convince him of anything with a pretty smile.

but, if you're not in the port mafia, he (unfortunately) will make sure you have a bodyguard with you almost everywhere.

you insist its not necessary, but he knows he's made a lot of enemies that would love to use him against you. :(

though dazai has his moments of insanity (lol), he doesn't want to drive you away from him.

if you say its too much, he'll figure out something else. another way to keep you safe.

eventually, you come live with him, so that takes care of that.

dazai spoils you senseless !!

if he's ever late for a mission, he always comes back with something for you.

sometimes its flowers, sometimes its something even more elaborate

loves loves loves giving you jewelry

but everything he buys is very thoughtful!

he doesn't buy you expensive gifts just to flaunt money

its more that there isn't a price tag on things to him. if he sees something he thinks you'll like, it'll be yours, no matter the cost <3

"i'm home!" you said cheerfully, dropping your bag off by the door as you shouted to dazai through the penthouse.

the sound echoed back, and dazai didn't respond.

with a yawn, you headed towards your bedroom, stretching your muscles as you walked. the weather had been miserable that week, and between the heat and the rain, you were feeling more tired than ever.

what you longed for was a nice hot shower and a night in dazai's arms.

"osamu?" you said again, but the apartment remained quiet. there was no one in your bedroom when you opened the door.

you sighed, disappointed that he wasn't home to lay with you as you took a nap. though, your attention was quickly diverted by the newest addition to your bed.

a soft brown teddy bear, the same color as dazai's eyes, held a card, and a dark velvet box, paired with a bouquet of fresh flowers on your nightstand.

the note was short, but it was enough, and you couldn't help but smile as you read it.

i have to go out of the city for tonight. i'll be back in the morning. sorry i can't be with you, my darling. here's a little apology gift. i love you. - osamu

as usual, the gift was anything but small.

you flipped open the delicate box to reveal a gold necklace, a deep ruby dangling from the chain in the shape of a heart.

for a moment, you did nothing more than stare at the glittering gem that was edged by smaller diamonds, and you swelled with more love than your chest could handle.

carefully, you set the box down, wondering what you ever did to deserve something so beautiful. as much as you wanted to wear it immediately, you'd wait until osamu was back so he could help you put it on.

instead, you placed the card and the necklace by the flowers, and climbed into bed with the stuffed animal. as you nestled deeper into the comforter, curling your arms around the bear, you realized dazai had sprayed it with his cologne before he left.

dazai isn't the best about telling you how he feels. he is so much better at showing it.

if it isn't obvious, he loves buying you gifts! he has so much money as the port mafia boss, and he has no idea what to do with it. why not spend it on you!!

if you see an outfit in the store window that you like, dazai will have it tailored to your precise measurements. (which he has memorized, of course).

he loves shopping for you.

when he buys you pretty dresses, lingerie, and so on, all the other women in the store are swooning over him.

he knows exactly what you like and don't.

even if he thinks you'd look so beautiful in something, he knows your sense of style.

dazai doesn't want you to ever feel obligated to wear something just bc he picked it out for you.

of course, dazai always gives you his card to go shopping

and to get your nails done! he's obsessed with how pretty your hands look after getting a fresh set <3

he's loves them whatever color/design you think looks best. but i'd be lying if i said he wasn't obsessed with red nails.

dazai really loves the way they looked wrapped around his-

you rested your head on dazai's shoulder, letting your hands gently splay across his knee, your fingertips moving in a listless, delicate pattern.

though a film played before you, it was forgotten quickly, dazai's breath catching as he exhaled a laugh. "what are you doing?" he asked, and you smiled innocently, drifting your hand further up his thigh.

"nothing."

he blinked at you with wide brown eyes and swallowed, his throat bobbing as you reached his hip. you wrapped a delicate finger around his zipper, pulling it down slowly.

"nothing, hm?" he countered.

you turned to face him, sweeter now, as you tugged at his waistband. though dazai feigned disinterest for a moment, you felt him twitch beneath the thin layer of clothing.

his focus drifted down to your much softer hand, perfectly manicured and smaller than his own. he seemed fascinated, for a moment, by the way your fingers were moving. "your nails look pretty, love."

"i know.” you grinned. dazai's hips shifted, and you lowered his waistband, pressing a line of kisses up his neck slowly, teasing him.

you freed his cock, aching and hard, from his pants, and wrapped your hand around him. dazai let out a small gasp, though he watched as you lazily stroked him, the action perfected from experience.

"you're so pretty, 'samu." you watched his face turn red as he tried hard not to fall apart under your touch.

it was reassuring, really, to know that the most powerful man in the city was wrapped around your finger.

"not as pretty as you, baby," he said, but the word came out strained, raspy as you tightened your fist, running your teeth across the taut vein in his neck.

you laughed and moved onto his lap, kicking the remote off the couch before straddling him. his eyes melted into hearts as he stared up at you, begging for a kiss.

"you’ve been so busy this week,” you frowned. “i wanna make you feel good."

dazai jerked into you, breathing stifled as you brush your thumb over the tip. "you always do." his smile was affectionate, but his touch was desperate, digging into your sides. he was already searching for some sort of release.

"so impatient," you said, but you indulged him with a kiss anyway, his hands fisting in your hair as your tongue met his.

he breathed into you mouth, hot and heavy. "fuck," dazai hissed, lifting your hips to slip off your pajama shorts. "it's hard not to be when you're so fucking perfect, sweetheart. i need to be inside you."

dazai loves loves loves taking you out to expensive restaurants <3

he's not a big fan of crowds, though, so he'll rent out the entire place instead, just to get a private room for the two of you.

and if you don't feel like going out, but you want a nice meal, he'll hire a chef for the evening. one that specializes in whatever type of food you want

dazai's not the best cook, but he’ll do often, just because it makes you happy

he gets so much better over time, though.

whatever you want, he'll make it for you! and if he can't, he'll definitely find someone who can.

but! back to dazai letting you use his account to buy anything.

when you go to any shop associated with the mafia, everything is on the house

bc if the boss is going to funnel money into their pockets, the least they could do is give his girl some gifts !!

"is this... going to be all for you today, miss?" the cashier said, looking at the stack of clothing skeptically. he rang up price tag after price tag, watching as the numbers grew exponentially on the screen.

you nodded, smiling politely as he read off the total, a number that no average person would be able to spend reasonably in one go.

but dazai said you could get whatever you wanted for your birthday, and you hadn't let yourself indulge in a shopping spree for a while. so you'd picked up anything that suited you nicely and decided not to worry.

"how will you be paying today?"

you handed over the card, and the cashier read the name, glancing up at you with skeptical eyes.

"dazai osamu?"

you smiled sweetly. "it's my boyfriend's card."

though, the name had caught the attention of an older salesman across the room, and he was to the cashier in two swift steps, knocking him on the back of the head.

"dumbass," the older man swiped the card from the cashier before he could swipe the payment. "don't you know who she is?"

it took the man three more times of reading dazai's name across the plastic for it to click.

"i'm so sorry," he said, wide eyes suddenly anxious. "i had no idea you were—"

"it's okay. don't worry." you smiled, shrugging. "i won't tell him."

you meant it as a joke, but that only seemed to make the younger cashier more nervous.

"we'll take care of everything for you." the elderly salesman said, holding out the card to return it. "it's on us."

"really?" you pinched your eyebrows together, concerned. the bill was steep. it seemed unfair to let them take such a hit to profits. "at least let me pay for some of it.”

"no, don't worry about it. the boss said it was your birthday, so whatever you want, its yours."

for a moment, you weren't sure what to say. though, realizing that this store was just one of the many in yokohama that partnerned with dazai, you finally succumbed to a smile, and accepted their kindness.

you took dazai's card back and slipped it into your purse. "thank you so much.” you said sincerely, turning to leave with a small wave as you gathered up the bags and bags of clothes. "it was nice to meet you. i'll come back soon!"

though they said nothing, they both stared back at you with wide eyes, as most people did when they found out you were the one that had captured dazai's heart.

when dazai finds out how much you love to read, he clears out an entire floor of the port mafia headquarters to make you a library

its done far too elaborately, with classical decorations, a very intricate chandelier, and a view that looks over the entire city

there are special editions, original copies of your favorite books, books in languages you can't even read and so on

he went a little overboard, but he was just so excited to show you :(

"osamu." you stare, blinking at the vast room, not really sure what to say other than his name.

"what?" he's pouting instantly, wondering if he made a mistake, and you didn't like to read as much as he thought. "do you not like it?"

you don't think your heart has ever felt so full before, and you manage a shaky smile, wondering how it didn't split your face in two. "this is too much. you did all this for me?"

and he seems surprised you would even ask such a silly question, because why wouldn't he give you something you've always wanted? "if it makes you feel better, i'll tell you i did it for myself."

you laugh, and then you're launching yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. you nearly cry, because even though he spoils you far too much, this is the most thoughtful gift you've ever received.

"thank you." you whisper, kissing him all over his face, and he smiles, his cheeks warm from your affection.

dazai leads you to a shelf after that, pointing out a few novels that have his name scribbled in the front cover, all with varying states of penmanship.

he's collected all his favorite books there for you, hopeful you'll read them first.

dazai places you next to him in every mafia meeting

if you're going to be his partner, you're also going to be his equal <3

and he knows that you can keep everyone in the mafia in line. he trusts you to be in charge when he's not there

bc everyone in the mafia likes you more than dazai anyway! (except maybe akutagawa)

and yes, dazai is the sweetest to you <3 but certainly not to everyone else

he disposes of people that bother you... far too quickly

the man at the store made you uncomfortable? he doesn't live in the city anymore. someone was too handsy? they'll lose a few fingers.

but if someone in the mafia says even one unkind word to you, you'll never see them again.

"sweetheart, what's wrong?"

you sniffed, wiping the tears from your eyes as his hands snuck around your waist. he pulled you closer towards him, sliding next to you on the bed.

"it's nothing." you swallowed, but your eyes were still glassy no matter how hard you tried to stop crying. "i shouldn't get so worked up about things people say."

"hey," he coaxed your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up. "if it's upsetting you, it's a big deal to me, my love."

you said nothing for a moment, but dazai remained patient, smiling softly at you as he stroked your cheek.

never able to resist the gentleness that he showered only you in, you sighed. "some people just said…” you trailed off, almost not wanting to tell him. it seemed embarrassing, in some way, to say something lewd about yourself, even if you were merely repeating the words.

“said what?”

you chewed the inside of your lip before sighing, knowing dazai wouldn’t let the issue rest until you told him.

“they just said that you only kept me around to fuck me.” you dropped your gaze to your hands for a moment, letting them rest limply in your lap. “that i was just some stupid bitch you’d leave behind soon.”

you watched the smile slowly fall from his lips, his eyes hardening with a fury that wasn't directed at you.

"you know that's not true." he held your hands tightly, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "tell me that you know that."

you managed something of a smile. "i know. i really do know how much you love me. doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt my feelings.”

he nodded, somewhat satisfied as the cloudiness began to clear from your face. "who was it? if you don't know they're name, just describe them." his expression was icy, dangerous, even if his hands were soft.

"osamu, i told you it doesn't matter—" you frowned, looking away before he interrupted.

“it does fucking matter." his words came out sharp. "those men work for me, and i'm not going to let them treat you like that. they've got no business being here if they can't respect you."

at the end of the day, dazai's reputation remains very much intact. he will always be feared in the city, despite exposing himself as a man who's so so in love

but everyone in the mafia is secretly pleased to see him a little happier, even if its just around you.

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intergalacticaquarium · 2 years

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What if I just started the most targeted fashion roast blog ever made

#somebosy NEEDS to say something #i do not believe that all of you actually think this man is dressing himself well #i dont i dont believe it there are rules that we all agreed on and giant mafia suits and gold chains are strictly on the bad list and #literally always have been and always will be #i will not be silenced by peer pressure #i need to tell the world #that he looks like a pimp that got hired bc of nepotism #a club promoter #a man hogging lifeboats on the titanic #donald trumps style icon #a funeral director but just for people who own strip clubs #i cannot be the only one thats thinking this this is unacceptable behavior

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norrisleclercf1 · 2 months

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Can I has Mafia!Jenson x assistant!reader where she wears the body jewellery to a dinner of some sorts, or like an event, and Jenson is just completely speechless? They're in that weird cat and mouse game still where they both know the other has feelings but are too scared to admit their own but Jenson would kill whoever looks at her 👐🏼

A/N: HEHEHE

"I am, not wearing that."

Lewis snaps his fan closed and groans, cracking his neck as he glares at you. "Yes the fuck you are, now, go change." He pats your ass and throws you into the changing room. You turn quick and pull at the handle and groan when you realize the bastard locked it from the outside.

"I'll just stay in here!" You yell, a snort echos, as Lewis's boots click on the floor. "Fine you can stay in there, but Jenson will come in here, now wither I open the door with you dressed or naked, is your choice." Biting down hard, your jaw aches from the threat, blowing air out as you take a moment to calm down.

"I hate you!" "No you don't,"

Groaning, you hate that Lewis was right, you could never hate your best friend. Looking at the outfit you groan and quickly undress.

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"Goddamn, even I'd fuck you." Blushing at the words, Lewis smiles as he walks around you. Wearing black stilettos, a skin tight black dress that had a deep cut V that went down to your naval, your breasts holding perfectly it looked sinful, it had slits on either side that went up to the curves of your hip bones, you'd keep to yourself you weren't wearing any panties. But the silent killer, was this small but noticeable gold chain that layed on your sternum, but broke off at the end and wrapped under your breasts. It had gorgeous little pearls that adorned your skin, it looked classy yet a little hint of seduction. Lewis loved it.

"Well, okay," Lewis takes a breath and fixes his pants which has you slapping his shoulder but you both giggle, leaning in he kisses your cheek and brings you over to do a smokey eye and paint your lips a deep wine red. "Thank you," You whisper, feeling confident.

You might work for Jenson Button, one of the feared men in the Mafia world and even made him fall to is knees, but even you needed to feel pretty once in a while, and Lewis was always happy to dress you up. "For you," He whispers and kisses your cheeks.

"I have to go," You sigh, not wanting to head to this meeting. Jenson had asked you to come with and Lewis decided to make you gorgeous and confident and have all the men eating out of your hand.

And damn did he succeed.

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Climbing out of the car you say thank you and hold your little clutch and walk inside to the dark little restaurant. You didn't know where Jenson and the other men where, looking around for them.

Jenson was going to murder Lewis. He was going to kill him and maybe torture him, but he was going to do something to the man. Because explain to him, why he gorgeous, sweet, somewhat shy, and brilliant assistant was currently wearing a dress that was begging Jenson to fuck her in.

Biting his lip he groans, seeing you in that dress should be illegal and the fact he now had business partners here, to see you in this dress. He was going to rip their fucking eyes out. Seeing you look around lost and confused made his blood bump so hard he could hear it in his ears. "Excuse me," He slides out of the booth and walks up behind you, and feels his pants get even tighter seeing the finer details of the dress.

God he wanted to take his hand and reach into the slits of the dress and grab your ass pulling you close, having you sit on his lap and feel him grow hard underneath you. He wanted to slide the long sleeves off your shoulders and watch as you bounce, the body jewelry teasing him and god, he was going to come right here. "Y/n," You jump, and he has to control himself from wrapping his arms around your waist.

"God, Mr. Button, scared me." You blush seeing the way he was eating you alive. "I'm sorry, but...what are you wearing?" He steps closer to you. Body tensing you hate the way you lean forward, craving the warmth and the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.

"Lewis designed it for me," You whisper, as the two of you lean in closer, craning your neck to look up at him, as he looks down at you. "Come home wit-" "Mr. Button, you're table is ready for your orders," The two of you jump back as the waitress smiles, seeming somewhat annoyed and you blush looking away.

"Let's go," He whispers, and holds out his arm, which you gratefully take as he leads you to the table and stops. "Fuck, I can't." He moves to stand in front of you and shrugs his suit jacket off and laying in on your shoulders, covering your body, his hands tighten on the collar and pulls you in.

"Only I can see you like this, understand? Only me," He whispers, leaning in and you have the urge to lean in just a little bit, he smiles and bumps your forehead and moves away. "If they stare at you to long and make you uncomfortable, squeeze my thigh twice and I'll blow their fucking heads off," You nod, getting a smile from him, "Good girl."

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 30 days

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Dog-eared | Chapter 1: The End

Summary: You know your boss is involved with organised crime. The flashy cars, men in tailored suits, call girls that come and go, and the odd hours he keeps. It screams organised crime of some kind, or a cult. But you’ve been able to keep it all separate from your personal life. Until now. Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mafia Themes/Mob Violence etc., Swearing, Nearly Naked Price. Main Masterlist | AO3 Wordcount: 2556

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

On the surface, working for the Mob is no different to any other corporation, you do your job – a cushy gig as a Cyber Security expert – you get paid. There’s no union busting, or quibbles over PTO and pay, simply because it’s laughable to even consider them when your boss is literally the head of one of the most notorious London crime gangs.

You butt heads with the department heads and shareholders of the shell company just as frequently as at that company owned by Nestle, you’re pulled from project to project just as often as working for Amazon’s tech support, you work unpaid overtime at the same frequency as that law firm down the road.

The key difference is the pay.

You’re flush with savings, your student loans repaid, and you live a pretty cushy life, all things considered.

“Alrigh’, lass?” The familiar Glaswegian twang shakes you out of your post-lunch daydream at your desk and you smile up at your friend as he perches on the edge of your desk. You didn’t even hear the door to your office open.

He’s dressed to the nines in a blue three-piece number, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. His waistcoat is a slightly darker blue with gold brocade embroidered on the silky material. His tie is a bright yellow to match, if you didn’t know any better, he’d almost pass for a Canary Wharf banker wanker.

His hair is styled in the usual short mohawk he’s favoured since you were kids. A bittersweet remnant of the boy you once knew shining through the hardened exterior of the very dangerous man you’ve come to love.

“Soap MacTavish, those will kill you,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you point to the cigar tucked in the exterior pocket of his suit, “Celebrating?”

“Not yet,” he says as he drums his fingertips on the desk, “But Cap’n thinks we’re about to strike it big.”

“I don’t want to know,” you playfully cover your ears with your hands, “So zip it.”

“You asked,” Soap says with a grin, “Besides, Price is keeping this one on the need-to-know basis, so I couldn’t tell you even if you were feeling a wee bit nosy.”

“Good,” you say with a huff as you lean back in your chair, “Just come back in one piece, yeah?”

“Always,” he promises with a wink as you see the lift doors open behind him, Ghost and Price in full view through the glass walls of your office. Both men are deep in conversation, “Besides, I’ve got plans this weekend, can’t woo my missus if I’m dead.”

“Speak of the devil,” you grumble as Ghost and Price stop outside your open door. The scarred blond man nods at you, a subtle twitch of his eyebrow and scarred lip more than anyone else gets in this place. He’s in a pale salmon suit, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to brandish the gold chain around his neck.

Price looks through you like you don’t exist. His azure eyes cold and emotionless as you nod in his direction. You can’t help but notice the way his rolled up shirt sleeves hug his thick arms, nor the gold shirt garters that only add to the old-school gangster look. His dark trousers are pressed to perfection, the hems brushing over the tops of his maroon Brogues. His beard is freshly trimmed, framing his thick lips in a way that makes you yearn to know what it’s like to feel them brushing over your skin.

It used to sting, the sheer indifference he shows you, but after four years, you’re over it. Mostly. You try to give him the same wide berth, mostly talking through Kate, his COO, if the need arises.

But you’re not so proud to admit you’d climb him like a tree if he so much as hinted that he was interested.

“Duty calls, hen,” Johnny leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, “See you soon.”

You feel the multiple eyes on you at the overly familiar gesture. The rumours that you and Soap were/are fucking have been circulating since you first joined Price and Sons. It makes you laugh, because – to you – it’s obvious how in love Soap and Ghost are.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you call after him playfully, “Aaron from HR is on my ass about inappropriate work relationships!”

“Whatever you say lass, you love the attention,” Soap says without turning back, his laughter echoing through the hall as he joins Price and Ghost outside your office. But being the subject of office gossip is the least of your concerns, it seems.

An alert flashes up in a command window, then another, and another. Emails start piling in along with Teams and Slack messages from multiple department heads and C-level execs.

You groan inwardly at the workload dumped at your feet, on the wrong side of lunch on a Friday. You’re going to be here into the early hours, you just know it.

You call up Farah, getting her to ensure the counter measures are doing their job across the system as you do the same. It’s a standard DDOS attack, aimed at the infrastructure layer, and one of thousands the company experiences each year. But there’s something about this one that makes you doubt it’s run of the mill. You don’t have time to question why as you see a second and third wave of emails and video calls coming through.

You’re pulling up Farah on a video call as you hear the glass door close behind Soap.

You don’t notice the way John Price lingers at your door, his gaze transfixed as he watches you work the problem. You miss the way he clips Johnny over the back of the head, telling the younger man to “behave”.

~*~

You’re trudging through the rowdy streets of London on a Friday night, still glued to your work phone as you try and wrack your brains over the incident. Farah offered to stay late onsite, which you had gladly accepted. You trust Farah more than any other colleague you’ve ever had. She’s capable, smart, funny, and most of all she knows her shit.

You’re only a few streets away from your flat now, thumbs furiously typing away as you hear the distinct rumble of thunder in the distance. You curse yourself for not packing an umbrella this morning.

You: Farah, don’t stay up too late, the worst of it is over, we can pick back up in the am.

Farah: Yes boss, will catch you in the morning, have a good one! Don’t lose any sleep on this, I’ve got it covered.

You: You too, night.

Farah: No promises, now put the phone away and let me know when you’re home safe.

You smile to yourself as you close the app. You know she’ll be glued to her work computer all night, but at least you can say you tried. You feel the heavy drops of rain splatter against your skin as the weather turns rapidly around you. The Friday night partygoers screeching and groaning as they too fall prey to the fickle whims of British weather.

You’re soaked through by the time you reach your building, the doorman letting you in with a sympathetic smile. You miss the guilt etched into his face as you shuffle through to the lift.

All you want to do is settle down with a glass of wine, your scrunkly elderly dog Lola, and the latest episode of that period drama series everyone is going on about.

You approach your front door, pawing through your handbag to find your keys when you hear it. A short, meek little yap that barely registers as a bark. A sound you’re far too familiar with to mistake it for anything else.

Lola.

You look up to see your door ajar. Your stomach drops as you see the bloody streak of a handprint smeared over the handle. You look down to see a scarlet boot print stamped on your welcome mat as you nudge the door open with the toe of your shoe.

“Hello?” You call out as you use the torch on your phone to illuminate your dark flat.

You can smell the red-copper scent of blood in the air as you follow the scarlet droplets that trail through your open plan flat. The jingling of Lola’s collar makes bile rise in your throat.

“Look, whoever you are,” you start your bargain with a surprisingly level voice, “I’ve got money, I’ll give you whatever you need, just leave my dog be, yeah?”

There’s no response as you drop your handbag down on the sofa, the familiar landscape of your home shrouded in darkness as you lament not turning the light on at the door. But the warm light spilling from your bedroom tells you exactly where your intruder must be.

You make your way to the safe on the far side of your flat, dangerously close to your bedroom door where the intruder lies – the bloody handprint smeared on your bedroom door a perfect match to the one you saw on the way in only stoking your fears.

You quickly disarm the safe and pull out your – very illegal – Colt 1911 with blackened frame and mother of pearl grips. You hit the mag eject, acknowledging the full clip before sliding it back into place and pulling the slide back to arm the weapon. You may not technically be part of the mob, but you’re not so naïve that you’d not prepare for this sort of thing.

You steel yourself, phone forgotten on the floor by the safe as you support the underside of your pistol grip with your off-hand, your dominant hand steady around the grip, aimed at shoulder height as you prepare to breach your bedroom.

“Last chance,” you call into your bedroom and the unmistakeable sound of Lola’s happy grumbles catches you off guard.

You kick the door in and immediately you’re left dumbfounded, but you don’t falter, gun pointed towards the man slumped on your bed.

“What the…?” You trail off as you feel heat singe at the tips of your ears, flooding your cheeks as you take in the sight before you.

John Price is shirtless, stripped down to his tight grey boxer briefs as his head lolls back against your expensive mahogany headboard. His hair sticks to his head, blood and rain smeared through his short locks. His face is bruised and bloodied, his lip split and one of his eyes swollen shut. Even beaten half to death, the man is striking.

“Mr Price?” You hiss as you slowly lower the gun, setting it down on a chest of drawers to your left, “What happened?”

You struggle to decide your next move, there’s a loud, shrill voice in the back of your mind that makes you want to dab his face with a wet rag. Shower him with care and attention like some trite romance novel. An equally loud voice tells you that it’s not your problem, this isn’t what you’re paid for, and you should just turn him out on the street.

Then you see the duct tape strapped tight around his hairy chest, two wads of what look like sanitary towels bunched up over his lower abdomen and another tampon-looking object stuck in his right bicep.

“Call me John,” he wheezes out and you jump back at the sudden signs of life from the beleaguered man. You can’t believe he’s still breathing, let alone conscious right now.

“What the fuck are you doing here, John?” You hiss as you notice the big lump under your blood-stained duvet, a long tail wagging against Price’s side as Lola seems to finally realise you’re home.

“Deal went sideways, shit really hit the fan this time,” he coughs out through gritted teeth as a tremor wracks his body, “Got the bullets out, used some of your shit in the bathroom, will compensate you.”

“Right,” you say as you shake your head, “I don’t want to know, don’t need your money, not like tampons are expensive anyway.”

“Fuck off with your sanctimonious bullshit for once, love,” Price hisses as he glares at you with his one good eye. You bristle at that but hold your tongue, glowering right back at him, as if he isn’t one of the most dangerous men in the country.

“You need a hospital,” you say slowly as you perch yourself at the end of the bed, “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me to fuck off with that idea?”

“You catch on fast,” John says with a heavy exhale through his nose as Lola wriggles her way out of the bedding, her greying muzzle popping out of the covers dramatically as she sniffs you out, “I need to stay here a while, lay low while I plan my next move.

“Absolutely n-,” you begin but you’re cut off, John continuing to speak as if you aren’t even there.

“I will compensate you financially, of course, but you cannot let anyone know I’m here.”

Lola stretches her old body out with a soft whine before trotting down the bed to you, wonky tail swishing back and forth before she plops down onto your lap. Milky eyes peer blindly up at you with adoration as you scratch behind her ears.

“What about Soap? Ghost? Gaz? Kate’s gotta be worried sick,” You say, watching the wounded man labour through each breath. You try not to admit to yourself that you’re worried about him. He’s a mobster, scum, you should have nothing but resentment for him. But the nagging voice telling you to care for him, nurse him back to health, just won’t quit.

It's the right thing to do.

“Kate’s the reason I’m here,” he says as his voice becomes faraway, distant, “Said I could trust you.”

Before you can ask any more questions, Price passes out. His jaw falls slack and his one good eye flutters closed as you look between the haggard man and old dog in your bed. You groan as you release the mag from your gun and eject the chambered round, placing the disassembled piece down on your bedside table.

You force Lola out to do her business, the small dog grumbling the whole time you pry her away from the warm bed and even warmer man nestled under your sheets. You pick up your phone up on the way as you text Kate to see if she’s awake.

Kate: Call you in 5.

Is all you get as you’re lifting Lola back onto the bed, who immediately settles against Price’s side.

Traitor.

You think as you rummage under your sink to find your cleaning supplies. The welcome mat is burning away in a steel bin filled with lighter fluid on your balcony, but you need to clean up the rest of the blood before the nausea eats you alive. You phone begins to ring just as you’re locking your front door. You answer with a scowl as Kate says your name syrupy sweet in your ear.

“Cut the shit Kate,” you snap as you hold the phone in the crook of your neck as you start mopping Price’s blood from your tiles, “What the hell is going on?”

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queers-gambit · 3 months

Text

My Date With the President's Daughter

part one: Blue Bunny

prompt: your father finds out about Tangerine in the worst way during a charity gala before marauders try to rob it.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 6.3k+

note: a little Disney Channel throwback in the title anyone?

warnings: use of Irish names that DO NOT dictate race, more Mafia antics, short smut / interrupted smut (you'll see), NSFW i think, mature content, cursing, chaos and violence, weapons: guns and knives, blood. dead bodies, reader's a Daddy's Girl, abrupt ending, slight angst, more hurt and comfort i guess, author still has no idea what this plot is - revoke her internet access.

The theme of the gala that night was inspired by the Palace of Versailles; regal, royal, glittering and so very, very gold. It was held at one of the most expensive hotels in the city, the entire building rented out in preparation with three different caterers and expensive bottles of alcohol being served. The gala was THE place to be - most people vying for an invitation, everyone who was anyone in attendance; dripping in designer clothes, shoes, and jewelry that sparkled in candlelight.

Every single year for the past 25 years, your legendary father hosted a large charity event that your mother was project manager of - meaning she chose the themes, decor, and the invite list. Only elite persons (both in the public and private eye) with deep pockets were invited, knowing they'd cut a large check if they wanted your father to stay out of their business territories. So, in honor of the richer-than-rich attendees, your mother used grand and golden decorations; creating a tastefully regal atmosphere for those who didn't actually have a drop of royal blood in their veins.

You father, Fallon, meaning "leader" in the ancient Celtic language, looked as handsome and dapper as ever; his tux dry cleaned, steamed, ironed, and tailored, paired with clean and shining dress shoes that had a bright red sole. His hair was slicked back, tattoos on his neck visible from the swept-back style.

Your mother, Maeve, whose name meant "she who rules", looked like she had just walked off a runway. Her dress hugged her slender and impressive figure, the material shimmering under the soft lighting. Her heels were high, hair pinned off her neck to show off bright diamond earrings that matched the thin chain of glittering gems around her collarbones, the sparkling tennis bracelet, and the absurdly large wedding ring on her finger. Her face was lightly painted with make-up, always a woman who didn't need much - if any at all. You prayed to age as gracefully as she.

Your brother, Oisín - pronounced [Oh - Sheen] - meant "little deer"; a cheeky but shy lad at the ripe age of 10. He wore a matching tux as your father, and had an emerald broach pinned on his lapel to indicate he belonged to your family. His au pair was supposed to be watching him so you could mingle with donors, but Oisín didn't stray from your side; a wee hand holding the material of your expensive dress on your hip to keep himself from getting lost.

The gala was crowded. Large event room stifling, requiring the air be turned on. Perfume assaulting the senses in a clash of scents.

The trademark "cha-ching" sound effect echoed in your mind as you shmoozed a few guests into their donations; impressing your brother by how easy you made it look. You thanked each donor with a pretty smile and fluttering lashes, floating around the room to meet other investors; giving them your family's charity's mission statement and explained where their money would go. Most of the people in this room were seedy criminals - similar to your father - and the other few were corrupt politicians who were nestled in the criminal's pockets.

By no means was the night boring, but this was work for you; all business, no pleasure.

The decor your mother chose had a lot of glittering gold details; a few imported busts and statues, an entire wall full of sculpted grass to mimic the Palace's own garden designs; artwork hung in thick, intricate frames, bright crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The event hall was specifically chosen for the floor-to-ceiling windows, sculpted shrubbery planted around the room; banquet tables covered in white cloth and chairs made of white plush - complimenting the detailed golden accents. It was gorgeous, you were impressed by your mother's attention to detail.

You wore a dress made of fine silk, the pretty green hue complimenting your skin tone; hair left down, pinned at the sides, showing off the dangling, expensive earrings your father gifted you on your 18th birthday. You, too, wore heels that forced you to walk taller and with calculated steps; rimmed eyes darting around to ensure there wasn't any shady business transpiring. But when surrounded by people who made their living by being sketchy, it was hard to clock each and every movement; being why your father had hired a very specific (and loyal) security service.

With several checks in hand, you visited your father's banker, a mute man named Bradley, and handed them over for safe keeping; your brother able to practice his sign language. Bradley was happy to reply, your entire family versed in multiple languages, and showed the young lad his process of collecting and documenting the donations. After tallying your new checks to the grand total, he used British Sign Language to inform you and Oisín of the updated tally generated so far.

"Why does Daddy need to do this?" The young lad asked, holding your hand tightly; not being a fan of social interactions - especially to this magnitude.

"To keep business moving squeaky clean," you answered softly, smiling at a few who passed you. "Money makes the world go 'round, don't it?"

He sighed, "Do we know all these people?"

"We do, they're Daddy's associates," you nodded, "and you best believe, they all know us. See, one day, you'll learn their names and what businesses they provide, how Daddy keeps them all employed."

Oisín looked uncomfortable, wondering, "Are they dangerous? Like the guys that came for Christmas?"

You came to a halt around the edge of the room, caressing his head while being careful not to muse his hair out of place. "They're all dangerous, in their own way, yes, lovie. But," you lowered into a squat so you could look your brother in his eyes, "you'll learn, Daddy's much more dangerous. So, we host events like this t'keep everyone happy and in line, you see? It's a power play."

He nodded, glancing around the room of adults. "Do I have to stay the whole time, though? Mommy said I could invite Darrel and Kevin - they're over there," he pointed towards one of the round tables, two of his classmates laughing with their mothers standing off to the side. "And I'm hungry!"

"Oh, you're a hungry lad, is it?" You smiled, watching his head bob. "Well then, in that case, we should feed you, huh? C'mon," you straightened and offered your hand, which he took gratefully. "We'll get yah fed, sweetums, and you can hang with your friends, yeah?"

"Daddy won't be mad?"

"No, I'll tell him you did really well tonight, helping me collect donations," you winked, leading him to one of the catering tables. You made up his plate with different options, carrying it to the table his friends, Darrel and Kevin, were sat at.

The boys - who looked adorably dapper in suits and bowties - greeted your brother happily; letting you set his plate down and greet the mothers kindly to thank them for their attendance that night.

"Oh, Miss!" Your brother's au pair, Lisa, hustled up to you, "I'm so sorry, I lost track - "

"No, no, 's fine, you're all right, deep breath, love," you assured, squeezing her upper arm. "Having a good night so far?"

"Oh, it's magical, Miss, innit?" She beamed, looking around in wonder. "Never been before despite working for your family all these years, I'm grateful for your mother's invitation tonight."

"Oh, we're very happy to host yah, sweetheart," you smiled. "But, uh, you mind keepin' an eye on Oisín for me? I've gotta work a bit more. He just wants t'hang with his friends, think he's a bit tired."

"Of course," she rushed.

"I'd wager you can take him t'bed after Daddy's speech, hmm? I know he'll want Oisín here for that, at the very least."

Lisa agreed, mingling with the other mothers as you pecked Oisín's head and told him to behave, that you were gonna go back to working the gala; which he at least acknowledged before being sucked back into a card game with Darrel. You didn't mind the blow off, liking the idea that he had as normal of a life as possible - a farfetched idea considering your father ran the bloody Irish Mafia and all. He's attended three different schools since he started his educational career, so you were content to leave him with his friends; letting boys be boys.

After making another deposit to Bradley, you visited one of the modern and unique glass bars (one of three stations) while feeling somewhat dejected by the night's missing guest. But speak (or think) of the Devil and He shall appear.

"You weren't kiddin' when you said your family goes all out for events like this. Jesus fuckin' Christ," a familiar, accented voice crooned; a body saddling up to the bar beside you. You first saw his hands clasped together on the bar, recognizing the golden rings and single bracelet, smirking as your eyes lifted to meet that of Aaron - or Tangerine.

"You're late," you mused, locking eyes with the bartender and holding up two fingers; indicating you now wanted two of the drinks you ordered, him nodding.

"Sorry 'bout that, love, yeah, no, Lem and I got caught up in somethin', had ta deal, then get cleaned up for yah. Figured you wouldn't want us walkin' in here with blood on us."

"You'd be right," you hummed, red painted lips stretching in amusement as you both casually leaned on the glass bartop with your forearms. "Doesn't matter, you're here now - thank God."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not like previous years," you admitted, sending a glance over your shoulder at the group of milling socialites. "Since Daddy inducted The Agency, some traction's picked up believe it or not. Seems like a lot of people like the idea of contract killers for hire and investing in the Black Market. Seems like you lot really up the ante, don't'cha?"

"Ah," he smirked, "you're welcome, then. Happy t'be of service."

"I'll only thank you when you make a donation to the cause."

"Yeah?" He smirked. "Well, you got anywhere private for me to write a check, then, love? Can't have anyone knowin' I'm charitable, got a reputation to uphold, know what I mean?" Then he leaned in real close, lips ghosted against your ear and making a shiver shoot down your spine, "C'mon, doll, 's been 3 weeks since I've seen yah."

"I know," you sighed, "but we've been busy tonight. Plus, Daddy would kill you - like, actually kill you - 'cause he's listed you specifically for me to stay away from."

"And yet, here you are, naughty girl, huh? Disobeying orders?" He smirked and put a space between you for the sake of appearances, two glasses of whiskey set before you. "Your Daddy's been preoccupied all night, love - don't think he'd even notice if we pop out for a bit. 'Fraid to admit but if I don't get you alone soon, I might actually lose my shit, darlin', honestly."

"Aaron, sweetheart, my family is hosting this event and we're responsible for collections," you deadpanned, but smirked, "'s a bit inappropriate to abandon such an important night by sneaking off."

"Can't tell me you're not tempted."

Now, you full-on grinned, "I didn't wear panties for a reason."

"You fuckin' tease," he growled over the rim of the crystal glass. When he tasted the whiskey, he hummed in shock, looking at the amber liquid, "Fuck me, that's nice."

"My family may or may not own several distilleries. You're drinking an exquisite, 15-year ol' whiskey, love." You took your own sip, casting another look around the room, finding your brother first, still with his friends before locating your parents. They were pleasantly distracted by an ambassador, making you grin at Tangerine, "C'mon."

"Hey?" He wondered, quickly setting his half-drank glass down as you snatched his free hand to quickly lead him away. He smirked and casted a look over his shoulder, instantly meeting Lemon's eyes - finding him laughing at the pair of you, toasting his drink at his brother in impression as if he knew what you two were up to.

Thanks to Thomas the Tank Engine, Lemon definitely knew what you two were doing - being excellent at reading people.

You lead your lover out of the event hall, checking up and down the empty hall and missing the way one of the security guards clocked your escape. You lead Tangerine into the large, private, unisex bathroom; shoving him against the closed door and instantly latching onto him in a deep kiss.

He was fully prepared, catching your hips; hissing a breath in through his nose, releasing a gentle moan out of sheer relief. When you pulled back, he grinned, "Got no idea how much I fuckin' missed yah, darlin'."

"Missed you more," you whispered in a rush, arms wrapping around his neck as he simultaneously began backing you up. It was a hungry kiss; heated, passionate, teeth clanking from impact, both attempting to make up for lost time. Ever in-sync, both your mouths opened to push your tongues against one another; exchanging saliva and the taste of expensive whiskey.

"C'mere," he panted after having backed you into the sink counter, seizing hold of your silken hips and hoisting you upwards. Your mouths were never far apart, joining together once more now that you were sat at a vantage point. Your hands shoved his navy blue suit jacket from his shoulders, it being set aside to the other end of the counter while you worked on his belt. "Never goin' this long again," he mumbled into your kiss, pushing the material of your dress up to let your legs spread wider in accommodation. Your lover rushed, "Jesus, fuck, feels like forever, don't it?"

You nodded as his hands pushed under the bunched material to grip the plush meat of your thighs; giving a gentle massage before sliding them higher until he met your bare hips. The cold counter bit into your exposed flesh.

"Oh, fuck me, you really didn't wear panties?" He groaned, glancing down as he lifted silk from your lap to catch a glimpse of your bare cunt - ready to greet him.

"Had a feelin' you'd show up, you just can't stay away, can yah?" You smirked, cheekily licking his lips as his belt clattered open. "Thought you'd might appreciate it," your chuckle was swallowed by his moan as the zipper of his trousers sounded almost shrilly to your over heightened senses. "Just need you close, so fuckin' close, please, missed you, baby - "

"No idea how much I've missed you, love, fuckin' hell," he rushed, reaching into his briefs the moment you had loosened the waistband of his tailored trousers to take hold of his cock. "This ain't gonna be nice an' easy, love, yeah? All right?" He checked, feeling you slide to the edge of the counter.

"Didn't think anything else," you grinned, gasping lightly when the head of his cock swept up and down your slit. "Plenty of time for that later, just need you fuckin' close - closer than close."

"Feel how fuckin' wet you are already? Goddamnit - "

"All for you, baby, c'mon, don't tease - "

In a single motion, Tangerine sheathed himself in your warmth, grinning in mischief, "Huh? Sayin' somethin', weren't yah, doll? Go 'head, finish your sentence, 'M listening."

You only chuckled, hands holding his neck and bicep in vice grips to keep yourself anchored as close as possible to him. "Three weeks without yah, and you wanna provoke me?" You whispered, feeling him begin to thrust in agonizing movements.

"Wouldn't be me if I didn't, huh?"

You chuckled breathlessly - gasping when, suddenly, the bathroom door burst open. You were facing that way, looking up from Tangerine's shoulder, only to discover your worst fear. "Holy shit! Daddy!?" You squeaked, Tangerine jolting and cursing in a hushed tone as he instantly yanked out of your wet warmth.

"Oh, you betta be fuckin' kiddin' me," your father seethed. "The fuck is goin' on here!? What the fuck are you goin'!? Who the fuck is that - is-is-is that who I think it is?" He growled, your lover fumbling to tuck himself away and pull his trousers back together - not moving from between your legs in an effort to preserve your modesty. But he had turned slightly to give your father a glimpse of his face, making your Daddy snarl, "Oh, bloody fuckin' hell! You serious? Fuckin' Tangerine, is it? You lost your mind, girl!?"

"Daddy, please," you warbled nervously, tears of anxiety gathering.

"Get the fuck out here - now! Boff of yah's!" He commanded in a roar, stepping out of the doorway.

"Oh, holy fuck," Aaron breathed, latching his belt and looking at you with wide eyes. "Well, was nice while this lasted, huh? Gonna miss yah, pretty girl - "

"The fuck are you - "

"He's gonna fuckin' kill me, sugar," Tangerine frowned, your dress falling gracefully into place when you slid off the counter. "Your father's gonna fuckin' kill me, Goddamnit," he pulled his suit jacket back on. "Think I can make it out that window?"

"He already knows it's you, runnin' now won't help," you sniffled, shaking your head and moving for the still-opened door. "You didn't think to fucking lock the door? Jesus fuck, Aaron..."

He followed after you, meeting your father in the empty hallway outside where the gala was in full-swing. He looked enraged, jaw clenched and wide eyes ablaze, looking the both of you over in disgust. "You out of your bloody mind you stupid girl? Huh?" He demanded, "I told you - very clearly - you weren't to fuckin' see him again."

"Daddy - "

"And this is how I find out? Huh? That my daughter doesn't respect my authority or listen to my words? How the fuck do you think people would react to that? They see you disobeying and get the idea to do the same."

"I'm not yours to command - "

"You're my daughter!" Fallon barked in anger, "My only fuckin' daughter, which means, you are, indeed, mine to command - just like everyone else in this fucking organization! You understand? My word is law - "

"This isn't just some petty fling, Daddy, that I'm engaged in to pass the time! I'm in love with him!" You blurted out, eyes widening when you heard your own words and watched your father's face fall.

"Beg your pardon?" He seethed slowly. "Have you gone mental? Finally fuckin' lost it? Huh? You must be outta your Goddamn mind if you think you love this silly fuck! He doesn't love you back, Y/N, you're just a coveted prize because you're my daughter - it's a thrill to men like him! Women like you, you're just trophies! There's no authenticity - "

"With all due respect," Tangerine interrupted boldly with anger lacing his words, "but you've got it all wrong, sir. Your daughter is the most important person t'me - outside my bruva, of course. She's not a trophy to collect, she's not a dainty object for me to store onna shelf - she's not a notch on my belt. But you're right about one thing," his arm extended around your waist, "she is the most coveted prize - but that's because of who she is, not who her father is. She's my prize, yeah, because she's the end goal men search their whole lives for and for whatever reason, she fuckin' chose me. I consider it the greatest honor - "

"You got some fuckin' nerve, don't'cha?" Your father growled. "You know what, lad? Since it's evident my daughter doesn't take me seriously, maybe you'll be smart enough to heed my warning. You leave her the fuck alone or - "

"I can't do that, sir," Tan refused, "'cause like it or not, I'm mad for her. Absolutely stupid for her. I love your daughter past words, don't even think I've ever loved someone 'cause bein' with her feels so fuckin' different in comparison.

"That so?"

Tangerine nodded, other hand shoving into his pocket to toy with the cool metal of golden brass knuckles. "There's nobody in this world like your daughter, sir. Bein' in love with her is like euphoria, yeah? Makes me think back and realize how wrong I was about my feelings for anyone else 'cause of how I feel for her. I say there ain't no way I've ever loved anyone else 'cause I've never felt this way before - I've only felt this type of love with your daughter. Yeah? She's fuckin' everything to me, so, with respect, I can't stay away. I won't."

"Yeah? Yeah? Fuckin' fine. All right, sure, let's see if The Agency has anythin' t'say about this, huh? When I pull the plug on this deal, I'll be sure to tell your employers why and let them deal with you for ruining this business partnership."

"Daddy," you gasped, rushing when he turned for the event hall's doors, Aaron following swiftly. You caught the metal doors when your father yanked them open and strode into the room, doing your best to catch him before he did anything too rash. "Wait, wait, Daddy, please, just listen, listen to me - I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"Didn't mean for what? Me findin' yah fuckin' in the bathroom like a desperate whore?" He snarled over his shoulder, the thick crowd slowing him.

"Well, yes, but I also didn't mean to fall in love with him! All right? But you know better than all of us that it's not a choice, it just happens! Look at you and Mum - "

He rounded on you, Tan at your flank, opening his mouth to scold you when something caught his eye behind you. You didn't have time to question him as rapid shots filled the air, a telltale sign of an automatic gun being fired in the crowded room. You flinched slightly, Tangerine instantly grabbing your waist to cover your body with his; turning to locate the threat, only to discover a gaggle of men in all black wearing ski masks and duffel bags on their shoulders.

"Friends of yours?" Tan snipped at your father, keeping you low as the crowd shrieked in panic - all trying to escape, still being shot at. This caused the seedy individuals with guns to take a stand and shoot back at the intruders, creating mass confusion and limited advantages.

"Bruv!"

"Brian," Aaron panted, people bumping into one another as they panicked in a flood of bodies. He looked down at you and then to your father, Fallon, only to find blood blooming under his white button up. "Oh, fuck," his eyes widened, gunshots still sounding, "right, we gotta move - can deal with everything else later. Here, here, here," Tangerine plucked a cloth napkin from a nearby table and shoved it over your father's wound to help staunch the bleeding.

"They got the doors, mate," Lemon shook his head when you noticed your father's wound. Luckily, it didn't appear to be in a fatal location, his hand holding pressure as the security detail were being gunned down. "The fuck do we do now?" Lemon asked over shrill shrieks.

"What we do best," Tangerine answered, pushing your father into action and brandishing his gun. "Stay close - "

"I'm not leaving without my wife and son!" Your father growled.

"Lem!"

"On it," he agreed, disappearing into the swarm of people.

Your lover kept you close, shoving through the crowd to lead towards a set of heavy metal doors. Several men stepped in your way, Tan sneering, "Right, fuck this." He opened fire.

You squeaked in shock when a different body tackled Aaron from the side to knock him out of sight, your father keeping a hold on you as straggling bodies dropped around you. "There he is!" You heard over the confusion, locating a set of men surging towards you.

There was nowhere to go, leaving you to physically block your father in a bid to protect him - not needing to when Tangerine intercepted the two threats. He didn't have his gun anymore, lost in a stampede of feet on bloody marble floors, opting to use his fists and brute strength against the robbers. The brass knuckles helped.

You had to admit, it was the perfect night to attack considering how much money Bradley was keeping track of. Plus the fact that everyone's guard was down made tonight the perfect opportunity for marauders to act against your family.

However, in a sea of confusion, you were separated from your father's side; losing him amongst the people and feeling a tight hand seize your upper arm. "I got the daughter!" The man in a ski mask informed through the visible comms system. "Moving for the south wing, bring the van around t'the alley."

"Aaron!" You begged, trying to wrangle free but discovering your strength was nothing compared to the 6'3'' goon's. "Aaron! Aaron, please! Help!"

"Shut the fuck up," the man snapped, backhanding you and never releasing his grip. A single trickle of blood oozed from one nostril as the man's ring split your bottom lip. "Fuckin' move!" He barked at you in a thick accent, "Move, bitch, let's go!"

"What do you want!? Please, just - just tell me! I can give you whatever it is - please! Fucking let go!"

Another enemy joined you, sneering, "Oi! The fuck you doin'? Don't damage the goods, fuckin' idiot, we gotta keep her in decent shape for the ransom! Fallon ain't payin' if his daughter's been assaulted - "

But a gunshot boomed and the other man's body jolted before falling flat on his back - dead with a hole in his forehead. You tried to capitalize on your captor's shock, unsuccessful, feeling blood splatter on your back from a different fallen body. You saw your father under the wing of his security, his own gun being used in defense, begging, "Daddy! Daddy, help!"

The one night you don't ensure your thigh holster's filled, of course this happens!

Fallon was only able to watch as Tangerine fought his way up to you struggling in the bulky man's grip; impressed when one contract killer engaged another. "Oi!" Tan barked, "Hands off my girl, yah fuckin' lunatic!" He threw several punches, the goon forced to release you to defend himself. Fallon watched as Tangerine waited until you were freed and a step to the side before opening fire again - killing the man who dared touch you. He realized that Tangerine had waited until you were clear to take the shot - feeling impression plant in his gut. Yet there was no time to dwell as intruders circled him.

"Oh, my God!" You whimpered, bodies left in growing pools of blood; your dress dragging in the tacky substance to paint abstract swirls on the shining floor; trying to avoid being swept up in the streams of panicking people. Your name was barked, another hand grabbing you, but this time, it was Lemon - sprayed in enemy blood.

"C'mon, doll, I got'cha!" He promised, being engaged by another robber. You sobbed in shock when an arm caught you in a headlock and forcefully drug you backwards; heeled feet scrambling in an attempt to keep up and avoid falling over.

"Lemon! Please! Fuck's sake!"

Breathing was hard to do in a headlock, dancing black spots blurring your vision slowly and your heart hammering in fear. A machine gun sounded again. The bicep tightened, dramatically limiting air.

"Fuckin' get off her, arsehole!" Recognizing Aaron's voice was a sheer relief, gasping for air when the arm constricted around your neck released suddenly. However, the momentum made you stumble to the ground at the same time for the goon's dead body to drop right next to you. His wide, dead eyes stared unseeingly at you, forcing a shiver down your spine and for your stomach to knot.

"Jesus Christ, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God," you panted, scrambling when blood spread closer.

"C'mon, love, c'mere, c'mere," Tangerine grunted, hauling you to your feet and protectively keeping you to his side. Being in front of you now, you could note the blood on his button up, how the robber's own punches had bruised and bloodied his face; figuring you looked somewhat similar. "Right, listen please, need yah t'do somethin' for me, love," he kept a sharp eye out for other threats as he tugged up one of his trouser legs. He pulled out the gun strapped in the holster, handing it to you with the instruction, "Shoot first, answers later. Yeah? Hey?"

You nodded and accepted the weapon, unlocking the safety. "I have to find Mum and Oisín," you worried, men and women screaming as the brutal fight continued.

"Just stay close, love, 's fuckin' madhouse - FUCK!" He snapped, aiming and firing at a man racing for you two. "C'mon, we gotta move, gotta get you out of here - right to the fuck now - "

Your gun sounded, Tangerine watching another robber drop only feet away. He pushed you through the people, both with your heads on a swivel; working in tandem to clear the banquet hall of robbers and direct survivors to get out. Your curly-haired boyfriend held one of the robbers by the neck and repeatedly punching his face into a pulp after the other man had attempted to snatch you, too.

Nobody came remotely close to you again, not when Tangerine was on guard; protecting you, defending you, killing for you. The skin on his bare knuckles had split open, but Tangerine didn't even notice; he just moved on to the next threat.

Soon, the gunfire ceased, leaving a ringing in survivor's ears, and after a quick look around the room, Tangerine confirmed the threats were all eliminated - but so were several guests of the charity gala.

You gasped in guilt, hand slapping over your mouth when you nearly tripped over Lisa's body; bullet holes shredding her flesh.

"Bruv," Lemon panted, approaching the two of you and making Tan flinch. "Woah, hey, easy, 's just me," he held his hands up, your lover sighing in relief and keeping you sheltered behind him. "You two good?" Brian asked, sheen of sweat coating his skin.

"You hit, love? Hey?" Tangerine looked down at you, keeping one arm around you and his body at a protective angle. "Shit, your face - your fucking face, sweetheart, look at me, look at me, lemme see," he frowned, holstering his gun to take both your cheeks in his hands and look for other injury.

"I'm okay, promise I'm not hurt," you panted, hands trembling. "Are you two?"

"I'm good," he nodded, eyeing Lemon. "Yeah?"

"Good, yeah, I'm good," Brian confirmed, "but I got some bad news. Looks like they got the banker. I can't tell if they made off with the money or not."

"They couldn't've, we only accepted checks tonight," you explained. "No cash, no assets to steal."

"Take it that's not public knowledge," Lemon sighed. "Probably thought they could rob y'all blind in one move, thinkin' tonight would have cash donations."

You sniffled, "You seen my family?"

"Uh," Lemon looked around, nodding, "yeah, your dad's over there."

Peering around Tangerine's form, you located your father slowly stalking around the room; taking note of the dead bodies left behind, survivors clearing out into the hallways. Fallon made his way up to you three, your voice trembling, "Daddy? You all right? Where's Mum and Oisín?"

"They're safe, with the paramedics," he reported, instantly taking you in his embrace. "Ah, fuck, lost sight of yah in this mess, had me worried, girl."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah," he whispered, caressing the back of your head, "don't apologize, you ain't do nothin'." He took a breath, keeping you caressed to his shoulder, "Gotta admit, felt a helluva lot better knowin' your man had your six." You pulled back slowly, watching your father sigh and nod at the Twins, admitting, "Thank you for protectin' my daughter, don't know how t'repay yah."

"Wasn't nothin' to it, sir," Tangerine assured, adjusting his suit jacket, "just wanted to protect my woman."

"I saw," he nodded. "You boys okay?"

"Yes, sir," Lemon nodded, Tangerine doing the same.

"Very good... Then I think I owe you an apology," your father told Tan, shocking you - not knowing the last time you ever heard you father admit to an apology.

"Not necessary, sir, I understand," Tan deflected, skin glistening in a thin sheen of sweat, blood dabbed around from the robber's fists, "I'm just relieved your family's safe."

"No, listen, I was wrong," Fallon admitted, "sayin' all that shit to you - about you. You know, makin' my assumptions, goin' based on rumors. You've got a bit of a reputation, I was just tryna protect my daughter from gettin' her heart broke." He sighed, shaking his head, "Can protect her from damn near everything - except the complications of her own heart; the woes of a relationship."

"I understand, sir."

"But seein' you tonight, fightin' for her, fightin' to get back to her... I was wrong," Fallon sighed, offering his hand. When Tan shook it, your father offered, "For what it's worth, you've got my permission to... Continue whatever this is. Any lad willing t'put themselves in harms way for my girl is all right in my books."

"I appreciate that," Tangerine sniffled, meeting your eye and smirking slightly. "Your daughter means a lot t'me, swear I won't make yah regret givin' us your approval."

Fallon sighed, nodding, "Yeah, all right, good. 'Cause she's precious to me, you know? I'll fuckin' gut you if you hurt her."

"I believe it," Tan sighed, a single twinge of nervousness to his tone, "but you don't gotta worry, sir, right, 'cause last thing I want is t'hurt the woman I love. She's precious to me, too."

"Right, good, uh, well... Thank you, both, for helping tonight. Would've been a fuckin' bloodbath without yah."

You frowned, gazing around the marble floors, "Still a bloodbath, ain't it? Half our men are dead, several investors... Daddy, who the fuck were these men?"

"That's what I'm gonna find out," he growled, his surviving personnel taking note of the event-room-turned-battlefield, slowly starting to move bodies. Little known fact: the hotel had an industrial size furnace in the boiler room - somewhere your father could burn bodies without the police being tipped off.

"Th-They said something about a ransom," you told the trio in a trembling tone, "about ransoming me back to you, Daddy. Said you wouldn't pay if I was injured, so they shouldn't rough me up."

"Hey," Tan whispered, pulling you into his side securely, "don't gotta worry 'bout that - know there's nowhere for anyone to hide you that I wouldn't find."

Fallon actually liked that sentiment, watching you nod and for your lover to hold you securely and placing a kiss to your forehead. So, he asked, knowing the answer, "Can I trust you to take care of my daughter, lad?"

"Absolutely."

"Don't make me regret this."

"Not in this lifetime, sir."

"Good. I'll find you lot in the mornin', get gone."

After a brief reunion with your mother and brother, learning they were uninjured and safe, you boyfriend finally opened the door to the hotel room you two had been assigned. Lemon was right next door, and when you entered, your luggage was left on the bed for you both. It was quiet as you both cleaned up and prepared for bed; silent tears trickling down your cheeks, mind replaying the night's events over and over and over... Like a never ending nightmare.

In the shower, you sat on the floor with arms tight around your knees, Tangerine sitting with you as warm water cascaded; cocooning steam around you. Blood washed off in waves of pink, circling the drain; your boyfriend gently massaging your body with a washcloth, discovering a scattering of injury - some still open and weeping. He was forced to blink back tears when your neck revealed a significant bruise; considering it a reminder of his failure to protect you, not knowing you felt the direct opposite and knew, if he hadn't been there, things would've been much, much worse.

When you joined Aaron in bed, the silence continued. Your heads laid on plush, stark white pillows; on your sides to stare at one another with hands clasped together between you. No words were needed, no explanation or thanks necessary, neither feeling the need to speak on what happened that night. Tangerine let go of your one hand, slowly reaching out to caress your cheek and jaw, fingertip tracing soft lines; shuffling closer to rest his cut forehead on yours.

In the dark of the room, over the sounds of the humming air conditioner unit, Tangerine whispered, "I love you, doll."

"I love you, too, Aaron. Thank you for... You know, tonight... All you did."

"You being safe, in my arms, is enough thanks."

"I-I'm glad you were here."

He nodded in agreement, "So am I. Don't know what I'd of done if I wasn't - if I had t'hear about this later... If they had succeeded in snatching you. Might not have been able to forgive myself."

"Good thing we don't have to know." Your eyes danced between his, admitting, "I don't think I want t'go without you, love. I don't think I feel secure unless you're with me."

"Yeah?" He smirked slightly, "That your way of sayin' you wanna spend more time with me?"

"Might be my way of sayin' I wanna spend all my time with you," you whispered, tears glazing your eyes. "And Daddy approves, so we don't have to sneak around anymore, right?"

"Right, get yah all t'myself," Tan agreed softly. "We'll talk in the morning, sweetheart, yeah?" He stretched slightly to peck your lips, encouraging, "Get some rest, Bunny. 'S been a helluva night."

Tangerine made you feel safe, he protected you and killed for you - so while you were unsure how sleep would find you when your mind was plagued with replaying chaotic memories from that evening, you let yourself relax.

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drefear · 11 months

Text

Hail to the King

Chapter 3: The Start

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: implied smut, public, psychical domestic abuse, angst, Miguel is a real piece of work and kinda spoiled

AN: this one’s a little bit short and intense, but the next part should be a bit juicer :)

The morning started with sunlight blaring into your eyes as you squinted at your alarm clock.

8am.

8AM?!

Jumping to your feet, you tripped onto the floor over an unpacked box and felt your knee go numb for a moment. Getting back up and grabbing your phone, you glance at your phone. 6:15 am, you breathed a breath of relief. You’d have to remember to reset the time on your bedside so that didn’t scare you again. You move to kneel by one of the boxes and pull out some of your jackets and sweaters, laying them out on your bed and looking over them. Glancing back at the designer garment bags and shoe boxes in your new closet, your mind was set. It was time to show Miguel that you were your own person, and he couldn’t control you even if he was your boss.

Applying some natural makeup and placing your hair in curls, you were done with your appearance. How could anyone look down on you now, with how put together you looked? Slipping on the white silk blouse you’d bought, you paired it with a gray pencil skirt and a delicate gold necklace. You slipped on a pair of red bottom nude shoes and flattened the front of the skirt in the mirror, putting your shoulders back to measure yourself up and overlook your appearance.

As much confidence as you felt a moment ago while getting ready, now it was time to face the music and actually go to work, which somewhat terrified you after the affairs of last night. Eyes faltering, you played with the button on your sleeve and heard a knock at your door, brows furrowing in apprehension. You paused before you grabbed your bag and opened your front door, looking up to see a man in a black jacket with chains and rips all over it, strategically placed. Dreads covering his eyes a bit, he had a few piercings and looked at you with no expression whatsoever. Your hands held your purse a little tighter from nerves as this intimidating stranger was at your door.

“I’m ‘er ta take you to work.” He said as he glanced at one of his gloves as if he was inspecting something. You nodded, reaching out to shake hands with him, but he just smirked. “Name’s Hobie, but they call me Punk.” He jutted his chin towards the elevator. “We meetin’ the big man in the lobby.” His back turned and he walked to the metal doors as you just followed, locking your home before quickening your pace to catch up with his leisurely stride.

Silence followed you both like a scent brought into a room, slowly wafting around with nowhere to go. The feeling wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t familiar and relaxed either. Almost similar to a party where you don’t know anyone, but you can still have a good time.

“So you gave him the what for?’ His british drawl interrupted your pitiful thoughts and made you look up at him.

“I guess I did.” You laughed a bit and he smirked, looking ahead again.

“Good. He could use someone remindin’ ‘em he’s still human.” The way he spoke was almost as if you being stubborn and abrasive was amusing to him, like it was a show he was watching. “Be nice havin’ someone else with no fear to give it back to ‘em.”

“We all need to be spoken to as equals. That’s at least how I feel.” You answered, checking your watch and straightening up.

“You couldn’t’a said it any betta.” He nodded as the doors opened and stepped out right away, as if he couldn’t wait to be free. My eyes met with Miguel’s as he stood in the lobby on the phone.

“Yes, I-“ his words stopped short as his eyes roamed my body, obviously checking out my clothing after his comment yesterday. His eyes found mine once more and spoke again, “I’m busy now, goodbye.” He hung up without hesitation. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You were stunned. This again?

“Yes?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” He replied and your anger began to boil.

“I’m telling you but you’re making me think I dressed wrong.”

“You did. Do you expect any of my men to be able to focus while you’re wearing that tight skirt?” He took a step forward, attempting to intimidate you with his size. Once again, you wouldn’t give in.

“Tell them to try harder. I’m not going to change because your men can’t handle seeing a woman’s body in a tight outfit without having to touch her. Fuck that.” You raised your voice at the end and he tilted his chin up, contemplating his next thoughts.

“Fine, but you won’t leave my side today. That way, if anyone misbehaves, I’ll know about it first and I can handle it correctly.” He turned once he was done speaking and waved for you both to follow. “And when I’m not with you, I want Hobie or Jess with you. They know enough about how everything works, so they can handle these matters.”

With that, he was gone again and you looked at Hobie.

“I’m wit’ you. Don’t let ‘em touch you just cause ya hot. Stab ‘em in the jugular.” He added and strolled past you to get into the car.

“Stab- what?” You stuttered and then got in. It was going to be a strange day.

Aside from the looks, though, it went by perfectly smooth. No one even dared flirt with you and everything was perfectly professional. You expected hound dogs and catcalls, but nothing transpired and you mentally rolled your eyes at your boss. He could be so over dramatic.

Your heels clacked against the tile as you walked towards Miguel’s office, which was next door to yours, and you knocked when you saw the door closed.

“Come in.” He answered, but you heard another person in there. You opened the door and saw no one else. Strange. “Make it fast, I’m busy.” He glared up to you as he glanced to your eyes and then back to his computer screen.

“You have a guest waiting downstairs, he said he has inside information on the Octavius family-” You said, then stopped abruptly at the sound of… gagging?

Damnit, not this again…

“Miguel, let the poor girl breathe, she’d obviously had her mouth full this whole time.” You rolled your eyes and glanced at your tablet. “You’re insatiable.” You mumbled and turned, hearing him sigh and roll his chair out for a moment, then watching a girl get out from under his desk. It was a different girl from yesterday, and she wiped her mouth to get off the dried drool and whatever else it was. He leaned on his elbow and pouted a bit, glancing towards the window. “And put it away.” You added, turning your head from the two of them. He sat back and tucked himself in, “thank you, now get prepared for your guest. He’s taking a big risk, coming here with this.” You sent him a deadly look and watched the girl moved awkwardly as he yanked her hand and sat her on his lap.

“Send him in.”

You rolled your eyes and inhaled an exasperated breath. “You are the absolute worst.” Your resentment was evident on your face as he nodded towards the door. “Fine. But I’m not going to apologize for you being a tool.” You walked out of the room as the girls’ faces turned completely red.

The next few weeks went by smoothly, nothing went awry or caused issues. Everyday was basically the same. Get up, get ready, go to work…

And do your best to not be disgusted by Miguel’s insane, untamed, and sexually uncouth tendencies.

Every day, he had a few different sexual activities scheduled. Sometimes, you’d call him and be put on speaker while he slammed into the back of the red head from floor 4, and other days, he’d blatantly tell you to come to his office and discuss notes for the meeting while fingering the brunette from finance. You’d just sigh and ignore the moans and uncomfortable squishing sounds.

A few times, he’d called you about an issue after work and you’d hear pornographic sounds in the background.

You didn’t ask. You told yourself you didn’t want to know, but that was a lie. Most of the time, if you were in front of him, he kept it in his pants, so you’d never actually seen what he was working with, but the sounds of most of the women he was with seemed fake, so you assumed it wasn’t anything to write home about.

Two more weeks went by peacefully with this routine. Until one night after you’d gone to sleep…

Buzz buzz buzz… buzz buzz buzz…

Grumbling, you opened one eye to see your phone vibrating relentlessly. You finally answered, rubbing your face a bit.

“Mmm?” You could barely speak, your brain not fully awake yet.

“Why didn’t you pick up right away?” His voice was angry and you didn’t have to energy to put up with his bullshit attitude.

“Because my hours are 8am to 6pm, and house visits are not included, so watch how you’re fucking talking to me while I’m off the clock.” You hissed and turned on the lamp you’d bought for next to your bed. It was pretty, from a thrift store and you’d loved it the second you’d seen it.

“I’m still your boss.”

“Not at this second. Right now, you’re a nuisance. Now spit it out before I hang up.”

Silence.

“Ok, I’m done-”

“Fine. I need you to call for an escort for an event next week. My previous date had a fight with her husband and will not be able to make it.” He spoke slowly and you sighed.

“Did you fuck her? Is that why?” You don’t know why you even asked, since it wasn’t your business and you already knew the answer.

He was quiet again. “Miguel, you fucking ass. Do I need to hire someone else for her job too?” You questioned and he mumbled a barely audible ‘yes,’ under his breath. “So I’m genuinely curious. Do you have any self control or does your dick handle your brain waves?”

“Enough, just call the fucking escort.” He grumbled and you massaged your temples.

“So you’re telling me that this couldn’t wait until the morning?”

“I wanted it done as soon as possible, and I didn’t want anyone else to hear about it.” Ah, so he was embarrassed, you thought. Maybe he does have a conscience.

“Why not ask one of the other bimbos you use as stress relief?”

“I don’t want this to happen to one of them either.”

“Are they all married?” You huffed, erasing that mental note of his morality.

“Aside from Lyla, all of the women in the office are. It’s part of why I hired you as well. I’ve been told-”

“What?” You interrupted, scrunching your nose. “I’m not married.”

“Your background check said that you were.”

“Oh.” You whispered, “I’m… well… it’s complicated.” You looked around, “But my personal life isn’t the point, I’ll call the agency in the morning.” You tried to cut it short, but all you heard were footsteps. “Hello?”

“I’ll be at your door in two minutes.” And the phone call ended, with you staring at the screen. You hadn’t even gotten out of bed, how were you supposed to deal with this?

Two minutes later, a knock was heard as you raced to the door and threw your hair up in a bun. It didn’t help that you slept naked, so you tugged on a t-shirt and a pair of panties before throwing your robe on top. He stood there, white v-neck t-shirt and gray sweatpants. (Of fucking course he was wearing those.)

You were standing silently as he looked down with an unreadable expression. Without a word, he picked up your hands and scanned them. Then he walked in and looked around. You watched his movements begrudgingly.

“You know, this is highly unprofessional.” You cleared your throat. “And you can’t just walk into my-”

“I paid for this apartment.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” You threw back at his rude comment. He narrowed his eyes around and then back to you. “So what the hell is the point of this all?”

“I called you after she called me and told me what had happened.” Your silence prompted him to speak again, “she said she was filing for divorce from her husband because she was in love with me.” Oh. Your jaw dropped a bit as he showed no reaction. “I fired her.”

“You are heartless.”

“I’m focused.” He corrected and glanced around the living room once more. “Your record said you were married.”

“As of a few months ago, I’m divorced.” You announced, avoiding his eyes and biting the inside of your cheek. The truth was it was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it with anyone. Not even Gwen or Jess or Lyla knew, but you guessed now that wasn’t true since Lyla was the one who told Miguel that you were married.

“How come you still come up as married?”

“He won’t sign the papers…” You rubbed the back of your neck, moving to sit on your couch and having a feeling this conversation was going to be a long one. After a second, you assumed he was waiting for you to keep speaking and you complied with the silent command. “He still lives in my hometown, but he’s tried contacting me. At first, it was constant, all day every day and night. But then, it slowed down. He tried coming here to visit once, but he didn't have my new address. It’s part of why I didn’t put up a fight when you wanted me to move.”

You both sat in a tense and emotional silence, wringing your hands from anxiety.

“Why’d you leave him?” His voice was deeper, more gentle as he asked. Memories flooded behind your eyes as his question echoed in her head.

You screamed as you heard a snap, his face dangerously close to yours. “You knew he was looking at you! You wanted him!” The smell of alcohol was strong in your nose as he spit while yelling at you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you whimpered, his grip on your limp wrist painful and you saw that your arm was beginning to swell. He wasn’t backing off, he didn’t believe you, he was so drunk.

“Eddie, please… I love you, I could never want anyone else.” You whispered and raised the other hand to hold his cheek, watching his facial expression change and soften. “I’m your girl. Only your girl, forever. We promised, we vowed… right?” Your voice was cautious, soft. His hold on your definitely broken wrist lessened and you moved slowly to cradle your limp limb. Tears fell more freely as the pain soared and you shook in the shock.

“You’re my girl… I’ll fix this.” He kissed your knuckle as you looked at him with fear. “Let’s get you to the hospital, you took a nasty fall.” He looked down at you and you understood his silent command, one you already knew too well. Years of enduring this had molded you to his creation, a being a fear and surrender.

“I don’t think that’s important to our relationship as boss and employee.” Your whole body stiffened as you remember that memory, one of your hands moving to hold the wrist that had been broken.

“It is if this person decides to come here. He already seems like he’s not complying with your divorce, what if he shows up unannounced again?” He leaned forward on his knees as he stared at you with an underlying tone in his voice as he spoke. He knew.

“His name is Eddie.” Your voice cracked saying his voice, as if it physically broke you to re-live him. “And he would hurt me.” You whispered through gritted teeth, hating admitting that you were perishable and his hands were how you learned that about yourself. Miguel’s expression softened slightly.

“You can admit that, now you have to make sure you never let anyone make you feel that way again.” He announced, and stood. “You’ll begin self defense training with me.” He rolled his shoulders and you just listened, nodding. You weren't used to being so docile anymore, especially not with your boss, but this was different. This would benefit you and help you become stronger, someone that no one could manhandle ever again.

“When do we start?”

Your work outfit

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #angst #smut #miguel o’hara angst

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

Text

crossings |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: everything is new and exciting with you and eddie, but joyce can't help but worry about you.

contains: mentions of suggestions to drugs and violence. an au of eddie in the mafia so crime and dark-ish themes. nothing graphic in this, mainly just fluff and a little angst. I'll put a warning on here anyways of 18+ or read at your own discretion.

It started with a necklace. A simple diamond necklace on a dainty gold chain. Reserved and classy, but still far too expensive than you could afford on a receptionist’s budget. Joyce furrowed her brows when you first started wearing it, nestled between your collar bones delicately, glimmering in the sunlight when you moved. It was too pristine to be second hand, but still, she figured it might’ve been a gift, shaking it off.

Then came the bracelets. Three gold stacked bracelets that were very chic; very expensive. She only knew that because she saw them in the magazines, dangling off some tiny model’s wrist with the price inscribed in tiny writing off to the side. She’d snorted loudly, flipping the page with a huff. Who on earth would pay that price for a bracelet? One that could get you a decent car? Yet, you strolled in on Thursday with them adorned on your wrist- again, understated and simple, nonchalant. Like you weren’t carrying some people’s salary on your wrist.

Handbags, earrings, rings, shoes all followed. Every piece more expensive than the next. Joyce had started to wonder if you were embezzling from the bank, stealing out of the drawers. Until she saw him.

Eddie Munson strolled into the bank, which wasn’t unusual, but this time he wasn’t here for Charles. Oh no, he was here for you.

“Hi, Joyce.” Eddie greeted with a smile. He was always so polite, it made her stomach twist knowing that behind that alluring smile was a dangerous man. “How’re you today?”

“I can’t complain.” Joyce smiled back politely. “How are you?”

“Good.” Eddie said cooly, his eyes flicked behind her, lighting up. “Better now. I got a hot date for lunch.”

Joyce blushed at the information. “Oh? Who-“

She saw you giggle, purse- a new designer bag fresh off the runway- slung over your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around Eddie in greeting, squealing when he pressed kisses into your cheek. The way his dimples deepened, creasing deep into his cheeks, eyes lighting up when he saw you; it felt very sweet. Joyce almost forgot who he was for a moment. More importantly what he was capable of.

"I'll be back in an hour, Joyce. I put the sign up." You beamed at her, your happiness nearly infectious when you smiled over at her. Joyce hesitated for a moment, watching Eddie sweetly place his hand on your waist.

"Have a good lunch!" You called over your shoulder, pressed into Eddie's side, pushing the glass door open for you to step through.

Eddie turned, lifting a hand in a wave towards Joyce, a kind gesture that shocked her. She could barely raise her own hand back, watching them scamper out the door- two young kids in love. She remembered being like that before, the insatiable feeling to be with each other at all times. The whirlwind of love and adoration that followed, sweeping you up on a cloud of ecstasy, fogging your judgement.

Joyce could barely touch her sandwich, staring at the plastic bag in front of her. She ignored the other chatter around her, coworkers busily clambering about their days and droning subjects she couldn't bring herself to engage with.

She knew you had no way of knowing, you couldn't have. You weren't from Hawkins, you were Nancy's college roommate, brought here because of a job- this job. She wondered if you had told Nancy about Eddie. She had half a mind to ring Jonathan and ask, insist he tell his fiancé what her friend is up to; who her friend is hanging around.

Everyone knew the Munson's. Eddie's father, Wayne, Eddie, his mother. The distaste, snarl that usually followed with the name was all Eddie grew up with. His hoodlum of a father, who was a delinquent around Hawkins, got his mother killed. Wayne who was forced to take the boy in, and the boy. The boy they outcasted all his life, mocked and ridiculed, now, held all the cards. He had the power now. When people said "Munson" now, they didn't snarl or scoff. No, it followed with wide eyes, in a low tone, turning to make sure no one was listening. That was whenever anyone dared to say anything about Eddie at all, most content on pretending they were unaware of the dangers that happened in Hawkins.

Eddie was always a good kid, and even now, he took care of his city. He had established terror in the hearts of all his citizens, enough to keep them quiet and docile, let him keep doing what he needed to do; but he was always the first one to help when they were in trouble. No one came for his city, for his home, for his things.

Joyce knew Eddie was responsible for the boy's home being rebuilt. He'd had a 'meeting' with Charles and a few other big names around town after a few kids at the children's home had become sick from the lack of heating that winter. The children's home had requested renovations, but the city pushed it back- until it became a top priority practically overnight. Joyce knew it was more than a coincidence that it happened to become priority after Eddie's meeting.

Still, she worried that you didn't know the danger. Joyce was a wreck all day, contemplating if she should say something to you. She knew it was a risk, that if you reported back to Eddie it could lead to a world of hurt for her... for her family.

Joyce watched you all day. When you'd returned from your lunch with Eddie, he'd walked you back to your desk, all dimpled grins and tossing you a wink that left you flushing before he left. He promised to pick you up later, walking away with a small wave. "Have a good day, ladies." He'd purred lowly.

Hours later, Joyce still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to you. She'd tried, she had, but every time she'd call your name, you giving her a wide eyed, sweet look, her words caught in her throat. Choking and constricting around the request, before she'd just shake it off, laughing and blaming the weather for her scattered thoughts.

Joyce's eyes flickered from the clock on the wall, back towards you. You'd begun packing up, neatly filing papers away, and smoothing your agenda for the next day out. She bit her lip, rolling it in contemplation, pencil bouncing on her desk.

Five o'clock- closing time. You were already standing, peering out the window to see Eddie's Bugatti below. Joyce followed your gaze, shoving her own things in her purse.

"Wait!" Joyce called, much more urgent than she meant it to be. She called your name just as frantic, stopping you in the doorway.

"Um, could I talk to you for a second?" Joyce stammered, hands trembling when she shoved her things into her bag.

Your brows furrowed gently. "Yeah, of course. Are you alright?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. "Did I miss something in the paper work? I thought I stamped all the envelopes, but if I missed one I'll-"

"No, sweetie, it's not that." Joyce gave you a small smile, but her heart hammered so fiercely in her chest she could hear it in her ears.

Joyce pushed the door open, gently leading you outside. She caught the eyes of her coworkers, wide eyes and heads shaking in warning. They knew. Everyone knew. But what they didn't know was why Joyce would approach you with the subject. Put herself at that own kind of risk.

Joyce felt her stomach squeeze, turning to meet your confused gaze. "Joyce, is everything alright? Is it about the wedding? I told you Nancy can be a little stubborn about details, but if you're worried about something, I'll talk to her."

Joyce shook her head, eyes trailing behind you. The large ferns outside blocked her view, but she could still see him. Black button down, rolled sleeves, leaned up against the car finishing his cigarette.

"Sweetie, I-I..." Joyce let out a straggled breath. "What are you doing?" She asked lowly, eyes meeting yours cautiously.

Your brows furrowed. "What?" You asked. "Joyce, are you feeling ok? Do I need to call Jonathan or Will-"

"No," Joyce sighed heavily, placing her hands on your shoulders. It felt so maternal, shocking you a little. "What are you doing with Eddie?" She asked finally.

There was a silence between you, filling the space in a buzzing, defining tone. You blinked at her carefully. "Eddie?" You asked.

Joyce nodded fiercely. "Eddie... Sweetie, I know you're not from here, but-but Eddie... Eddie is not- he's-" She stuttered, shaking her head at herself, frustrated at her fumbling words. "There's things in Hawkins that are dangerous, ok? We all know it, but we don't know it, understand?"

Your face fell slightly, lips pursing slightly. You looked over your shoulder towards Eddie through the glass doors. Joyce's breath hitched. "And-And Eddie he's into those things." She said slowly, eyes watching you carefully. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

You gave her a soft smile, hands arching up to lay over hers, squeezing them gently. "Joyce, I understand." You nodded. "But Eddie is a very sweet guy."

Joyce blinked at you, in disbelief. She said your name in exasperation, but you held your hand up. "Joyce, I appreciate your wanting to worry for me, to look out for me, but," You sighed gently, looking over at Eddie. "I'm a big girl. I've got it handled."

"He could hurt you." Joyce muttered low, fingers squeezing you lightly in panic.

"He won't." You said firmly, head nodding back at her.

"Honey, I don't think you know what you're-"

"I don't think you know." You snapped, a little more defensive than you meant it to. The fear on her face at your tone, flinching back at the words made your heart drop. You sighed heavily, rubbing your temple.

You took a step forward towards her, cautious and holding your hand up in truce. "I know that you know some of Eddie's life, but you don't know Eddie." You gave her a sincere look. "Not like I know Eddie, and I can promise you, if I felt like I was in the slightest bit of danger, I wouldn't be with him. You don't know him like I know him."

Joyce didn't reply, mouth uncomfortably dry, heart beating far too fast in her chest. She felt like her knees might get out.

You gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, offering her a small smile. "Thanks for looking out for me, Joyce, but I promise I'm ok." You turned, seeing Eddie checking his watch, eyes now watching the two of you inside.

You turned, waving at Joyce over your shoulder, pushing the door open. "Have a good one, Joyce! See you tomorrow!" You called cheerfully.

Joyce watched in slight horror, confused and awed when you wrapped your arms around Eddie's neck, his own gripping your waist, pulling you into a sweet, passionate kiss. He kissed you like he hadn't seen you in years.

He held the door open for you, letting you slide in before jogging around to the other side. He could see Joyce still staring, watching in amazement from behind the glass. His chest tightened, the carnal, protective need washing through his veins.

"What took you so long, baby?" Eddie asked, peeling off from the curb. "What were you talking to Joyce about?"

"The wedding. Nancy will not finalize details on anything, and Joyce is worried sick." You rolled your eyes playfully. "She wants me to talk to Nance, and I told her I'd try, but you know how Nancy can be? She's so stubborn and the more you push her, the more she'll dig her heels in."

Eddie relaxed, eyes flickering over to you gently. "She wasn't bothering you?" He asked carefully.

You furrowed your brows at him. "No." You giggled. "Just wanting me to play miracle worker for the wedding."

"Good." Eddie muttered, reaching his hand over the console to hold yours. "You remember what I said? You let me know if anyone starts bothering you." He brought your hand to his mouth, pillowy soft lips brushing your knuckles. It was so romantic, it had you giggling, positively giddy and drunk in love.

You leaned over, nose nuzzling into his clean shaved cheek, still smelling the nicotine on his lips when you kissed him sweetly. He slowed at the stop light, hands wrapping around your jaw to pull you closer, kissing you properly. When you pulled apart, your eyes were dazzling up at him, taking in his lopsided smile.

You knew there were two sides to Eddie. You knew there was. reason people feared him. You knew Joyce was right to warn you, to look out for you. You would do the same in her shoes. You wouldn't be able to understand either from an outsider's perspective.

They didn't know the Eddie you did. The Eddie that smothered you in so much affection, not just expensive material things, but sweet words that left your skin blushed with praise. He was passionate, about his business, yes, but about you too. An old school, intense type of love that you only saw on the screens. He was gentle with you, showing you a side of himself no one else saw.

You didn't want anyone else to. Selfishly, you liked that it was all yours. For you, and you only. Eddie was yours. Your scary man that everybody else feared, but not you. No for you, he was yours. Sweet and caring and protective; all yours.

You'd let them have their judgments. Their silent fears and worries about your sanity, about your safety. It was better that way, for both of you. You'd let them have their thoughts about Eddie, and you wouldn't try to change them, because that meant potential issues that neither of you wanted.

You'd let them think you were just with him for the lavish gifts. You'd let them think that you were insane. You'd let them think that Eddie was a threat to you. That he would hurt you or you'd get caught in the crossfire like his mother. You knew they couldn't help it, it was so easy to judge you and him silently, removed as far away from the relationship as they could. Yet the still casted their judgements in hushed tones and fleeting looks, too scared to speak on them, but too indulgent not to at least determine the outcome of your relationship. Mourn a fate that hadn't even happened. Predict a repeat of history without the facts.

"History repeating itself," They'd mutter to their friends in the quiet of their own privacy, head down but eyes cutting when the two of you would pass.

It was so easy to assume that, to brush it off that you'd both suffer the fate of his parents before him. Easy to judge when no one knew the facts or the truth. Opinions are easy to make with one sided, skewed facts. They were too scared to really try and know, to even try and see. But you supposed that was ok. They didn't need to know anyways.

Besides, none of them knew Eddie. Just like none of them knew you. Not the way you knew each other.

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m-jelly · 6 months

Note

can you do mafia levi where they’re in a club and it’s basic knowledge that reader is his girl so someone over steps and levi blows up on them

Don't touch what is mine

Levi x fem!reader

Modern AU, established couple, fluff, romance, protective Levi, possessive Levi, slight yandere Levi, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of breaking bones.

While in Levi's club with him, he goes off to talk to someone leaving you alone. A man in the club approaches you and starts pressuring you to go with him, kiss him and drink with him. You try to get him to go away, but he insists. Levi notices what's happening, saves you and teaches the man a lesson by beating him.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird

Levi lovingly rubbed his hand on your bum. He gave your bum a tiny pat before gripping it hard as he talked to a worker. He glanced down at you to see that he was turning you on. He wanted more than anything to stay with you, but he needed to leave for a moment for work.

He leaned over and kissed your neck. "My love?"

You gazed at him with your perfect bright eyes. "Yes, honey?"

Any nickname you gave him made his heart sore. He cupped your face and kissed you. "I'm off to a meeting. I will only be about ten minutes max. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Will you be a good girl for me?"

You nodded. "Promise. I'll miss you."

He hugged you tightly. "I'll miss you more." He released a long sigh before releasing you. "Love you."

"Love you too."

He winked at you and walked with a staff member to the meeting room. "This better be a fast meeting."

You released a long sigh and felt the loneliness creep in. The best option was a nice drink and a relaxing seat in the special VIP area. The cocktails were always perfect to drink at Levi's clubs because he got the best ingredients and the staff were trained so wonderfully.

As you enjoyed a cute chat with Jean, Levi's best mixologist, a man had his eyes set on you. The closer he moved to you the more excited he got. It bothered him that you were alone. It didn't make sense why someone as beautiful as you was all alone.

He moved closer to you. "Hey, you here alone?"

You turned and looked at the man with his buttons open too low, a thick gold chain and way too much gel in his hair. "No. I'm here with my boyfriend. He's in a meeting."

"Yeah, but he's not here, is he?"

You frowned. "He is. He's in the office here."

He chuckled. "But not here with you a mean. You are all alone."

You shook your head. "I'm not alone. I have Jean. He's my friend and makes a great cocktail."

He placed his hand over your drink. "Let me order you a better drink."

"I like this one."

"Come on, baby."

You dragged your drink closer. "Look, whatever you've got going on, I'm not interested. I'm happily in love and if you keep pushing this, you'll regret it."

He laughed. "You're cute."

You handed Jean your glass. "Could I get a new one?"

Jean nodded. "Got it."

The man huffed. "Come on baby, just one drink with me!"

You glared at him. "I don't want to drink with you. You best leave me alone or my man will rip your spine out."

"I'm not going. I want you." He gripped your upper arm. "You're going to drink with me." he yanked you against him. "Now, give me a kiss, baby. You need a kiss from a man."

You tugged your arm but he wouldn't release you. "Let go of me."

He shoved you against the wall away from the bar. "Come on."

"Get off me!"

"Tch, oi?" Levi grabbed the back of the man's neck. "Get your filthy fucking hands off my girlfriend, now."

The man released you and turned to Levi. "Who the fuck are you!?"

Levi snarled. "Levi Ackerman. This is my club and she is my girl."

"Ha! Like I'd be scared of a pretty boy like you. That woman is mine. I'm going to take him home and fuck her real good."

It happened in a blink of an eye. The fist of Levi was so fast that people around you barely had a chance to register it. Blood erupted from the man's face as soon as Levi's strong and heavy fist connected with it. A tooth flew out showing Levi's raw power.

You gasped in pure delight as Levi rained down his pure possessive and protective rage on the man. His fist connected with his face over and over causing blood to spatter on Levi's wonderful shirt. It was clear that Levi wasn't going to stop unless someone stopped him.

When it came to you, Levi saw no reasoning or sense in his actions. All his actions were based on his deep emotions for you. Levi was madly in love with you. He was possessive and protective. He would do absolutely everything for you and would rip anyone to pieces who hurt you.

You gripped Levi's upper arm firmly. "Honey?"

Levi released the man and looked at you. "Sweetness?"

You smiled sweetly at him. "Yes." You gave him a tender squeeze. "You've gotten a little messy. Let's get you home, clean you up and get you in a nice hot bath. I'll put a few nice things in for you and I'll cook you something delicious."

He leaned down and kissed you. "Sounds perfect."

Jean walked over to the crying man on the floor. "I'll clean up here."

Levi blushed. "Thanks. Sorry I made a mess."

"It's your club." He chuckled. "I've got his. I'll ask Mike to throw him out on his ass. Connie will help me clean."

"I appreciate it and you."

You grinned. "You're the best, Jean." You laughed as Levi growled. "Calm down, Mr. Let's go home."

Levi walked with you. "Yes."

"I'll give you lots of kisses."

He blushed. "Really? All the kisses?"

You hummed a laugh. "Of course."

"Cuddles too?"

"Always."

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dutiful-wildcraft · 3 days

Text

Lies and Alibis

Have this totally unedited and margarita fueled piece of mafia!au nikolai x chubby!reader. More to follow~

It had been a survival tactic really, latching onto the bear of a man in a slick black suit, the gold chain around his neck glittering under the light of the chandelier. She’d done her best, slinking around in corners with a glass of champagne in her hand, trying to play at being casual at this lavish party she’d been sent to in the russian countryside.

She had had a hell of a time trying to hunt down a suitable partner to go to the party with her. Someone who spoke english fluently enough meet her in the middle with her piss poor russian. She understood well enough, speaking was the problem, her accent clumsy. The little language app on her phone could only do so much. She should have known better really, should have caked on more makeup, wore a wig, something. But she’d realized her error to late as one too many suspicious eyes followed her about the place, one too many familiar faces watching her just out of the periphery of her vision.

Better to at least attempt to camouflage herself, shifting her expression to one of vague confusion and worry. She’d spotted him through the crowd, big and bulky, with gorgeous brown eyes and a warm booming laugh. Black hair coiffed back neatly, the strands tickling his neck. He looked polite enough. So she feigned eureka. Slipping through the crowd and sliding her arm in his, praying to every god in existence that he would just be tickled to have a woman on his arm.

–

Nikolai only stiffened a moment, hand shifting slightly toward his belt before dropping entirely as he took in the soft thing now clinging to his arm. She flashed him a sheepish smile, eyes pleading from under long pretty lashes. She certainly didn't belong here, all luxurious curves highlighted under a soft satin dress. He had his own mission to attend to, but one look at her face had him immediately following along with whatever sidequest this young lady was about to be.

“Privet, Zaychonok” He greets, returning her smile with a warm one of his own, patting her hand against his forearm. Her relief is palpable as she scrubs her fingers against the fabric of his forearm. A subtle thanks as she takes a long swig from her glass. He snags her another as the waiter passes, easing it into her hand smoothly.

–

She’s beyond grateful that this russian saint, does all of the talking. He’s honestly a great conversationalist from what she can gather. He glosses over her arrival completely and continues casually, holding a glass of amber liquid in his free hand and keeping her hand tucked snuggly in the crook of his arm. She was supposed to be listening out for some sort of smuggling details, weapons, she was told, all she needed was a destination and that would be good enough. Naturally no such destinations are even mentioned, and when she ponders giving up, feigning a visit to the bathroom and shimmying out the door the large russian snakes an arm around her waist, guiding her along beside him as the group moves along. His palm is warm, and she can feel the rough edge of calluses through the thin satin fabric of her dress.

Nikolai, she would come to learn, was up to as much good as she was. Of course he would be, she was at a fucking fancy dinner party for the god damn russian underground. Everyone here was either a politician or criminal, as if those things were different. It was both a worry and relief as Nikolai kept a firm hand against her side. As the group navigated toward a table, Nikolai pulled out her chair, sliding it close beside his own and taking her hand, guiding her down into seat like a gentleman before taking his seat beside her, unbuttoning his waist coat before settling. He leaned back, draping an arm around her shoulders, settling an ankle against his knee as his fingers toyed with the strap of her dress. They looked like a regular couple, and she found herself a bit lost in the fantasy of it. Fake or not it had been some time since a man had held her this way, protective and possessive, with such nonchalance that it didn't feel suffocating. She didnt feel lesser next to this stranger, but cared for, watched over, with the underlying current that the man beside her can and most certainly has killed for less noble causes.

The thought of it made something in her silly little brain purr and she leans against him, relaxing enough to play along just a bit more. For the bit of course.

So much into the bit that she doesn't catch the conversation happening in her direction. Only blinks a bit owlishly as Nikolai looks at her with amusement.

“Da, malyshka?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Da” she chirps without delay, mustering up enough acting skills to at least repeat the simple affirmative with the correct lilt.

Nikolai looks proud as he slides his fingers along her shoulder, cupping her neck in large palm, thumb petting along the baby hairs of her neck as he pulls her closer to his side in affectionate embrace. However rather than pull away, she stays there, cheek resting against his shoulder as he continues his petting. She feels warm against the man’s arm, safe and borderline sleepy, no longer concerned with the suspicious eyes that had followed her in the beginning of the night. Brave enough to legitimately excuse herself the the ladies room, she murmurs what she thinks is the correct phrase and he eases his arm away enough for her to wriggle out of the nest of his side.

She’s washing her hands, listening to the soft music play through the corridor before an eerie silence has her freezing. The music stops, and all that can be heard is very angry sounding russian being barked across the music hall. She moves slowly, peering through the gap in the door to find her very saint throwing hands with far too many men to be a fair fight. Her bear sized knight crumpling to the floor when the butt of a rifle connects with his face.

Another man barks orders, pointing his finger across the hall.

Nikolai was the first. And she was certainly next.

#lies and alibis #im so sorry if this is trash im a lil drunk and the worms were straight moshing gang #nikolai cod #nikolai x reader #nikolai x chubby!reader #call of duty #wildcraft writing

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softmeetscreatureplz · 1 month

Text

Im sorry but the fucking brainrot of chuuya nakahara will not stop so I need to share my fucking vision.

Chuuya Nakahara, who's joints lock up and who has severe chronic pain, who wears gold rimmed reading glasses with little gold chains to help hold them when he's outside the mafia (and thus not wearing contacts to hide his blue-brown eyes), Chuuya who has summer freckles that come out from the sun, who has a wheelchair, cane and service dog respectively just in case that he can never use while on duty, who has heart problems thanks to stress and a god in his body, who has a small clinic outside of Yokohama that knows him by name.

Chuuya Nakahara who, when he figured out that this was happening to him, had a full mental breakdown over being unable to fight properly, and thus not being useful, who then pulled away from Dazai, who never managed to push the right buttons to get him to spill what was happening, leading Dazai to leave the Mafia thinking Chuuya hated him.

Chuuya who then, thanks to this "confirmation" that he wasn't usefull anymore, even if Dazai didn't know, leading him to not open up about this to any other mafia member, with only Mori knowing, and keeping the details even from him.

Dazai who, when in the middle of a case for the ADA, suddenly sees Chuuya rolling down the sidewalk with his wheelchair, freckles and mismatched eyes on full display with his service dog beside him, having his world completely turned on its heal as he falls in love with the same man a second time while simultaneously putting down the pieces that led to his complete misunderstanding of what'd happened between the two years before.

Please tell me there are others who see my vision because this shit is fucking haunting me rn.

#sobbing actually i cant get it oit of my headdd #sskk #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #dazai x chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd hcs #bsd fic idea #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #wheelchair chuuya #disabled chuuya #please please pleaseee #enea rambles <3

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foreverdolly · 1 year

Note

Heyyyyy Sunny baby! So listen, congratulations on hitting 2.5K! I couldn’t imagine it happening to a better person.

So I have a request for mafia boss!Elvis (preferably 70s era if that’s okay with you!)

21. “Touch her and you’re dead.”

16. “You shoot anyone that comes through the door who isn’t me.”

And I would like the forbidden love trope as well!

Something about mafia boss!elvis and the forbidden love trope sounds hot to me. I love you baby! Congratulations again!

-Daisy (@powerofelvis)

𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚!𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

prompts: "you shoot anyone that comes through the door who isn't me" and "touch her and you're dead." with forbidden love trope.

word count: 2.1k

song: i got a feelin' in my body - elvis presley

notes/warnings: SMUT! brief talk of violence. elvis owns you and your pussy, but he worships the ground that you walk on. you've got him majorly pussy whipped. thank you so so much, daisy! i hope you enjoy this.

You were guilty of overlooking every rotten thing that your lover had ever done- which was a lot. Your ole’ man wasn’t a very good man, but he owned you. Heart and soul, he owned you. Your existence before Elvis felt so far off- like it had been a past life. You weren’t sure how you even functioned before you had a great big man to warm your bed at night and scare away all the monsters.

The Sunset Strip used to be your stomping grounds. You made a name for yourself there, what with your good looks and submissive disposition. One day you were doing a private dance for a good looking stranger that was dressed to the nines, and the next day you were holed up in the penthouse of his luxurious hotel room, breeding like rabbits and kissing until both of your lips felt raw.

Elvis loved adorning you in diamonds and blood rubies. He made sure your hair and nails were done at all times, bought you all of the latest designer collections- you were a prize, and he treated you as such. His prize. The man, regardless of his cold exterior, belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him. You had him wrapped around your little finger. The power that you had over the boss was remarkable. All it took was a singular heated gaze from across a busy room, and in the blink of an eye he would be tugging you into the nearest bathroom, ripping at your chiffon skirt with eager hands.

Your name hung from his neck on a solid gold chain, the lettering inlaid with diamonds. He had one made for you as well- ELVIS spelled out in bulky letters. He loved to joke around and say that it was your collar. He’d often tug your face closer to his by hooking one of his long fingers underneath the chain. You loved feeling the heat of his cigar and peppermint scented breath, paired with the cold metal bite of the thick chain pressing nto your neck and he pulled you up, up, up. Elvis either fucked you like he hated you or made love to you as though you were made of silk stretched thin over porcelain.

It drove him crazy, but he loved being mean to you. Loved biting into your skin to leave claim marks deep enough to draw blood. You’d yelp and thrash, scratching at his exposed flesh, all while he’d stay deeply buried inside of you. Marking you. Claiming you. Owning you. He’d apologize afterwards with strong calloused hands stroking gently at your hips, his skilled tongue flattened against your abused pussy.

Your ole’ man was harsh and cruel. He loved striking first and getting even. He believed that pain and death were two of the greatest motivators in life. He held strong to his convictions, maintaining that certain things weren’t deserved but earned.

Life being one of them.

Elvis rarely messed up. His ideas were usually reckless- the thoughts of a mad man- but everything always worked in his favor. He was an evil genius, his mind only working in absolutes.

You were lounging on the king sized bed, your long legs stretched out behind you, your head popped up on your elbow. You enjoyed watching Elvis work. You liked the way his long fingers rubbed against the barrel of his gun as he polished his collection. You liked the deep rumble of his voice, like lightning before a storm, when he was barking orders at someone over the phone. You liked it when his blue eyes turned glacial when something didn’t go exactly his way- the murderous aura that overcame his built stature.

He was all powerful. He had a penchant for torture. He didn’t believe in “forgiving and forgetting”. He feared no one and nothing.

And he was yours.

“And what the fuck do they want?” He leaned back into the red velvet desk chair, boredly staring out the window and down at the view of the city. He owned half of it.

You watched him with heavy lidded eyes, your limbs still shaky and unstable after an hour of incessant pounding from the tops of Elvis’s muscled thighs. Usually he stayed in bed long enough to watch his cum drip out of your spent cunt, lazily scooping the warm seed up with two fingers only to shove it back inside.

Keep it where it belonged.

There was something about tonight's conversation with one of his lackeys, Lamar, that felt off to you though.

“Tell Frank that if he tries to get anywhere close to me that we’re gonna have’a problem,” A heated pause, and then Elvis was slamming his large fist down onto his oak table. “I’ll blow his fuckin’ brains out. You tell him that verbatim, got it?” He slammed the black telephone back down onto the receiver, stretching out his long legs before letting out a troubled groan.

“Baby,” He mumbled as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, giving them a few exhausted rubs. “Imma need you to get dressed.” He braced his hands on his knees, letting out a small groan before he was up and moving, one of his shoulders popping when he stretched his long arms up and over his head.

You dragged yourself up to a sitting position, strands of hair falling off of your shoulder, a few flyaways falling into your face. He wanted so badly to lay you back down on the bed and hold you until you fell asleep. Maybe push himself inside of you up to the hilt, just so that you could warm his cock while you slept.

But tonight was going to be different.

Tonight he’d have to teach a few rookies a lesson before he could turn in for the night. He was getting old, and the last time he checked the clock it was nearing midnight. He was tired, and because of that he was extra grumpy.

He lit up a cigar before reaching into the large walk in closet for the closest shirt. He wasn’t shocked to find that it was a black button up- nearly everything he owned was black. He didn’t bother tucking the material into his trousers before he walked into the living room to slide on the pair of shoes that he had been wearing earlier in the night- before you had slyly cupped him through his pants the moment the both of you had gotten back to dinner.

“What's wrong?” You called out to him from the bedroom, untangling your limbs from the satin bed sheets and stumbling into the closet. You put on the nearest lacey nightgown, ripping one of your robes off its hanger to pull on as well.

“Frank and a few of his men are bein’ nice enough to pay me a visit, that’s all. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He shrugged on the leather holster vest, tightening the belts at his chest before loading them up with guns. He slipped a few magazines into his pockets, just to be safe.

He loved watching you dress- but almost everything you did turned him on. The bullets jingled in his pockets as he leaned against the french doors that connected the living room to his private quarters. You could spit in his face and he’d be rearing and ready to teach you a lesson.

He worshiped you.

Which is exactly why he had to keep you protected.

He crossed his strong arms over his chest after he folded up the sleeves to his forearms, the tattoo of his family crest now on full display. “You’re gonna hate me for this,” He started, licking his plush lips before continuing. “But imma need you to get in the closet and close the door, honey. Whatever ya hear out here. . . don’t come out until ya hear me tell you to.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you stared at him from across the room, your heart already thundering in your ears. “I-I can’t just stay with-”

“No!” He barked, causing you to jump in shock. He never raised his voice at you. “This is gonna be bad. "Brains smeared on the walls” sorta bad, lil one.”

You sucked in a breath, your joints locking up in panic. He could tell that you were starting to spiral, and so he took a few long strides to get to you, pressing a few quick pecks against your already kiss-swollen lips.

“There’s a couple’a guns in the closet. They’re all loaded. I want ya to shoot anyone that comes through these doors that ain’t me.”

You nodded your head, shakily turning around to face the closet door.

“Use your big girl words. I want to hear that you understand.”

“I understand, Elvis.”

The dyed brunette heard the closet door shut, and he was quick to close the french doors, only shapes and blurry colors visible behind the frosted glass windows. Almost on cue the door to the suite slammed open, the doorknob going straight through the drywall of the entryway. The man’s eye twitched, one of his guns already in his hand. He felt the cool metal- the weight of the weapon.

It was all familiar, just like going back to Memphis.

Happiness can be found in a warm gun. When his finger is on the trigger, no one can do him any harm. Elvis could shoot a hole straight through a quarter from half a mile away.

He was God with a revolver.

“What the fuck has you bargin’ into my home at midnight, Frank? Did your wife leave ya? Maybe you want to park your sorry ass on my couch.” Elvis used his free hand to push back a few strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

Frank growled, flashing his clenched teeth at the younger male that stood across from him.

“I know you took it. Don’t play dumb, you hick.”

Elvis took a deep breath in through his nose to cool down the heat that was building in his chest. He acted too quickly on his anger- it was something that he was working on.

“Frankie, I ain’t got the time’a be arguin’ like this. Either tell me why you’re here or get the hell out.” He could have been balls deep in your pussy again by now if it wasn’t for the rude interruption.

“Someone stole a hundred pounds of product from one of our warehouses last night, and I know it was you.”

Elvis stood there stoically, his face completely void of any emotion as he let the other male’s words sink in. After a few seconds the corner of his lip turned up into a small smirk. Then it evolved into a grin.

Before Frank could understand what was going on, Elvis was clutching at his stomach, throwing his head back with loud laughter that echoed around the room.

“F-Frankie Boy, I had no clue you were such’a comedian.” He wiped at one of his eyes with the back of his hand, as if to rid himself of a tear. “You think that I, Elvis fuckin’ Presley, would steal a measly one hundred pounds. . . from you? I could own you and your entire family four times over. You’re nothin’ to me. Nothin’ but’a speck on a whole map’a pricks.”

Frank and the two sons at his side bristled with anger. Elvis didn’t flinch when he heard the sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off. He didn’t even bat an eye in their direction.

“Then who the fuck took it?” Frank asked through clenched teeth, the veins in his forehead bulging.

Elvis thought that the old man’s fat head might explode, especially if he kept tensing up like that.

“Maybe ya should check out the nearby gas stations. I’m sure some junkie had a field day., is all”

And Elvis was right. He hadn’t been the one to steal the product. . . but he did check out one of Frank’s warehouses. He preferred to keep an eye on his competition.

Elvis didn’t invite the homeless man into the building. . . but he hadn’t exactly locked the door back behind himself when he left.

“If you don’t start talking, Presley. . . I’ll carve that pretty littl-”

Elvis might have been an older man, but he was still far faster and stronger than most men that were fifteen years his junior. He’d been in this game a very long time. Before Frank could even finish the sentence, Elvis had one arm wrapped around his throat, his other hand holding a smoking gun.

The three men had been too shocked to have even heard the gunshot ring out in the penthouse. All they could do was blink dumbly at each other.

That was before the pain kicked in, anyway.

The shortest of Frank’s sons dropped to the floor, screaming out and clutching his shattered knee. The gun was already pointed at Frank’s other son before they could even recover from the surprise.

Elvis pressed his lips against Frank’s ear and spoke through clenched teeth, tightening his hold around his throat. The room plummeted into silence, the only sound behind the boy’s whimpers of pain and the deep sound of the mob boss’s voice.

The sound of your man’s voice.

“Touch her and you’re dead.”

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