#mafia drabble

[myfictionaldreams]

To the question about moving in with mafia Steve:

Did she had a space or place that she really liked? Like the Libary or the fireplace?

If she does… would Steve find her there often? 🥺

Aww, I actually love this question (thank you for asking it!) This all takes place following the fic 'Last Hope' from my Mafia!Stucky series.

It was difficult at first, the realisation of the previous day's actions had caused tears to fall, and thankfully Bucky was able to handle the cleanup from the events of ‘last hope’, so Steve could stay with her. The entire first day was spent in bed, aching from the fighting that had occurred but also the fucking which was actually a way that she used to distract herself. She was sore from her first time, but that didn’t mean that Steve didn’t use his mouth or fingers to make her cum multiple times until she was a wet puddle in the middle of his bed.

Once she made it out of the bedroom, it took a few hours to find her way around without Steve’s directions. It was odd for her to now call this new building her home but it also strangely felt right.

The first week was honestly a mix between grieving her past life, celebrating her new one and attempting to build it. This included meeting new members of the gang, understanding their job roles and where she would come into play regarding this but that was a decision for another time. Especially when she realised she couldn’t just wear Steve’s clothes for the rest of her life and he promptly treated her to a shopping spree that had even the shop owners’ eyes bulging with the amount of money Steve was willing to spend on his girl.

Once she became used to her new home, there were a few places that she’d like to be to unwind and create a safe space. Baking special treats for the gang members soon won her good graces into Bucky’s books as he was soon begging her to cook something new each and every time he saw her. She liked to also spend time in the garden however the weather was becoming more chilled so inside was where she spent most of her time.

In the new relationship, she didn’t want to be away from the safety that Steve provided, so one day, she followed him into his at-home office which was lavish and yet homely, decorations and warm colours greeting her on entry. Steve showed her to one of the quant little armchairs that faced his desk, a velvet cushioned seat with a plump decorative pillow.

She chose the chair on the left and hugged the pillow to her chest, idly chatting away with Steve about who was on the pictures on his walls. This continued for hours, and she even managed to doze off in the chair, she found it that comfortable. For the next few days, she returned to the chair, sometimes with a book in hand or a freshly baked pastry, as she enjoyed simply just being in Steve’s company.

Steve was enjoying it just as much and liked that he could keep an eye on her whilst doing all the admin that came with being the boss. Once, Bucky arrived at the home, the three of them walked up to Steve’s office, where he sat in the left armchair.

“Buck, sit in the other chair”, Steve mumbled under his breath without a single thought, talking as if on instinct that even seeing someone else in that chair just wasn’t right.

Bucky didn’t question the motives and simply stood, and sat in the other chair so she could quickly plop into the seat that was officially hers. Eventually, it became her safe space. If she was feeling overwhelmed with the life changes or needed to vent to Steve in some way, she could come to her chair. Even when he wasn’t home, she could sit in the office, some quiet music and a fluffy blanket and curl up into it, hugging the pillow until Steve came home and he could sit on the floor beside her and ask if everything was ok.

It was a big adjustment moving in with Steve however, it was one that she never regretted, and she was just lucky that the home and he, was so easy to fall in love with.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Mobster

Chicago - 1931 The Height of Prohibition The mafia is earning top dollar smuggling alcohol into the country. And one mobster has his eye on you.

Yandere! Mobster who's a made man, who drives a nice car even after the stock market crash forced most people to sell theirs.

Yandere! Mobster who wears a tailored suit and fedora, his black hair swept back. Who everyone in the neighbourhood says is a good guy, a decent man, even if he does work for the don.

Yandere! Mobster who pulls up next to you when you're walking home from work. It's late and clouds are scudding across the moon.

Yandere! Mobster who leans out his window and offers to drive you home. Who says these streets ain't safe for a pretty girl like you.

Yandere! Mobster who's known you since you were children. Two kids from immigrant families, playing together in the tiny bits of open space your apartments could offer.

Yandere! Mobster who keeps looking at you and marvelling at how grown up you both are. Where did that scruffy little girl go? And when did you get so pretty?

Yandere! Mobster who spends the whole drive chatting about old times. Who makes you laugh at his stories about running from the landlady and stashing his school books behind the canteen.

Yandere! Mobster who leans over you and pulls the door closed when you move to get out. Who looks you dead in the eye when he asks if you're having trouble with your rent.

The mob is a big part of the community afterall, and he knows just about everything.

You drop your eyes, embarrassed. Your brothers have their own families to care for, you say. Things are hard but if you pick up a few more shifts at the factory, you might manage it.

Yandere! Mobster who sighs and digs in his suit pocket. Who pulls out a stack of cash and counts it right in front you.

Yandere! Mobster who offers you enough for two months of rent. A small fortune to someone from your part of town.

You shake your head, horrified. You can't afford the interest, you tell him.

Yandere! Mobster who scoffs and asks if you really think he's offering a loan when you've known each other for years? It's a gift, to keep your mama out of the cold.

Yandere! Mobster who smiles at the hesitant way you accept the money. You're too proud to ever ask for help and he knows it. Just like when you were kids.

Yandere! Mobster who gets out and opens the car door for you like a gentleman, even if he knows the whole apartment building will talk about it.

Yandere! Mobster who grins that charming, good guy smile even though he has a gun holstered under his jacket and a shovel in the trunk. Who says he'll consider things even if you cook him dinner some time.

Yandere! Mobster who visits your ma while you're at work. Who tells her he's interested in you and wants her blessing. And your ma is all too happy to give it. He's such a good boy, she says, and she knows he's always had a soft spot for you.

Yandere! Mobster who insists on driving you home after work everyday. Even when you blush and complain that he's going out of his way.

Yandere! Mobster who gratefully accepts the gifts you offer him. Fresh baked bread, jars of your mama's famous marinara sauce, homecooked meals... Who eats so much better when you take care of him.

Yandere! Mobster who eventually runs out of luck and straight into trouble. What was supposed to be a routine whiskey delivery turns out to be a sting operation.

Yandere! Mobster who sees his partner get a hole blasted right through him and almost die. Who fires at the cops until his tommy gun is red hot and smoking. Who ends up with so much blood on his hands he ain't sure it will ever wash off.

Yandere! Mobster who finds himself at your door afterwards, his coat drenched by the rain.

Yandere! Mobster who doesn't resist when you pull him inside and strip away his jacket and shirt. There's blood on your hands after you hang up his coat, and you pretend not to notice it.

Yandere! Mobster who can see your curiosity fighting against your sense. In the end, you don't ask him a single question about it.

Yandere! Mobster who sinks gratefully into the bath you draw for him. And who falls asleep the second his head hits your pillow.

Yandere! Mobster who's gone by morning. His bloodstained coat gone with him.

Yandere! Mobster who asks around about you and finds out you've got a whole score of fellas vying for your hand.

Yandere! Mobster who let's it be known that he's interested in you and watches with satisfaction as all your potential suitors drop away.

Except for one. He just spits and says you're a grown woman and can choose your own man.

Yandere! Mobster and his buddies pick the guy up after a late shift. Tie his hands behind his back and gag him before they toss him in the trunk.

Yandere! Mobster who beats the shit out of him. Who breaks his nose with a knuckle duster and his ribs with a crowbar. Who grabs his hair with bloody fingers and hisses that you're off limits.

Yandere! Mobster whose buddies lounge against the warehouse wall and smoke, never bothering to question what a simple dock worker did to deserve such a brutal beating.

Yandere! Mobster who sniffs your hair when you hug him. He's like a dog - always making sure other men haven't left their scent on you.

Yandere! Mobster who let's his hands wander when he takes you out dancing. Who kisses you goodnight and let's his lips brush your neck before he pulls away.

Yandere! Mobster who goes home and jerks off to you, his teeth bared and head bent forward. Who snarls at you to take it, take it like a good girl.

Yandere! Mobster who tells his don about you - how pretty you are, how clever, how discreet. The man leans back in his chair and pulls on his cigar.

She'll never make a liar of you. You should marry her just for that.

Yandere! Mobster who shows up at your door a week later, an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket.

Be my girl. And I promise I'll take care of you.

You think about the night he came to you covered in blood and not speaking a word. You think about your friend from the docks and the way he dissappeared. You think about the way people look away when you're with him in public.

You say yes, as though you have a choice.

[carnalcrows]

Terms and Conditions Applied

pariring: gangster! male OC x male reader [profile]

summary: You're a single dad, drowning in debt, barely holding it together for your daughter. But when loan collectors come knocking a little too hard, you find out your debt belongs to someone far more dangerous: Felix Marino, the quiet but infamous head of one of the most powerful mafia syndicates in the world. He makes you a deal—your freedom, for a job. One job. But nothing is ever that simple in his world. Especially when you're not sure what terrifies you more: the blood on your hands, or the way Felix looks at you like you belong to him.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, explicit violence, blood and trauma aftermath, mild panic attack / dissociation, threats and coercion, organized crime themes, single parenthood under duress, mild sexual content, handjob (reader receiving), power imbalance, emotional manipulation, PTSD-like symptoms.

word count: 4.9k

The knocks came hard and fast.

They rattled the apartment door like gunfire—three hits, pause, two more, and a final slam that made the hinges groan. You froze mid-step, a half-unpacked grocery bag dangling from your fingers. Inside it, a bruised apple rolled to the floor.

Not again.

You scanned the room automatically, as if the act of tidying clutter might somehow soften the blow of reality. But the apartment was already bare. Sparse. Clean, in that way that says we don’t have much, but we’re trying.

A soft voice drifted from the hallway behind you. “Papa?”

You turned. There she was—your daughter. Four years old, hair mussed from a post-nap world, her favourite stuffed rabbit trailing from one hand. She rubbed her eyes with the other, blinking at you.

Your heart clenched.

“It’s okay, baby,” you said quietly. “Go back to your room, yeah? I’ll be right there.”

“But who—”

“Just the mailman,” you lied, kneeling down to smooth her hair. “He’s loud today.”

She stared up at you for a beat longer than usual, as if her tiny brain could already tell something wasn’t quite right. Then she nodded solemnly and padded back down the hallway, the rabbit dragging behind her like a weary soldier.

The knocking came again. Louder this time.

You straightened up, set the bag on the counter, and took a breath.

When you opened the door, the two men standing on the other side looked like they'd been born in leather jackets—one tall, one squat. Neither looked thrilled to be here, but they sure weren’t leaving empty-handed.

“Morning,” said the taller one, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. “Nice day, huh?”

You didn’t respond. He took that as agreement.

“Mr. [Last Name],” said the shorter one. “We’re here about the debt.”

“I know.”

“Good.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you also know your payment was due four days ago.”

“I told you,” you said. “I’m working extra shifts. I’m doing what I can.”

The taller man walked a slow circle around your living room, peering at the cheap furniture like it offended him. “A place like this, I’m surprised you haven’t sold the kid’s toys yet.”

Your jaw tensed. “She’s four.”

The shorter man clucked his tongue. “And if you don’t have something by Friday, you’re going to be explaining that to the Boss in person. You know how he feels about delays.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.”

They left without another word. The taller one flicked a crumpled cigarette onto your doormat and stomped it out as a parting gift.

You shut the door. Locked it. Then leaned against it with your eyes closed.

⋆｡°✩  

The silence in the apartment returned slowly, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft patter of small feet against tile.

“Papa?”

You opened your eyes and looked down. She was back, rabbit in hand.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She wrapped her little arms around your leg, hugging you as best she could. Her cheek pressed against your jeans. “You’re not sad?”

You knelt again and pulled her into your arms properly, breathing in the smell of strawberry shampoo and comfort.

“I’m okay now,” you whispered into her hair. “Because I have you.”

⋆｡°✩  

You made pancakes for dinner.

It wasn’t your best work. The batter was too thin, the pan unevenly heated, and the only syrup left was the cheap, knockoff kind that smelled more like corn than maple. But she still grinned when you put the plate in front of her, legs swinging from the dining chair as she kicked at nothing in particular.

“Can I put peanut butter on it too?” she asked, already reaching for the jar.

“Only if you save a piece for Mr. Bun.”

“I always do,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it were some sacred pact between her and the stuffed rabbit.

You watched her eat, chewing slower than usual, trying to stall the moment. The kitchen light flickered overhead. The stack of unpaid bills on the counter seemed to grow by the day, and rent was due in less than a week. You didn’t know how you were going to pay off the collectors by Friday, let alone face the man behind them— the one they called their boss, in hushed, clipped tones.

A name you’d never heard until two weeks ago. A name that now haunted every idle moment.

You’d tried not to ask too many questions, but the way the others spoke about him made your skin crawl. Not loud, not showy — but dangerous. Not because of violence, but because of how controlled he was. And how rarely he needed to raise his voice to get things done.

You only owed him money because your original lender sold the debt off.

It wasn’t supposed to get this far.

“Papa?”

You blinked out of it. “Yeah, bug?”

She looked at you with peanut butter smeared on her chin. “Can we read the owl book again tonight?”

You smiled, even if it felt thin on your face. “Of course.”

⋆｡°✩  

She fell asleep curled beside you on the couch, mid-sentence, head tucked against your arm. The copy of The Owl Who Wasn’t Afraid of the Dark lay open in your lap, thumb still pressed to the page.

You didn’t dare move her. Not yet.

The room was quiet now, except for the muffled hum of the hallway outside. You could still hear footsteps every now and then—neighbours coming home, doors opening and shutting. It was the kind of rundown apartment block where the walls had ears, but no one cared enough to listen.

You leaned your head back and stared at the ceiling, one hand gently smoothing your daughter’s hair.

Then came the buzz of your phone.

You fumbled for it quietly, careful not to wake her.

Unknown Number

You stared at it. A second buzz followed — a text.

[ The Boss would like a word. You’ll want to make yourself available.

Tomorrow. 10 PM. Zia’s Diner. Come alone. ]

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to. Whoever sent it would already know you’d be there.

⋆｡°✩  

Zia’s Diner looked like it hadn’t changed since the '80s. Flickering neon sign. Red leather booths dulled from wear. Grease-stained menus laminated so many times the corners curled like dying leaves. It was the kind of place that smelled like burnt coffee and fried onions no matter what time of day you walked in. The kind of place where someone like you belonged.

Someone like the one you owe money to? Not so much.

You got there ten minutes early. Sat in the back corner booth, facing the entrance like you’d seen people do in mob movies. Ridiculous, really — like knowing who sat where would make any of this easier.

The waitress came by once, chewing gum and offering you a tired, sceptical look. “You ordering, or you waiting?”

“Just coffee,” you muttered, and she poured you a cup without a word.

You kept checking the time.

10:00 PM sharp, the bell above the door jingled.

He didn’t walk in with an entourage. No theatrics. No broad-shouldered bodyguards or gaudy suits. Just a man in a black wool coat, collar turned up against the wind, dark hair swept back with the ease of someone who didn’t need to try.

He didn’t look like a loan shark. He looked like he could be an architect. Or maybe a violinist. His features were clean-cut but strangely gentle, like someone who hadn’t always belonged to a world like this.

And then he looked at you.

A quick once-over. Not judgmental. Just... observant.

He made his way over with unhurried steps, slid into the booth across from you, and removed his gloves one finger at a time. The silence stretched, thick and taut.

“I’m glad you came,” he said at last. His voice was low, smooth, but not performative. Not like someone trying to play a role. “I didn’t want this to become unpleasant.”

You swallowed hard. “I figured it already was.”

He tilted his head slightly, almost like he was considering you. “It doesn’t have to be.”

You didn’t answer.

The waitress reappeared, looking more alert this time. “Coffee?”

“Tea,” he said, without looking at her. “Chamomile, if you have it.”

You blinked. Tea?

Once she left, he turned his gaze back to you. “You’re a difficult man to track down, considering you haven’t left your apartment in three days.”

Your jaw clenched. “I’ve been with my daughter.”

“I know.” His tone didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes now. Not softness — but interest. “She’s the one who likes the owl book, right?”

You stiffened. “You’ve been watching us?”

“I have people. They were concerned. It’s their job.”

“Concerned about what?”

He paused. Then: “About how a man ends up this deep in debt when he’s clearly not reckless.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Because the worst part was— he wasn’t wrong.

He leaned back, resting his hands on the table. His fingers were long, elegant— with tattoos running across them.

“I didn’t call you here to threaten you,” he said calmly. “If I wanted to scare you, I’d have sent someone else.”

“So why did you call me here?”

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to answer. But then the tea arrived. He thanked the waitress with a quiet nod, waited until she was gone again.

And then he said:

“Because I don’t think you belong in this mess. And I’m interested in seeing how you get out of it.”

You stared at him, not sure if it was a trap. A test. Some kind of manipulation.

“Why?” you asked, voice quiet now. Honest.

He stirred a packet of honey into his tea. No rush. No tension. “You remind me of someone.”

That shut you up.

Not because you knew what it meant, but because of how he said it. Like it hurt to say. Like the memory was still raw, even if the delivery wasn’t.

He took a sip of his tea, eyes never leaving yours.

“Let’s talk about your debt,” he said.

⋆｡°✩  

You tried to read him. Failed.

Everything about him was composed — the measured way he spoke, the way he held his tea with both hands like it was a habit rather than a choice. His voice was quiet but sure, like he’d never once had to raise it to be heard.

He didn’t move like a man used to violence, but you knew better than to trust that.

“You said you wanted to talk about my debt,” you said after a beat, keeping your voice steady. “So talk.”

He gave a soft hum, almost amused. “Alright.”

From the inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a thin leather folio and opened it on the table. You caught your name on one of the papers. Your signature on another. A string of numbers you didn’t want to look too closely at.

“I assume you know how much you owe.”

You nodded once. “Too much.”

“You’re not wrong.” He tapped a finger against the paper, not unkindly. “You took out the first loan eighteen months ago. Medical bills, yes?”

You stiffened. “My daughter was in the hospital. Pneumonia. We didn’t have insurance.”

He nodded like he already knew, which he probably did.

“And the second loan,” he continued, “was for rent, food, and utilities. You were out of work.”

“My hours got cut,” you muttered.

“And the third?”

You looked away. “Funeral expenses.”

Silence settled again. Not judgmental. Just quiet.

He closed the folder gently and folded his hands on top of it. “There are… less generous men you could’ve borrowed from. Men who would’ve already left a message on your doorstep. Or through your window.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice in where the loans came from,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just watched you like he’d been expecting that edge to come out eventually.

“You’re right,” he said. “You didn’t. But you have one now.”

That gave you pause. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back, eyes steady.

“It means I’m offering to restructure your debt. Reduce the interest. Extend the timeline. Provide resources, if you need them.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He didn’t smile — but his mouth twitched, like he almost did.

“I told you. You remind me of someone.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is to me.”

You didn’t know what to do with that. Couldn’t decide if this was some twisted act of pity or a long con. But you weren’t used to people giving you anything. Especially not someone with this much power—with hands that clean, a gaze that calm, and a reputation like his.

He took another sip of his tea.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, almost kindly. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. But I want you to understand— I’m not doing this to trap you.”

“Then what do you want?”

His fingers paused on the edge of the cup.

“I want you to keep your daughter,” he said simply. “I want her to grow up safe. With her father.”

Something in your chest twisted. You looked down, jaw tight.

“That’s not your business.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve made it mine.”

You looked up again, and this time, there was no softness in your voice. “What do you get out of it?”

A longer pause.

He studied you, not like a man considering what to say, but like he was wondering how much you could handle. Like he’d already made up his mind.

“I’m not the villain you think I am,” he said finally. “But I’ve been one before. I know what it takes to get out.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Your hands curled around your coffee cup, suddenly aware of the chipped ceramic, the cool air from the vents brushing your neck. A waitress refilled a glass of soda at another table. The world kept moving.

He stood slowly, gathering the folder and slipping it back into his coat.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said. “But I’ll have someone drop off the new terms tomorrow. Look them over. Think about your kid.”

He turned to leave, then paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And think about who you want to be when she looks back on this.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

⋆｡°✩  

You didn’t expect it to come in an envelope.

White. Thick. No return address.

It was on your doorstep when you got home from picking Nora up from daycare — tucked under the welcome mat like some dead thing left by a cat. You stared at it for a full minute before bending to pick it up, heart low in your chest.

She tugged on your sleeve. “What’s that, Daddy?”

“Nothing, bug.” You smiled, but your voice didn’t rise with it. “Go on in. I’ll be right there.”

She slipped past you with a squeal, barreling into the apartment and tossing her little backpack onto the floor. You shut the door behind her, thumb tracing the edge of the envelope as you walked to the kitchen. The light through the window was already fading to that washed-out grey of too-late afternoons. You tore it open without ceremony.

Inside: four pages, paper thick enough to feel expensive. No header, no signature — but you recognised the same smooth, sparse formatting from the mans’s folder at Zia’s—the new terms.

You skimmed.

Then read slower.

Then stopped.

He was serious.

— Outstanding balance: reduced by 40%. — Interest: frozen, pending further review. — Monthly payments: deferred for 3 months. — Conditions:

That last part made your stomach twist.

1. You will be reachable at all times. 2. You will submit proof of employment weekly. 3. You will meet with Mr. Marino in person at a time and place of his choosing. Frequency: open. 4. You will not attempt to renegotiate through any party other than Mr. Marino himself. 5. You will not disappear.

Regards, 

Felix Marino

That last line wasn’t underlined. But it didn’t need to be.

You sat down, the chair scraping across the tile.

It was clean. Too clean. He’d carved out the brutality and left behind something you could stomach — just enough rope to pull yourself up. Or hang yourself with.

In the distance, you heard Nora humming a song from her cartoons.

And you realised: you were already considering it.

⋆｡°✩  

The house is quiet after Nora falls asleep, sprawled out in her tiny bed with her stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin. You'd cleaned the chocolate from her face, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead like always. Pretended like nothing was wrong. Like there wasn’t a folded letter in your coat pocket that felt like it weighed more than your whole damn life.

You sit at the kitchen table, hands steepled, staring down at it again.

Felix Marino’s terms are clear:

Six months of contracted work

Weekly check-ins at a private location downtown

No questions asked about the nature of the work.

No outside contact with “competing interests”

Nora is off-limits. Her name isn’t even mentioned.

That part almost makes it worse.

Because you don’t think Felix left her out of the contract out of kindness.

You think it’s because he sees her as yours. And what belongs to you, by extension, belongs to him now.

You grip the paper until the crease deepens. This is a deal with the devil, no matter how cleanly it’s written. Still, you’ve seen worse. You’ve lived worse. And if this means keeping Nora safe—keeping your home, your job, your sanity—then what choice do you really have?

You’ll meet his terms. But you won’t let him sink his claws in.

You won’t let him think he has you.

Your phone buzzes on the table. A message. Just a location, a time.

[ Tomorrow, 11 AM.

Wear something decent. ]

You stare at the screen for a while before flipping it over and standing up. You clean the counter. Rinse the mugs. Check the locks on the doors twice. It’s routine, but you do it slower tonight.

Just before bed, you peek in on Nora one more time.

Her tiny chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. There’s drool on her pillow. You swallow the knot in your throat.

You hope to god she never has to know how close you came to losing everything.

⋆｡°✩  

The address Felix gave leads to a storefront with blackout windows and no signage. Inside, it's cleaner than expected. Sleek. Minimal. You’re greeted by a man in a tailored suit who doesn’t ask your name — just waves you through with a nod like you’re already known here.

You are, apparently.

A hallway. A door. A quiet room with a view of the city skyline. Felix is seated behind a polished desk, flipping lazily through a folder.

He doesn’t look up when he says, “You came.”

“Not like I had a choice.”

“Sure you did. You just didn’t like the alternatives.”

He gestures to the chair across from him. You sit, tense.

He finally lifts his gaze, eyes still unreadable. “How’s Nora?”

You narrow your eyes. “Fine. And she’s not part of this.”

“I never said she was.” He leans back, steepling his fingers. “Though you should know, this isn’t charity. You’ll work. I’ll watch. If I don’t like what I see, the terms change.”

“And if I don’t like what I see?”

“Then I’ll be disappointed,” Felix says, smooth as silk. “And trust me — you don’t want that.”

There’s a pause. You hate how calm he is. Like this is all part of some carefully laid plan. Maybe it is.

“You always recruit desperate dads into your service?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

You clench your jaw. “Why me?”

Felix shrugs, almost too casually. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it does matter. You can feel it.

The way he looks at you sometimes. Like he’s trying to find someone else in your face. Like you’re unfinished business.

You stand. “I’ll do what you asked. But keep the personal shit out of it.”

Felix watches you with that same unreadable gaze. “Whatever you say.”

But you can tell he’s already rewriting the rules.

⋆｡°✩  

You’d expected something bloodier.

Maybe it was the envelope. Maybe it was Felix’s eyes, the way he looked at you like you were already halfway his. Or maybe it was just the way his name lingered like a shadow behind every line of those new “terms.” Whatever it was, you thought there’d be blood. Screaming. A pipe wrench. Something straight out of a bad movie.

Instead, you’re standing outside a warehouse that looks too clean to be dangerous, which somehow makes it worse.

You glance down at the slip of paper again. One name. One address. Gallo. That’s all he gave you. No instructions. No backup. Just the duffel bag in your hand and a phone in your pocket that vibrated exactly once with a location pin and then went dead silent.

You should walk away. You should. But you think of Nora. Think of the groceries on the table this morning — not from your wallet. Think of the sharp suits you saw at your building’s entrance yesterday. Men who didn’t belong there. Men who made eye contact just long enough to remind you that you were being watched.

So you step inside.

The warehouse isn’t abandoned, but it’s not busy either. The air smells like oil and dust, and the lights overhead buzz faintly with age. You follow the sound of metal scraping across concrete until you see him — mid-40s, thick arms, cigarette tucked into the side of his mouth like it’s permanent.

“You Gallo?” you ask.

He looks up, unimpressed. “Who’s asking?”

You don’t answer. Just unzip the duffel and pull out the envelope inside — thick, sealed, and marked with the same insignia that was embossed into Felix’s letterhead.

He snorts. “About time.”

You hand it over. He rips it open, eyes scanning quickly. You can’t see the paper, but whatever’s written on it makes his jaw twitch.

“I paid last week,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You don’t move. Felix never said what to do after delivering the message. But you know better than to leave right away.

Gallo crumples the paper. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. Then louder, “Tell Marino if he wants more outta me, he can come collect it himself.”

You exhale slowly. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

He steps forward, chest puffed. “No? Then how does it work, ragazzo di merda?”

There’s a tension now — heavy and tight, like the moment before thunder. You don’t flinch, even when he gets close enough for you to smell the smoke on his breath. But your fingers twitch.

This isn’t a test of violence. It’s a test of restraint.

And you’re not sure which you’re worse at.

He laughs like he’s already won. Then, just when the silence threatens to stretch too far, he spits — right at your shoes.

You move fast. Maybe too fast. You don’t pull the knife, don’t throw a punch, but your hands are around his throat in a blink, and you shove him back hard enough that he slams against a shelf with a clang. A box of screws topples somewhere behind him.

“Try it again,” you say, low and even. “See what happens.”

You don’t remember drawing the knife.

All you remember is the way the air changed — thick, metallic, sharp with panic. One moment, Gallo’s guys were just shouting, posturing like men with too much testosterone and not enough brains. The next one of them rushed you. Pulled a gun. A warning shot, maybe. But it grazed your arm, and that was all it took to tip something inside you.

The rest is a blur. Screaming. A crash. A warm spray across your face that wasn’t your own.

You’re not trained for this.

You’re not supposed to be the guy standing in a warehouse full of broken bones and gasping, bloodied men, clutching a blade that’s slippery in your hand. You were a barista three years ago. A father. A husband, once.

But right now, you’re just a wreck. Shaking, breath jagged, body slick with sweat and blood — most of it not yours. The knife hits the floor with a metallic clatter. Your legs feel like paper.

The phone in your pocket buzzes once.

A location pin.

No words.

Your hands are still trembling as you stumble out into the alley, back pressed to the cool brick wall as your knees threaten to buckle. You press your palm to the wound on your arm, but you can’t even tell if it’s deep. All you can feel is the adrenaline, burning like acid through your veins.

The car pulls up exactly two minutes later.

Sleek. Black. Expensive in the quiet, menacing kind of way.

The passenger door opens, and Felix is already waiting inside.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you climb in, dragging the bloodied duffel with you. You don’t speak. You can’t.

He says nothing at first. Just watches. His gaze skims your face, your hands, the splotches on your shirt. His nostrils flare, faintly. His jaw clenches.

Then his voice comes, low and velvety.

“You did well.”

You flinch.

Well?

Is this what “well” looks like?

You open your mouth to say something — anything — but it all dies on your tongue. You feel like you're floating outside yourself, like your body isn’t quite yours. Like you're going to pass out.

Felix notices. Of course he does.

He leans in, slow and deliberate. His hand moves to your jaw— firm, and tilts your face toward him.

“You’re shaking.”

No shit. You laugh — a broken, awful sound that doesn’t feel real.

Felix hums, then shifts in his seat. The partition behind you slides up without a sound, cloaking the two of you in soft shadows.

“I told you I wanted to see what you could handle,” he murmurs. “You didn’t disappoint.”

“I almost died,” you manage to whisper.

“Mm,” he says, thumb brushing along your cheek. “But you didn’t.”

You don’t realise your hands are clenched in your lap until he notices. He undoes your seatbelt. Leans down.

“I can help,” he says softly, fingers already trailing down your thigh. “Let me.”

You’re still bloodstained. You still feel sick. But your cock betrays you — twitching in your jeans under his touch like it doesn’t care that you’re half-feral from adrenaline and trauma.

He smiles faintly. Like he expected that.

“Poor thing,” Felix says, voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “All wound up. All that fear. All that pressure.”

His hand slides over the bulge in your pants, slow and possessive. Your breath catches.

“You’re shaking so much,” he murmurs. “You need to calm down. Just relax.”

You don’t. Can’t. But your hips twitch anyway.

Felix is patient. Cruel in his gentleness. His fingers undo your jeans with practised ease, and the second he wraps his hand around your cock— warm, firm, steady— you nearly choke on a gasp. The pleasure spikes sharply and fast, edged with guilt and something darker.

You shouldn’t want this. Not now. Not here. Not after—

“Don’t think,” he says quietly. “Just feel.”

Your head hits the seat behind you. Your hands tremble uselessly in your lap as he strokes you—not fast, not slow, just right. His thumb circles the head on every upward pull, milking soft, breathless moans out of you.

“You’ve been good,” he whispers, voice like velvet steel. “Brave. I take care of what’s mine.”

You don’t know when that happened — when you became his. But it’s too late now. His hand keeps working you through it, coaxing you toward a high you didn’t ask for but can’t stop chasing. Heat pools low in your belly. Your eyes squeeze shut. You’re going to—

“Come for me,” he breathes, leaning in. “That’s it. Let go.”

And you do.

It rips out of you like a sob. Messy. Shuddering. You curl in on yourself as your body wracks with release, nerves flayed raw.

Felix doesn’t flinch at the mess. He just wipes his hand, then guides your head down to rest against his shoulder. You’re still panting, still dazed, blood drying on your clothes — and he strokes your hair like you’re something precious.

Like you're his favourite broken thing.

⋆｡°✩  

You leave the bathroom light on.

Not because Nora’s scared of the dark anymore. She’s been sleeping through the night since she was three. It’s for you.

You’re the one who wakes up in cold sweats now. You’re the one who flinches at door hinges creaking and cars idling too long outside the window. You’re the one staring at the nursery monitor like something might crawl through it.

There’s no crying. Just the soft hum of static.

She’s curled up on her side, one arm flung above her head, mouth open in that completely unselfconscious way only kids manage. Her stuffed bear is trapped beneath her chest like a casualty, and you don’t dare move it. You don’t dare move anything.

You sit on the edge of your bed, clothes still crusted in spots with things you scrubbed off hours ago. You’re not sure how you’re still breathing. Or why you are.

Your hands shake. Not like before—this is quieter. Numb.

Your phone buzzes once on the nightstand. You don’t check it. You already know who it is.

You already know what he’ll say. Good work. I told you you could handle it. You’re not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or a warning.

The monitor hisses softly, then goes silent. You keep watching it anyway.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq @gaozorous-rex-blog @idkmissgurl @sooniebby @seomn

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[darkbluekies]

01:34

Yandere!mafia oc x (mention of) reader

Warnings: foul language, violence, killing, guns, mentions of paying for company, cheating

He can't help but wonder if he really heard right, but he quietly, discreetly, removes his wedding ring, placing it in his pocket.

"Say that again?"

The man gives off a smirk that sends a wave of boiling fire through Silas’s body.

"I said that your spouse is an easy whore who'd do anything for some dick."

Silas hadn't misheard. Before the man has the time to finish his sentence, Silas has launched a blow to his face. Hard enough to fold the man in half. Silas shakes the bruising fist who made contact with his face, realizing he hit harder than he thought, but not harder than intended.

"And you'd know, wouldn't you?" Silas says, seeing the mans eyes widen ever so slightly. "Yeah, don't you think I've seen you creep around those parts of the city? With women who, in reality, wouldn't touch you? Does your wife know? Your kids? Or do they think daddy dearest is the best guy in the world?"

"You—"

"Before you speak a single syllable about my spouse, you should take a look at yourself. Mirror's truthful, isn't it?"

The man stumbles up on his feet, but before he can do anything, Silas’s grabs him by the collar.

"Killing you would actually do everyone a favor", he mutters. "Your wife deserves someone better than a scumbag who pays for the company of women who also deserve more. And your kids? Don't even get me started."

Silas throws the man onto the hard stone and pulls out a gun from his belt. The man on the ground trembles, pathetically trying to beg for his life, but Silas will hear none of it. The second he had started talking about you, his most perfect darling, his fate was already sealed at the hands of Silas.

As soon as the lifeless body falls to the side, Silas puts the gun back and takes out his wedding ring, placing it back on the rightous finger.

"I'd never get my wedding ring dirty with blood of unworthy", he tells SIC who gives him a curious look. "It's beneath me."

[madamechrissy]

Mobster Toji headcanons

Pairings- Mafia Toji x shot girl reader

mdni- explicit- oral (f recieving) drug use, dirty talk, choking, fingering, angsty and smutty- part of my Mafia AU- Toji is from Pour it Up (Mob Kuna) and Losing Control Now (Mob Toru) gonna be a fic soonnn, here is some of the vibes/points of ittt

comment to get tagged <3

Mobster Toji who runs the most elite club with Sukuna, and runs the Gojo mafia, has it all in spades, and he knows it's the good life, two strippers on his lap, kissing and giggling as he inhales his blunt. Deep in his lungs, smoking it and then turning to kiss each girl. How could he really complain about a life like this?

Mobster Toji had it rough before, he had a gambling addiction, he got into some debt, he lost his love... it wasn't an easy life, but he got here, and now, he runs this city with the men there, going against the Zenin mob just really made Toji's fucking day. He's got either side of his neck getting kissed on by pretty girls as they pass the blunt around, the club music reverberating off the walls, making everything so heady.

Mobster Toji pauses then, as he sees you, you're a nervous little wreck, nibbling on your lips as you talk to the girls there, you're in some slinky little dress that shows off all of those thighs, and hugs your body just so, glinting silver. He can't take his eyes off you, when they hand you the shot tray, explaining this and that to you, while you clearly look out of place. He leans forward to get a better look, earning the pouts of the girls on his lap. 'sorry, give me a minute hmm?' they giggle when he pinches their asses, running off while he gets a look at you.

Mobster Toji watches you bend forward, smile on your pretty face while you serve up shots, getting tips slipped in your pretty lace garter, running back to the bar for more before the song was up. Sukuna comes out then, looking at Toji who's so clearly enamored, and chuckles at him. 'Like the new shot girl?' Toji damn near blushes, Toji Fushiguro, he's probably blushed once in his life, but he does, only earning Sukuna's throaty laughter, and Toji's scowl. 'I actually was thinking of having her dance, our main girl is late'

Mobster Toji can't take the thought of your pretty body naked, he should make some perverted comment, but he just stands there, as Sukuna pats his shoulder, walking over to you. He watches you giggle a bit, shifting your hips, but he doesn't know your heart is racing, as the tall, handsome owner of this club asks you to dance. 'Oh, Mr. Sukuna... I don't know...' you murmur, observing the empty pole, and then he catches your eye, the other owner you've heard about, Toji Fushiguro. 'You don't have to get undressed, just give em a show, my girl doesn't get naked anymore either' you smile as you think of just how smitten he seems. You can't imagine feeling like that, not after the number your ex did on you.

Mobster Toji gets to watch as you do just that, clueless about a pole, he walks up to the stage then. 'Never seen Toji so quiet, he good?' Satoru asks, waltzing in now, wearing shades in the dark club for truly no reason Toji thinks, other than to be a little shit. 'I'm fine' Toji huffs, but then your eyes catch his, while a man is slipping a tip to you under the strap of your dress, and he pauses once more. 'He's got the hots for the shot girl' Sukuna says with a smirk. 'oh, that's it, shit go on up there, tip her' Toji scowls now 'tip her!?' the two men shrug, giving Toji a shove, and then he's there

Mobster Toji enamors you, with his huge shoulders, this broad handsome face, but he's different than anyone you've seen, he's intense, his forest green eyes glinting, plush lips in a terse line, like he's angry. You flush a bit under the obvious stare, coming over to him then, on your hands and knees, making Toji think of insane things, like your mouth wrapping around his cock, him choking your delicate throat, stretching it out with his thickness. 'can I tell you a secret?' you asks him then, when he sits down, spreading his thighs wide, elbows on the stage. 'go ahead, doll' you giggle a bit then, leaning forward, hand brushing up his suit jacket. 'I have no clue what I'm doing'

Mobster Toji can't stop the grin on his face, when he starts to take out stacks of bills that are wrapped with a rubber band, enjoying the little flush you get as you let your straps drop, baring your shoulders. 'Fuck...' he mutters under his breath, planting the smallest kiss on your collarbone, the action shooting desire hot straight through you, your eyes meet then, when his phone rings, and he sighs. 'my kid... sorry doll, I'll see you later?' you nod curiously, smiling up at him, you've heard of him - big, domineering, crime lord Toji- but he actually seems rather sweet, tipping you far too much, brushing a thumb over your lower lip before he leaves.

Mobster Toji doesn't see Megumi as often as he should, he wants him far away from the Zenin, and he needs him hidden from this dark world, the Zenin want Toji back and they want his kid, the heir to the family, but Toji won't let it happen. You're on his mind even as he drives home, Megumi's calmly blinking up at him as he pats his head, and the nanny apologizes 'so sorry, Mr. Fushiguro, but I do need to head home for an emergency' he shakes his head then. 'No worries, go on... hey kid'

Mobster Toji tries to balance it all, being a single dad, running this club, running the Gojo mob, drowning his sorrows in the finest whiskey, weed, cocaine and of course women. But even the next day when he sees you, his heart falters again, when you shoot him this little smile. He figures it's gotta be how beautiful you are, right? He's been around a while, but you're something else- until you run right into him, eyes wide as you slam into his chest, and he pauses, his hands on your waist. 'What's wrong, doll?' you sigh, looking around then. 'my ex is here, and he... well he was a dick, I was trying to hide' Toji hums then, pulling you even closer. 'where is he?'

Mobster Toji smirks, his scar stretching at the corner of his lip when he spots your ex. 'He's staring at us, wanna give him a show?' you giggle breathless then, nodding, your ex had left you after fucking your 'best friend' and you can't help but feel the pettiness rise. 'How do we do that, Mr. Fushiguro?' he grips your ass then, making you gasp, thigh between yours, pressing you on it, bending so low, you inhale his cologne, taste the liquor on his breath - 'like this' he whispers, before his lips are on yours. Your ex watches with fury, everyone else with curiosity, but it's just the two of you then, as everything starts fading aside from his lips on yours, his big hands on your body.

Mobster Toji can't get enough of your kisses, of your little teases, the next few days he keeps stealing them, like some dumb high school boy, he turns down this woman and that woman, because all he can think about is you. You don't go further, though you're aching for him, this cute little sweet game between the two of you, but you soon find yourself sitting on his lap, right in the VIP room. This was a 'special request' from Mr. Fushiguro himself. Powder is sprinkled against your neck, as he laps up residue from your collarbone, moaning softly in your ear, making your mind run wild in a room full of powerful mobsters and beautiful women, but all you can think of is him, how he's not like anyone you've known.

Mobster Toji slips rough fingers under your skirt, pressing your already damp fabric against your engorged clit as he holds an entire conversation, with Gojo, Sukuna, Choso and Suguru and plenty of women all in that room, effortless, like he's not finger your slick pussy, slipping under your panties and watching you bite that lower lip. He leans up, whispering in your ear 'keep quiet, hmm? slutty pussy is loud isn't she?' you can't formulate a thought as he fingers your slick walls, his cock aching to break your sweet pussy as he feels it pulsing around him, barely holding back his moans.

Mobster Toji has your back against the door of his office that night, in his knees in front of you, before you can think his tongue is lapping a stripe up your slit hungrily, and your hands are in his inky black locks, crying out softly while he drinks your sweet pussy up. 'Mr. Fushi-' he laughs against your cunt, making your thighs tremble 'nah, doll, it's just Toji, when your pussy is on my face, fuck it's so yummy too' he drags your ass to his face, devouring your cunt like a starved man then, your head slams the door, while he laps up all your juices, taste buds rolling on your walls, pushing you over the edge until you're blinded, drooling from your mouth and your cunt he's working.

Mobster Toji damn near cums when you squirt for him, he's drinking up as much as he can, staring at your slick cunt in wonder, so pretty as you squeak nervously, he chuckles at just how cute you are. 'fuck that's sexy, you squirt?' you're blushing, stammering then, as a mobster, a criminal, Toji himself is coated in your glistening cum. 'I've never done it... n-never came except on my own' Toji blinks in confusion, laughing then, but you'r'e serious he realizes, quickly too, and he sighs, pressing a kiss on the hood of your clit, an arm around your hips. 'That ex so shitty?' you nod then, weakly, unable to function or think as he stands, lifting you up on his desk. 'time to change all of that, gonna have you squirting all over this fucking desk huh?'

Mobster Toji is irritated as he's interrupted, of course it's a dire issue, when wasn't it? He leaves you with a nasty, filthy open mouthed kiss, wishing he didn't have all these duties as it was, and now it's just growing a longer list. In the limo with Sukuna he can taste you on his tongue, and when he finally sees you next, so much changed, you're excited but you say his dark expression, his face so tense. How could he bring a sweet girl into his world?

Mobster Toji ignores you, like it never fucking happened, and you see him, girls on his lap in that damn room, so you make sure to 'accidentally' spill shots all down his Armani slacks, earning him standing and scowling at you. when he finally corners you later, a hand on your throat, he's squeezing your windpipe, leaning low. 'what's with that show, huh brat?' you glare up at him, even as his hand squeezes. 'what's with ignoring me after... that!?' Toji's jaw clenches. 'I don't want ya in this fuckin' life, doll, that's what.' Your hand slips down his shirt, his hard muscled body, while he still squeezes, only serving to make you wetter. 'you don't even know me Toji' he scoffs. 'and you don't wanna know me'

Mobster Toji releases your throat, watching you walk away, what do you know about his life - nothing. He can't drag you down, you're different, even as he turns girls down, as he strokes his cock thinking of you, and you give him that pretty little scowl. He knows you're mad, he sees you flirting, he sees you watching him, he hopes you hate him, it's easier that way, a mobster with a fucking kid and a million issues. But suddenly you are just gone for a week, then another, Toji begins to ask, and Sukuna frowns, shaking his head. 'she just never came back, even to get her check, I'm not sure... I figured you two had problems and-"

Mobster Toji feels his stomach turn, panicking now, looking your name up on socials, seeing no updates since the last day he saw you, and his eyes dart to Sukuna's. 'what's wrong, mad she left your dumbass?' Toji shakes his head, gulping now. 'something is wrong... no I need to fucking find her. Now.' You're not at the apartment that was on your employment, you're nowhere, even your landlord says they haven't seen you, when Toji breaks into your abandoned apartment, even your phone is right there, he sees it's long dead, but next to it is a note, that simply reads 'find me'.

Mobster Toji will find you, if it's the last thing he fucking does.

THIS took an ANGSTY turn my goodness- it will be a fic if you wanna get tagged drop a comment <3

perm tagss- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @naomi-main @fairygardenprincesss @estrellaexists @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff

more tags- @devastyle @chososblackprincess @missoceann @maddyhehehehhe @getoisinnocent @makingtimemine @aldebrana

[dmitriene]

cw: dubcon, kidnapping, probably stockholm syndrome, mentions of blood.

mafia könig, a man you met by a typically unfortunate coincidence, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in a dark alley, you didn't want to see a murder so clearly, with blood spilling on the asphalt under your feet, with men in suits that instill chilling fear, hands in gloves, shoes now covered in crimson spots, and icy eyes staring at you from the clogging darkness.

and he didn't want to get his hands dirty again, to persuade someone to close his mouth, and so luckily, könig didn't have to do any of that, not with the way you stood with your lips pressed together and shook, and not with the way your wide, wet eyes looked when you met his gaze, making his cock stir in his trousers so pervertedly, his hand swinging rudely to indicate the men around him to keep behind, as he doesn't want to scare off his new trophy.

könig won't let you run away, hide, and won't even pay for your silence, he easily closes the distance between you in order to pick you up in his arms, and, with a predatory squint, covering your mouth gently with his leathery glove so as not to let out your pathetic, sweet sobs, he carries you away with him, towards the tinted car parked just nearby, to introduce you to your new life as soon as possible.

the life of an obedient doll of flesh and blood, you don't know if you're so scared, or if he managed to bribe you somehow, since you don't try to escape, even when könig leaves you alone to go take care of some business, as if sure that you will stay where he left you, and so you are, stay where he placed you, greet him with a rounded gaze and a nervous shake, squeaking pathetically when he tries to get a welcome kiss out of you, rugged face nosing against yours.

könig will wait for you to warm up to him, will make an excellent ground for this, with expensive gifts, gentle treatments, promises that he will never forcibly touch you, even if you harbor only hatred for him, but you do not push away his careful kisses on the crown of your head, on the soft, warm cheeks, only whine when he moves down to the neck, clinging to his back with sharp, clawing nails.

and in the end, you let him find a respite between your supple thighs, each time he comes back after another bloodied meeting, you let könig's dirty hands taint your body, knead and bruise at your silken, delicate skin while his rough, curling tongue laps over your soppy cunt, coating his stubbled chin with strings of your endlessly oozing slick, so sweet and wet, spread out for him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Price, who runs most of the businesses in the city you live in, but everyone local knows it's all to hide his ... shadier dealings.

(part 2)

You, who only know him by his reputation and not to see, have no idea who the nice man you meet in a club one night really is.

And he's so charming at first, with just the right edge of rough that you like.

By the end of the night, you've had enough to drink that you don't question why he has a back-office in the club. You just let him lay you out on his couch and settle between your legs.

Only come to your senses when you wake up a few hours later, snuggled close to a bare chest. Slip back into your dress and grab your dress before sneaking out. And as you turn to quietly click the door shut, you see the tiny placard on the door.

J. Price.

"John," he'd rasped into your ear, buried inside you. "Call me John, darlin'. Say my fuckin' name, there's a good girl."

You vow never to see him again, are sure he won't mind - it's just a one-night-stand, after all.

Until, a few months later, when, after a job, him and his boys stop at a diner for some food and you happen to be his waitress.

You beg your colleagues to take the table for you but they all take one look at the men and pointblank refuse.

When you finally dredge up the courage to approach the table, John looks up and immediately smiles at you.

It's only when his eyes drop to the small, but prominent, bump under your shirt that his smile fades and you know you're in trouble.

[angrythingstarlight]

The way I picture mafia Bucky getting a tattoo with his girls initials on his left ring finger under his wedding band 💍 🥵

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

A/N: First mafia Monday drabble of 2024. Unbeta'd and written on my phone. Part of the bumblebee series.

"Are you sure about this? That's going to be a bitch to cover up," Steve warns, arms folded across his chest.

Bucky doesn't share the reservations his best friend has. Perhaps he should be offended but Bucky knows that Steve hasn't been in love. One day he's going to meet someone that turns him inside out the way you have. He can't wait to deliver that I told you so on a silver platter.

"I'm sure." A smirk slides across Bucky's lips and he gestures for Natasha to continue. He'd get your name tattooed across his throat in your handwriting if you'd let him. Bucky's never felt the urge to be claimed by anyone until you. He wants the world to know he belongs to you. It's an unfamiliar feeling, being in love like this. You're wrapped around his heart and made it so that it only beats for you.

As the low, steady thrum of the tattoo gun fills the studio, Bucky loosens his tie with his free hand and flicks open the first couple of buttons on his shirt. He pushes the shirt over his shoulder. "Besides this isn't the first tattoo I've gotten for my girl."

Steve's gaze narrows on the intricate cross surrounded by the open pocket watch and church dome inked into his chest. It's nearly imperceptible—parts of the ink appear fresher, darker than the rest. Then he sees it like the last piece of a puzzle being slid into place. Your name in—his head tilts contemplatively—five different languages woven within the detailed design. He has to admit it's impressive, The font is delicate and small, enough so that the average person wouldn't see it.

You have though. Up close and personal. Memorized each one as you sat on his lap, your legs around his waist, tracing each letter with your fingertips. The night he decided it was fully healed, he celebrated by taking you softly and sweetly and so slow it almost drove you insane. He made sure that night was embedded in your memory . The warm, smooth glide of his chest against your breasts. His hand around your wrists pinning your arms above your head. His soft lips never leaving yours even as your cries grew breathier and more drawn out.

"Guess you're serious about her huh." Steve remarks, snapping Bucky out of his musings. "You know what you're doing?"

Silence falls in the room after Natasha finishes the final initial. Bucky holds up his hand, admiring her handiwork as he makes an amused, nearly sardonic sound in his throat.

"Y'know sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing with this girl." His voice is quiet, and thoughtful in a way Steve has never heard before. "I do know that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her and I know for certain I'm going to put my ring on her finger."

[thef1diary]

Oops, it's getting late and I had an overactive brain. Mafia!danny in which he fucks the lawyer prosecuting him 🤭🤭🤭

Live, laugh, lobster

-🦞

— nonnie gimme more of your overactive brain plz cuz as a future lawyer…yeah this got me 😵‍💫😩 18+ content below

Daniel wasn’t the type of man to beg. He wasn’t the type of man to answer to authority, either. He was the authority. So, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let some prosecutor ruin everything he’d built. He was untouchable—or at least, he had been until you came along.

The moment he stepped into your office, he had every intention of scaring you into making you drop the charges against him. A little intimidation, a few well-placed threats, maybe even a bullet left in your desk drawer for good measure.

But then he saw you.

And fuck, that changed everything.

You weren’t some grizzled old prosecutor who’d spent years clawing their way through the legal system. No, you were young, yet carrying yourself like you belonged here. You were all sharp edges and tailored perfection, your blouse tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that hugged your curves in a way that had no business distracting him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he drawled, standing by the door, smirking. “Charging me for half a dozen crimes? You must have a death wish.”

Your head shot up from the contract you were meticulously reviewing, eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him. The weight of his presence filled the room instantly—too tall, too broad, too confident, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the damn place. Your fingers tightened around the pen in your hand, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you met his gaze with an unwavering stare, your voice cool and precise when you finally spoke.

“And you must also have a death wish, walking into a prosecutor’s office like you belong here.”

His grin widened, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock made something sharp curl in your stomach.

He stood in front of you as if he’d already won. Like he wasn’t moments away from going on trial.

You had spent weeks gathering evidence against him. Witnesses were silenced. Paper trails were scrubbed clean. But you were relentless. You had worked too hard to let a man like him slip through the cracks.

Daniel tilted his head, eyes dragging over you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t looking at you like a man about to be convicted. He was looking at you like a man assessing his next target.

“I should have known they’d send a pretty little thing like you after me,” he mused, voice thick with amusement. “Smart. Dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral. “Mr. Ricciardo, unless you’re here to turn yourself in, I suggest you leave before I call security.”

He shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice slow and thick. “We both know security ain’t comin’ in here. And if they did? You think they’d get me out before I put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours?”

You swallowed but didn’t back down. “So you are here to threaten me.”

Daniel sighed dramatically, striding closer towards you with a lazy confidence. “Was gonna. Had a whole plan, too. But then…” He let his gaze drag over you, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your blouse stretched over your chest.

Your skin prickled, heat curling low in your belly.

“Then what?” you pressed, forcing your voice to stay even.

His grin widened. “Then I saw you. And now I’m thinkin’ I’d rather fuck you than kill you.”

A sharp laugh left your lips, and Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“You think I’d ever let that happen?” you scoffed.

He chuckled. “Oh, darlin’… you’re gonna let it happen.”

You knew you should’ve been scared. You should’ve been reaching for your phone, pressing the emergency button under your desk. But instead, heat pooled between your legs, your breath quickening.

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “You really think I’d ruin my career for some lowlife criminal?”

“Lowlife? Wow, sweetheart, you wound me,” he spoke with a hand held over his heart. “But no, I’m not telling you to ruin your career.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I came here to make a deal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A deal?”

His smirk widened. “Yeah. I’m gonna fuck your pretty little pussy and you’ll drop the case.” Another step forward. “And in return…” His fingers grazed the edge of your desk. “I won't make you disappear.”

Your pulse spiked, but you held his gaze, refusing to let him see even a sliver of fear. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Daniel exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was disappointed. “See, that’s the problem with women like you. Think you’re untouchable.” His fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist, dragging you up until you were nearly chest-to-chest. “You aren’t.”

You gasped, but before you could wrench free, his other hand slid up your throat—not squeezing, just holding—forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart.” His lips curled. “Maybe you are scared.”

You swallowed, refusing to give in. “And maybe you want me to be.”

Daniel’s grin darkened, his grip tightening just enough to make you swallow hard. His thumb brushed along your jaw, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You got a real mouth on you,” he mused, tilting his head. “I like that.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. He smelled like expensive cologne and smoke, like sin itself, and every nerve in your body was telling you to push him away—to fight back, to remind him that you were in control here. But control felt like a slippery thing when he was this close, when his heat sank into your skin and his gaze made you feel like prey.

You forced yourself to smirk. “And you’ve got a real problem with authority,” you countered, voice steady. “I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

“You want this,” he murmured. “I can see how tense you are. All that fight, all that righteous bullshit you spew in court—deep down, you want a man like me to ruin you.”

Your cheeks burned, but you gritted your teeth. “Go to hell.”

Daniel just laughed. “Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well make myself comfortable.”

You should have pushed him away. You should have fought.

Instead, you clenched your thighs together.

Daniel smirked. “I definitely like knowing you’re wet right now.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“I should throw you in a cell for this,” you hissed.

“Only if you’re there. Naked.”

Then he spun you around and bent you over your desk. Papers scattered to the floor, forgotten.

With one swift motion, he flipped your skirt up over your hips, exposing the soft lace of your panties. He groaned low in his throat, his fingers teasing the thin fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured. “Never thought I’d say this about a prosecutor, but I think I just found somethin’ worth keeping.”

You tensed as his fingers pushed aside your panties, running through your folds with lazy confidence.

“You’re wet,” he taunted. “Bet you’re ashamed of that, huh? Gettin’ off on being bent over your own desk by the man you’re tryin’ to lock up?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting against his touch.

Daniel chuckled darkly, unbuckling his belt with one hand, the clink of metal making your stomach flip. He didn’t waste time—he yanked his cock free, lining himself up and pressing the thick head against your pussy.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “This is gonna be fun.”

“D-Daniel—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, sliding his cock through your folds. “I don’t have time for your little power trip, baby. I have court soon, remember?”

You tried to push up, but his hand held your throat from behind, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Go on,” he murmured, teasing your pussy. “Tell me to stop.”

Your pride screamed at you to fight. To tell him to get the fuck off you.

But instead—

“Don’t stop.”

Daniel groaned, “that’s my girl.”

With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you open around his thick cock. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your nails clawing at the wooden surface of your desk.

“God, you feel fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, setting a ruthless pace. “Takin’ me so well for someone who hates my guts.”

Your walls clenched around him, and he grinned. “Oh, you like that,” he mused. “Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this before. Not one of those uptight lawyers you work with.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Daniel wasn’t having that. He tangled a hand in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips were right against your ear.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Tell me no one’s ever fucked you like this.”

A shudder wracked through you. “No one’s—” You cut yourself off with a whimper when he thrust particularly deep, brushing against that spot that made your vision blur.

“That’s what I thought,” he purred.

His free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit and circling it roughly. Your body tightened, the pleasure too much, too fast.

“I should be pissed at you,” he stated, bringing his palm back before slapping your ass, jolting you harshly towards his fingers on your clit. “You’ve been making my life real difficult, baby.”

Tears welled up in your eyes due to the sudden pleasure, and you moaned loudly, forgetting about where you were.

Daniel continued his relentless torment on your cunt while smacking your ass every now and then. “But I’m a reasonable man. I’m willing to forgive.”

“Please—” a moan tore from your lips, cutting your sentence.

“Gonna come for me, prosecutor?” he taunted. “Come all over the cock of the man you’re tryin’ to put in prison?”

Your body betrayed you. The orgasm hit you like a violent wave, stealing the air from your lungs as you clenched around him. Daniel cursed, his pace stuttering as he slammed into you a few more times before spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the ragged pull of your breaths, your bodies still tangled together in the aftermath.

Finally, Daniel pulled out, adjusting his pants while you remained bent over the desk, your legs weak.

He leaned down, pressing a lazy, mocking kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk into that courtroom in ten minutes,” he murmured, fingers sliding between your legs to collect the cum dripping from your pussy before pushing it back in. “And you’re gonna act like you don’t have my cum dripping from your pretty cunt.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “And you’re gonna sit there in cuffs, knowing the only reason you’re not going to rot in a prison cell is because I’ll let you walk free.”

Daniel’s smirk widened, something dark flashing in his eyes. He slid your panties back in place, trapping his cum inside.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, finding your clit through the fabric and pinching it sharply as a warning. “I love a woman who plays dirty.”

want more mafia!daniel? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Gangsters Wife

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: mafiaboss!carlos sainz x fem!wife!reader

♥ synopsis: things start to change for you and your marriage-of-convenience husband after you stitch up his wounds

♥ one-shot - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing and vague descriptions of smut - p in v (wrap it before you tap it) !!!

♥ a/n: i wrote on my vacation lol. i’m a little nervous to post this since it’s uncharted writing territory for me but i hope you enjoy reading it <3

You sat on the black satin sheets of your bed, waiting for your husband to come back from business. You knew you should probably be asleep; that he wouldn’t want you up worrying for him, but here you were wide awake. 

It wasn’t like the two of you married for love, anyway. It was much more out of convenience. His job was… interesting, but you weren’t complaining about the luxury that you now lived in due to the arrangement. 

Your breath hitched as you heard the door unlock, assuming it was Carlos. He made his way towards the bedroom and immediately locked eyes with you. His hair was slicked to the side and he had a couple of cuts on his face. He was wearing a red shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black dress pants, some black shoes, and an expensive watch. 

“Go to bed,” he demanded, removing the ticking object from his wrist and laying it down in a drawer with the rest of his collection. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, rustling in the bed sheets. 

“I’m alright if that’s what you’re wondering,” he swiped his thumb over the blood on his bottom lip. “Get some rest.” 

You slowly stood up and strolled over to him.  Your gaze dropped down to the ripped fabric on his side, presumably from a fight. 

“Were you stabbed?” you asked in a whisper. 

“Lightly.”

“Lightly? What does lightly mean?”

He began unbuttoning his shirt, though it didn’t take long before it was off of him. The moonlight from a small open window illuminated his body, his muscles were strained, covered in sweat, and there was a wound flooded with blood on his abdomen. 

“It’s not that deep,” he murmured.

“Literally or figuratively? Because it looks like the knife went in pretty far.” You softly grazed his skin with the light touch of your fingertips. 

You walked over to your nightstand and pulled out a small stitch kit. 

“Sit down,” you commanded him, nodding towards the edge of the bed. 

“I’m fine. I can do this on my own.” 

“I said sit. down.” 

He took a deep, agitated sigh and did as you told him. You dampened a rag in the bathroom and returned to clean the blood off his wound.

You threaded the needle and pierced it through his skin, beginning the first stitch. 

“Are you sure you’re qualified for this?” he asked. 

You nodded, “I wouldn’t have married you without knowing how to do this.” 

He hummed and your left hand went to his waist to hold him still. He could feel the coldness of the silver wedding ring he gave you only a few months ago. 

You finished pulling the last part of the thread and cut the excess off. 

“There,” you said, pressing your palm gently against his abs.

He pulled you onto his lap and his hands firmly gripped your thighs. You made a soft sound and ground down onto his belt. 

“Tomorrow, amor.” he stopped you and whispered. “Let’s go to bed.” 

-

You woke up first at 7. You had rolled over to find your husband awake, messaging someone on his phone.

“Go back to sleep cariño,” he mumbled, running one of his hands over your hair.

You grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, slowly making your way up his arm.

“Amor,” he warned.

“What? You said tomorrow… it’s tomorrow.”

The next thing you knew he had you pinned down by your neck. His phone rang on the nightstand and he used his free hand to pick it up, still thrusting into you as he did so.

“Leave us alone,” he said and hung up instantly.

Leave. Us. Alone.

You woke up again at 9, this time alone in your bed. You wandered into the kitchen to see your husband making breakfast.

“Carlitos?” you ask, a faint smile teasing your lips. “Where’s the chef?” 

“I sent him home.”

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” you took a seat on the barstool at the counter. 

“I’ve never cooked for anyone before,” he admitted.

He set some pancakes on a plate and handed it to you.

You hummed, “No syrup?”

He shrugged “I don’t think we have any. I usually eat mine just the dough.”

It was odd having a conversation like this with Carlos. The two of you weren’t used to making small talk.

“Uhm, how do you feel? Are any of your cuts infected?” you asked.

“No, I feel fine,” he said putting cooking supplies away as you ate. “The stitching you did is good but i’ll probably still get my doctor to look at it.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” you replied, picking at your food as his phone rang.

He flipped it open to answer a call from an unknown number. From the muffled spanish voice on the other end you assumed it was from Fernando. 

“Sí, I’ll be there soon.” Carlos said and hung up the phone. 

“I’ll be back,” he told you, walking out the front door without a goodbye.

Your eyes caught the abundance of bodyguards that entered the room to block the exits and entrances. You sighed and slouched, tapping your nails on the marble counter. Great. Just when things were starting to get good. 

[myfictionaldreams]

I know it's already november but i've been so behind and off tumblr BUTTT what do you think our little mafia!stucky trio went as for halloween 🤭🤭🤭 i think there was def some public costumes and some just to wear at home

Sorry, it's taken me a few days to answer this! I absolutely loved trying to think of answers for this, as there were so many options I could have gone with! Thank you for sending this ♥

“Please come out of the toilet; I promise the others won’t laugh. You’ll look great!” you shout through the thick bathroom door, cheeks aching from the amount you’re smiling.

A snicker echoes across the room, and you glare pointedly at the man adjusting his green shirt, hardy attempting to hold back his laugh. You were trying, which was difficult, considering you hadn’t even seen  Bucky’s costume yet. Still, even the imagination of it was enough to have you wanting to collapse to the floor and laugh until your belly hurt.

“I don’t believe you, Doll. If I come out and hear one laugh, I’m not going to this stupid Halloween party”. You try not to roll your eyes at Bucky’s dramatics, but if you were in his situation, you’d refuse to leave the house. In fact, you were shocked he had even said yes to the outfit in the first place.

Turning towards the others in the room, you pointed your finger and demanded, “No laughing at Bucky. I really want to go tonight and win this prize for best dressed, and we can’t go without Bucky, so keep yourselves contained!”

“I can hear you smiling, Mama. You’re just as bad as them”, Bucky muttered, leaning onto the other side of the door. You smack your hand over your mouth, hiding the grin and try to compose yourself.

“Please just come out; we’re going to be late!” you say, stepping away from the door and picking up your tiny orange purse that matched the shade of your wig. Approaching Steve, who had remained by the door, you straightened his scarf, which also matched the shade of your wig, as he casually leaned against the door frame, admiring your outfit.

“Right, I’m coming out there. I don’t want to hear a single noise out of anyone; otherwise, you’re fired”, Bucky jokingly threatened as he opened the bathroom door and stepped out to a flood of laughter. In your fairness, you did try to hide the laughs, but looking at the little dog collar around his neck, you were beside yourself with laughter, doubling over and holding onto Steve so you didn’t collapse to the floor. “I hate you all”, he drawled, crossing his arms so the fluffy material of his Scooby-Doo outside stretched to its limits.

“I don’t know, boss, I think you make an excellent dog, especially the tail brings out the blue of your eyes., Natasha sarcastically reasoned with him as she grabbed his tail, but Bucky was swifter to grip her wrist and pushed her away.

“You’re the first to be fired, Romanoff”, he grumbled, adjusting the hood of the onesie with Scooby-Doo’s face on.

You move away from Steve, your heels clicking along the floor as you move, which captures the attention of the grumpy man before you as he admires your Daphne costume. “I’m sorry for laughing! You just look so cute and adorable! We’re definitely going to win the competition!”

You were surprised he had even agreed to it anyway, but you’d promised a separate costume awaiting his and Steve’s return from the party, which you knew would compensate for his embarrassment. Looking around the room, everyone was dressed to perfection. Steve as Fred was the obvious choice, and you loved nothing more than seeing Steve in a tight-fitting jumper, and his little scarf was adorable.

Natasha had initially argued with you, stating she wanted to be Daphne, but you quickly reminded her that in most versions of Scooby-Doo, Fred and Daphne were a couple, so it was only fair that you got to be Daphne. Anyway, Natasha didn’t even have to wear a wig to be Velma, so this choice was easiest. Then came the argument over who was going to be Shaggy and Scooby-Doo.

Bucky initially tried to pull rank over Sam, insisting that there would be many other gangs, dangerous people and high-powered individuals at the party so they couldn’t see him in such an embarrassing costume. You reasoned with him that Sam was the obvious pick for Shaggy, with his wit and sarcasm and that Bucky was still a menacing Second leader for the Rogers mafia, no matter what he wore. Additionally, the promise of a special costume in return had Bucky reluctantly agreeing to be Scooby and Sam, therefore, could be Shaggy.

“I promise this will all be worth it”, you whisper to Bucky, flicking the gold jewel on his dog collar and necklace.

“It better be, Doll”, he smiled finally, staring at your lips before clapping his hands, “Right, everyone gets into the Mystery Machine”.

“You know Buck, you look kinda adorable with a dog collar around your neck”, Steve jokes, attempting to reach for the necklace like you had, but Bucky ducked out of the outstretched hand and then shoved lightly into Steve’s chest.

“You can’t say much - Cute scarf, by the way”. Even though Bucky had been attempting to tease Steve, this only had both men smiling, wrapping arms around each other, and walking towards the exit.

Later that night, you were stuck between multiple costumes for them, having seen at least six different options in the shop that you knew would drive Steve and Bucky mad, so in the end, you wrote all the possibilities down and let them randomly pick which one they’d prefer. The choices ranged from cheerleader, sexy nurse and fairy. They were all stereotypical sexy costumes, but they were all ideas you knew would drive the two men crazy.

Steve reached into the pot first and then Bucky, reading their own pieces of paper and grinning devilishly.

“So? Which would you both prefer?”, you asked, standing before them, having removed the Dampne heels and hair.

Steve shifted his position from where he sat at the end of the bed with Bucky, already feeling his desire swelling between his legs. “Mine says Red Riding Hood. Oh baby girl, you know I would love to be your big bad wolf and chase you through the woods”.

You tried to ignore the pulse that bloomed in your core as you looked to Bucky with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to talk. “Mine is Professor and Student”.

Stepping closer to Bucky, you plucked the piece of paper from his hand and then the same with Steves. “We can do one tonight and another tomorrow. Here’s the thing with the one you picked, Bucky. I’d like it if I were your professor and you were both my naughty students; how does that sound?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open like he would say something, but no words came out, so he silently nodded. “Good! I’ll go and get changed, and both of you just wait here”.

[yanderedrabbles]

What would yandere mafia do if he seen yn with another guy?

Yandere Gangster - Jealousy

He's your driver for the day and his eyes keep slipping to the rear view mirror to watch you.

You've got your arms stretched out along the backrest, a slim cigar drooping from your fingers and your head tilted back. Everything about you exudes a quiet, deadly confidence that still frightens him, even after all this time.

"Take the I76 and turn off at the airport."

"Yes ma'am."

He expects to maybe exchange some cargo or hand something off to a mule. He doesn't expect you to be picking up a man.

And he sure as hell doesn't expect you to hug the guy.

You - the cold hearted, merciless mafia boss - have your arms draped around a man's neck. And worse even than that, you give him a kiss on the cheek.

He's too shocked to move and when you tell him to grab the man's luggage, he takes a second before he manages to follow you.

In the car, you offer the man a pull of your cigar. He can see the slight stain of your lipstick on the filter before the man leans forward and covers it with his own lips.

It feels as intimate as a kiss.

And it makes him want to bite the man's face off and tear his throat to ribbons with his teeth and feel blood run like water down his throat. Instead, he just clutches at the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and numb.

No matter how much he hates seeing you with anyone else, you're still his boss.

Whoever this man is, you wouldn't take kindly to him being hurt without your explicit orders. Because the one thing he hates more than this smug bastard is the thought of you being angry with him.

And so he drives you back home and has to hang onto the door like a lifeline when the man rests his hand on your waist.

You tell him to come back tomorrow morning and he spends the rest of the afternoon drinking, trying not to think about you and the stranger all alone together.

He gets into a bar fight and it's almost a relief to be throwing punches. When he washes the blood off his knuckles, he pictures the stranger's face breaking under his fists.

In the morning, you see the bruises on his face and suck your teeth in annoyance.

"Why'd you let them ruin your pretty face?"

"It was a lucky shot ma'am."

You push the hair out his eyes for a better look and shake your head.

"Be more careful next time."

His throat goes dry at your touch.

"Yes ma'am."

Your hand slips from his head down to the nape of his neck. Your hands are so warm, so soft, that he almost melts. And the way you hold him is borderline possessive, the way a dog holds a puppy by the scruff of its neck.

"I'm proud of you. You behaved very well around my brother yesterday."

"Your brother?"

He feels a rush of relief and under it, a slight sense of trepidation. Were you baiting him? You didn't mention anything about the stranger being your brother.

You smile that cold, calculating smile of yours.

"You didn't think he was my husband, did you?"

He feels blood rush to his face.

"N-no ma'am."

"Good." You squeeze his neck a little before pulling away.

"I'd hate for you to think I had a lover."

[cocobeanncteez]

ATEEZ Reactions Masterlist

Unless specified, I write a mix of idol!ateez and non-idol!ateez for reactions.

You breaking up with him as a prank.

You run away. (Mafia!Ateez)

You dancing with another male idol in front of him on a show.

You want to take a break after an argument. 

You faint.(idol!reader)

Saying something hurtful to you during an argument.(Mafia!Ateez)

You catch him cheating on you.

Your friend tries to flirt with him.

Overhearing and misunderstanding something you said.

Rumors of you dating another idol. (idol!reader)

Disapproving of you smoking. 

You make out with your co-star for a movie/drama.

Your ex wants you back. 

You ask him to buy pads. (Text version)

You get injured.(celeb!reader)

You ignore him as a prank.

Watching an erotic movie with you.

Finding a positive pregnancy test (but it isn’t yours).

You come home late after an argument. (Mafia!Ateez)

You’re his bestfriend and you kiss him/he kisses you. 

“I had a dream about you . . . you were my sleep paralysis demon.” (Text Version)

You call him a “friend.”

You tell him to sleep on the couch after an argument.

He accuses you of cheating on him. (Mafia!Ateez)

Sitting on their lap during a bumpy car ride.

He finds out you’re a spy from his rival gang. (Mafia!Ateez)

You prank him with lyrics. (Text version)

Someone hitting on you. (Mafia!Ateez)

He finds out that he has a child. (Mafia!Ateez, Dad!Ateez)

He gives you an inkigayo sandwich. (Idol!Reader)

You wearing their clothes.

Being on the same show as you. (idol!reader)

You being affectionate/horny when drunk.

You’re his / he’s your wallpaper.

You kiss him out of the blue.

Confessing your / his feelings after an arranged marriage. (Mafia!Ateez, arranged marriage au)

His child interrupts him during a meeting / work. (Mafia!Ateez, Dad!Ateez)

You’re his love interest for a movie/drama.

Leading him/you on as a prank.

[darkbluekies]

What do you want from me?

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: the cops take you away from Silas

Warnings: mafia, kidnapping, killing, blood, Stockholm syndrome

Word count: 5k

The candles are lit. You and Silas are having dinner in the dining room, finally. He’s been wanting this for weeks, just you and him together, no one interfering. Not a minute has gone by where he hasn’t thought of you, fantasized about you, but now he finally has you. Every time he’s been trying to get close to you, someone has butted in and demanded him to do something else. There’s always something, someone, that needs something. SIC has tried to take care of a few things, but the final say always belongs to Silas. 

“I wish we could do this more often”, he says and takes a sip of his red wine, scoffing. “Without people pulling me away from you. One more person disturbing me and you’ll have to sedate me—I’m not joking.”

Your lips tug on a smile as you poke the food with your fork, trying to make it look like you’ve eaten more than you have. Silas picks up on it immediately. 

“Are you not hungry?” he asks. 

“I am, just …”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“I did, I’m just not feeling like eating right now … but I don’t want to ruin your dinner … you’ve been thinking about it for so long. I feel bad.”

“Baby, sulking won’t make me any happier. Tell me what’s wrong instead. The quicker I can make you happy, the quicker our date can be good.”

“There’s no particular reason … that’s why I’m feeling bad.”

“Come here.”

You stand up and make your way over to him. He pulls you down in his lap, hands holding you firmly. His hands always finding the most sensitive parts of your body, as if to mess with you. 

“Does my pretty baby want to eat something else instead?” he smirked. 

“Don’t get any stupid thoughts”, you scoff quietly, but couldn’t help but smile slightly. 

“Stupid thoughts? We are married—fucking thankfully—and you think I don’t fantasize about my heavenly spouse going down on me at every waking hour?”

“You’re not a poet, that’s for damn sure.”

Silas chuckles and looks up at you. “Oh, really? Have you heard me recite poetry?”

“No, and I don’t want to either.”

His grin widens at your smile. He pulls you down by the back of your neck and captures your lips in a kiss. His hands wander, wrapping you closer, digging into you. He needs this. Needs this more than you could ever understand. His hands press you close to him. You can feel his heart through his clothes. 

Hurried footsteps run into the room. 

“Sorry to interrupt, boss-”

“Oh, come on”, Silas breathes out in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He glares towards the door. SIC stands by the table, looking stressed. 

“I’m busy”, Silas says, giving him a gaze full of annoyance and tightening the grip on you. “Do you mind?”

“There’s cops outside.”

You feel how Silas’s arms around you stiffen. His black eyes seem to shift twice as dark. 

“Who lead them here?” he asks, not sounding as sweet as he had been towards you just a minute earlier.

“No idea, boss”, SIC replies. 

“We need to leave.” Silas grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

He walks too quick for you to keep up and you almost stumble behind him. Silas drags you with him out of the dining room. SIC walks close behind you, as if to protect you in case something jumps out from behind. 

“They want to take what’s in the attic, Silas”, SIC says. “And if they get a hold of you too, I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic. You need to be taken away from here.”

Silas knows that there are three people the police want—him, SIC and you. The three in the most inner circle. The goldmine. 

SIC leads you to the back door. The front door bursts open and Silas’s other men try to stall the intruders. Silas pulls you with him as SIC stays behind to deal with the cops. He’s a master talker. 

Silas realises that he doesn’t have any weapons. He’ll have to use his fist, like he used to do when he was a teenager, if anyone decides to attack him. 

“Silas, what’s in the attic?” you ask as you walk out into the backyard.

“Nothing”, he says and looks around. “Come, we have to get to the car.”

He moves you in front of him. Someone in an uniform jumps out behind and Silas is quick to act. He attacks him. The cop falls over but is quick to start fighting back. They roll around on the ground and you watch on in horror, unable to do anything. You can’t join in, it wouldn’t be wise and Silas would be angry. 

The car … I need to get to the car. 

You decide to sneak towards the front side of the house, keeping close to the housewall to not blend into the darkness. Your heart hammers in your chest, but you make your way along the wall. Silas will be fine, he always gets out of these things with only a few scratches.

Someone grabs your arm. You gasp out a scream and meet a police’s eyes. 

“Let me go!” you shout and try to rip your arm back. 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you”, the cop says and tries to pull you with him. “I’m here to help you.”

You throw a glance behind your back. You can’t see Silas. 

“No, let me go”, you breathe out. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

The cop doesn’t listen. You feel your chest move heavily, head spin. A few months ago you’d done anything to be rescued by the police, but now? Now you want noting more than to be left alone. You can’t help but mourn the person who wanted out, who still believed in a hope of returning to a normal life. That person is gone. Forced away by Silas’s harsh punishment methods. You have no idea who this new person who emerged after your brain snapped, but you know that they’re connected to Silas … so if Silas isn’t here … who are you then? The person you were before Silas is gone and this new one is nothing without him. 

The cop pulls you towards a cop car. 

“No!” you scream. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you! Silas!”

Another cop comes running to grab your other arm.

“We’re here to help you”, they both insist. 

But you just shake your head.

The one you should have helped is already gone.

“Silas, help me!” you scream once more.

You’re pushed into the backseat of a police car. You scream again and finally, you see him. He comes running from the backyard, blood on his face, but it’s too late. The car door is already shut. You rip at the handle, press at the window, but the child lock is forcing it closed. Silas eyes widen, but before he can do anything, the car has driven off.

You scream and claw at the window as the car drives away, eyes glued onto Silas until he disappears. Your panic directs towards the cops in the front seat. You scream, kick hit and plead, but the bars separating the front and back seat leaves them unharmed. 

“We just want to help you”, the driver says. 

“No!” you scream. “I want to go back! Let me go back! You don’t understand!”

“Whatever you’re scared of, you don’t have to worry. We will protect you.”

You give up trying to talk to them. It’s no use. They won’t understand. 

When the car stops, you refuse to get out. You’ve curled up in the corner of the backseat, hugging yourself tightly. The two cops have to pull you out. You fight them, but whatever you do, they’re stronger. 

“Let me go!” you scream. 

They must have an ability to turn off their ears, because your cries fall on deafened ears, as they pull you into the police station. 

“Sir”, one of them said. “We got them!”

An older man looks up from a couple of papers. His eyes glow as they fall on you. You glare at him. 

“Great job”, he said. “Put them in the interrogation room and I will be there soon.”

The two cops drag you through the police station. They’re not rough, but they’re not gentle either. It’s a silent promise, you will come with them. The interrogation room is small and sterile, grey and dead. You get to sit down by a table and then, you’re left alone. With nothing more than a constant ticking from the clock on the wall.

What do I do? Oh, no, what do I do? 

You rest your heavy head in your hands. You want to claw out your eyes, rip your hair. This can’t be happening. He’s going to put you into the basement for months for this. You have done everything to not end up there again. You’ve acted so well to avoid ending up in there … and now all of that was for nothing. And it hadn’t even been your fault. 

The door creaks open and you look up to see the man come in. He closes the door behind him and sit down. In his hands, he holds a yellow file. 

“I’m sorry to have to keep you up so late at night”, he apologizes. “But we have to talk to you.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice weak. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N, I just—”

“How do you know my name?”

The older man opened the file and gave you a paper. 

“Your family filed you missing a few years ago”, the man says. This is you, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. It was you on the photo, but you don’t recognise yourself. It was you, but it isn't you.

My family … I haven’t seen them in years. Not since Silas …

“We’ve been searching for you”, he continues. “And after the rumour that you were kidnapped by Silas Achilleos, we doubled the search for you. He has been very good at keeping your whereabouts hidden. If we weren’t looking for you day and night we wouldn’t even know if you were in his care. It took us years only to confirm that you were, indeed, in his hold.”

“How are they?” you find yourself whisper.

“Your family misses you.”

Your heart breaks. You’d give the world to hold them in your arms again. 

“Don’t let them come here”, you mumble. “I don’t want to see them.”

The man seems surprised. 

“I thought, after so many years in captivity, you’d want to reunite”, he says. 

Yes, yes, I do, so badly. 

“I don’t.”

The man doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t you tell me what Silas did to you?” he asks instead. “We just want to help you and make sure he can get what he deserves—”

“Why?” you whisper. “You won’t be able to catch him anyway.”

“You seem to know how hard he is to get … which brings me onto my next point. The ring on your finger, you’re married. To him, am I right?”

You look down at the golden ring on your finger, stomach dropping. 

“I think you know why we need to talk to you”, the man says. “You are the closest we can get to Silas, except for Silas himself.”

SIC, then? Don’t they know about SIC?

“I don’t know anything”, you say shortly.

“You don’t have to be worried”, the cop says. “You can speak freely with me.”

You give him a look. 

“Listen, Y/N”, he says. “We know that you’ve been through some horrible things, and we want to help you, but to do that you need to work with us. You need to tell me what happened, what he did to you.”

You don’t want to think about it. The man waits for you to say something, but sighs. 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about that yet”, he says. “Can’t you tell me something else?”

“What?” 

“Has Silas ever told you something about his enemies or shown you where he hides his things?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

You sight back a heavy sigh. “No.”

“Nothing at all? Are you sure?’

“Yes, I'm fucking sure.”

“No need to become defensive, I just want to help you.”

Help. Help. Help. Help. When did that word lose meaning?

“I know nothing”, you sigh. “Absolutely nothing and the further you press me on information I don't have, the dumber you look.”

“You must know something, with the amount of time you spend with him.”

You hide your face in your hands. “I know that he's Silas, but you do too, so that won't bring you anywhere.”

The cop doesn't seem too pleased with you. He had hoped to pull something out of you. 

“Well, I suppose we're all tired”, he says. “How about you sleep on it and we'll meet again tomorrow?”

You don't answer. Instead, you're led to a small cell and left there with nothing more than a bed. If you are innocent, why are you kept like a criminal?

You sink down on the bed. Why did Silas have to take you? Why did he have to ruin your life? All for selfish reasons? 

No one bothers you for the rest of the night, but you’re not sure if the silence is better. 

“Boss—”

His head is missed by centimeters. SIC looks tot he side, seeing the whiskey drop down the wall, the glass shards on the floor. 

“Not a single word from you”, Silas mutters from the desk he hasn’t left all night, voice enough to kill. 

SIC stands quiet, embarrassed. He watches Silas hover over a newspaper, drunker than a sailor. 

“Look how quick they are”, he mutters. “Already writing about what’s mine as if they were some kind of charity event. Look.” He sends the newspaper over the table. “Look at what bullshit they’re writing about them!”

SIC glances down. In bold, black letters, he sees the headline “Infamous mob boss’s spouse in police custody”.

“Writing about them like they’re some kind of criminal”, Silas spits. “Disgusting creatures, I should kill all of them.”

“For the moment, I don’t think you should be doing anything at all”, SIC says. “Not until you’ve sobered up—”

Another glass is launched at him, and if he didn’t duck it’d hit. 

“Do not fucking tell me what I should and should not do!” he shouts. “You can boss me around when your spouse is on the national news for everyone to see! Everyone can see this! Everyone will be interested! My enemies will go to kidnap them right away!”

“Then we do it before them.”

Silas groans and lifts his head. “That might be the best thing you’ve said all morning.”

“Do you think they’ve said anything?” SIC asks. 

“About what? They don’t know anything.”

“Of what happens … down there, I mean.”

Silas seems to sober up.

“They wouldn’t dare.”

"Let's try this again", the cop says.

You want to smash your head into the table under you until you bleed out. Four days have gone by. You hate the little room they’ve spent hours interrogating you in, but you hate the cell even more. The almost unnoticeable flickering light makes your head pound in pain. You've cried more than you've done in a long time, and funnily enough because of the same man—only opposite reasons. You haven’t been away from Silas this long before, and you know that the longer you’re away from him, the worse it’ll be when you return. You have accepted the person you’ve become in Silas’s hold, and now that you're not wit him, you don’t know who you are … or who you will be once Silas finds you again. Because he will, you know that. He will find you again.

You look at the cops again and groan. They’ve been asking you the same questions—what does Silas do? Who is in his most inner circle? Why did he take you? What do you have that could be beneficial to the police?—and still refuse to listen when you say that you don’t know, still refuse to listen to you. Because who wouldn’t think that you were lying? Someone married to someone like Silas should know information, shouldn’t they? You find yourself thinking if this was the plan all along, to deprive you of information to make sure that you wouldn’t be able to tattletail if you got caught?

"Let me go back to him", you beg, for what feels like the hundredth time, with your head in your hands. "This is a waste of time!”

"You don't have to be afraid anymore, you're safe", the other cop says—the idiot still without a clue. "We will keep you safe. You can tell us what happened now."

They really don’t understand, do they?

"I want Silas. I don't want to talk to you!"

To your surprise, being away from him for the first time has given you the time to miss him. When you were with him, he was always there, always around, always messing with your head to the point that you didn’t know what you thought about him. But now that you’re away from him, and actually think of him from an outside perspective, you miss him unbelievably much. You’ve been spending too long with him now not to miss him. You frown. That can’t be good, but what is good anymore? Who is good? Who is not? Who are you?

They tell you to trust them, that they’re here to save you, and yet treat you like a criminal. How can they ever believe that you’ll trust them? If you had the information, why would you ever tell it to someone that treats you like an accomplice? What if you wanted to escape from Silas? What if you had wanted the help? Would you have felt safe here?

You suppose that they hope that the gray room will be enough to break you enough to tell them. But you’ve already broken and they still don’t let you be, because you don’t have the information. 

You're placed into the "bedroom" for a break where you succumb to your tears. You want nothing more than for Silas to come get you and get you away from these people. If these people are supposed to be “good”, you wanted to go back to the bad side. 

The door was unlocked. You flinched back as an officer came into the room, the same as from the first night.

“What do you want?” you asked quickly. 

“Let’s talk a little, just you and me”, he says and crouches down in front of you. 

You watch him cautiously. The door is closed behind him. 

“I know that you are scared”, he says, but doesn’t say it in a comforting or reassuring manner, almost like he wants you to drop the act and stop being difficult. “It’s perfectly understandable. You’ve probably been through more than anyone here can ever imagine.”

“What do you want from me?” you mumble. “Why don’t you let me go?”

“You are a golden opportunity. You might not understand it, but you are the closest we can come to Silas Achilleos without taking him. You are, from what we’ve been told, the most valuable thing in his life, and also the most important to him. He does everything in his power to erase any traces of you, to make sure that no one knows where—or who—you are. And that’s why you’re a golden opportunity. Someone in a position like you should know things that no one else does. You know Silas better than anyone.”

“You’re wrong”, you say. 

He raises his eyebrows. “How come?”

“He has another”, you say. “Someone that has known him longer than I have.”

“Oh, yes, that one. I have heard about him. There’s next to none information about him. Some don’t even believe that he exists, but we saw him at Silas house.”

“I don’t know anything”, you try, yet again. 

“You’ve said that—”

“Why don’t you believe me?!”

“Don’t yell. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“You’re trying to pressure me for information I don’t have! I’m useless to you, you took the wrong fucking person! If you wanted to know things, you should have taken SIC!”

“SIC?”

Fuck!

You sigh out and lean your head back against the wall. Maybe this is why Silas didn’t want to tell you anything—you can’t even keep the little information you know. 

“Is SIC the ‘mystery man’?” the officer asks. 

You don’t answer. 

“Y/N, who is SIC?” he pressures you. 

“Guess”, you hiss. “You’ve already talked about him, why do you need me to confirm anything?”

“What does SIC know?”

You groan and hit your hands against your head. 

“Where can I find this ‘SIC’? Where does he usually roam?”

“Why the fuck are you asking me?!” you shout. “I don’t know anything!”

Finally, he stops asking. 

“Everyone here just wants to help you”, he says. “If only you decide to accept the help and work with us, we’ll make sure that you’re safe from Silas. You don’t have to be afraid of saying anything, he won’t be able to reach you for it.”

You scoff. 

“You don’t know him”, you mutter and feel your voice die out. “He has—and always will—find me whenever I’m gone. I’ve tried before. Multiple times. I’ve run away, I’ve hid, I’ve prayed and begged. I tried to go under another name and move away. He always finds me. I’ve given up, don’t you understand that? I know that the more I fight against him, the worse it’ll be for me in the end, because word will get back to him—and so will I. I don’t have the energy to it anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

The officer listens closely. 

“Don’t you get that you could have your life back?” he asks. “With our help?”

“You’re so stupid—all of you. You don’t understand. I can’t get rid of him. I never will.”

You hug your knees close to your chest and refuse to answer anymore questions. The officer leaves a few minutes later, understanding that you’re not going to talk to him anymore.

You think of Silas, thinking of everything he’s done to you, and everything he’s done for you. It’s a storm of messy memories that sends waves of unexplainable emotions over you. You find yourself missing your bed. 

You must have zoned out, because you're suddenly brought back to life by gunshots. Your heart skips a beat. You know only one man that gives an entrance like that. You run over to the door and bang on it with your fists, shouting for him, hoping that he's going to hear you.

“Silas!” you shout at the top of your lunges and slam your fists against the hard surface. “I’m in here!”

Your hands will bruise from the force, but you can’t be left here, can’t stand to be in this room a second longer. You hear a gunshot closer to you, and see the door swing open, its lock smoking. SIC stands out in the corridor with a gun in his hand. He gives you a quick look, as if to check that it is you before turning his head. 

“Silas!” he shouts. “Here!”

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before he comes running down the corridor. He threw himself into the room and embraced you in his arms. 

“Oh, my god, my Y/N”, he breathes out and hugs you tightly, feeling his hands over your body, as if to reassure himself that you are real. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You try to open your mouth and form an answer, but you're unable to. Your voice isn’t there, and only a choking sound comes out of you. He cups your cheeks. 

“You can just nod or shake your head”, he reminds you. 

You nod. You have no physical wounds, but you're undoubtedly hurt. Silas sighs and kisses your forehead.

“I didn't kill them for nothing then”, he mutters and studies your face. “Little thing, oh fuck, what have they done to you?”

“I didn't say anything”, you reassure him with a strained voice. “Nothing, I-I promise.”

“That’s my good baby, I know you haven't”, he reassured quickly, caressing your face. “What could you possibly have said? I made sure you wouldn't know anything I did.”

“Not about that, either …”

He clenches his jaw and nods shortly. “I see. We'll talk more about it later, we have to get away before other police patrols arrive I can't bear to see you in jail.”

I can't bear to be in jail. What the fuck did I do?

He removes his coat and hangs it around your shoulders, wrapping it shut to make sure that you're warm enough. He gives SIC a look, nodding at him to move out of the way. You're not sure what you're going to see once you exit the room, but knowing Silas, it won't be pretty. He walks beside you, keeping an arm wrapped around your neck, the same hand held over your eyes. The smell of blood is still there, grotesque and strong.

“Fucking idiots”, you hear SIC mutter behind you. “They’ve written my name on the white board!”

Silas chuckles breathlessly, but there’s too much stress in his voice to be fully genuine. 

“They’ve spelled it wrong”, SIC says and you hear him popping open a marker. “S-I-C. Not a fucking ‘K’. I’m not sick.”

“Was it you who told them about SIC, little thing?” you hear Silas ask closely to your ear, his hot breath fanning your ear. 

“I-I’m sorry, I accidentally mentioned him”, you mumble embarrassedly, visions of the basement flashing before you. “I didn’t say anything about him.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, I promise, Silas. I promise, please—”

“Okay, I believe you. Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of looking at these disgusting creatures. I want to go home and be with my baby who I haven’t seen for four days,”

“I hate them”, you whisper. “I hate them all.”

“They hurt you and I will never forgive them for that, but don’t worry I’ve already made sure they’ve paid for it. But you won’t see that.”

“I can smell it.”

“That’s enough.”

He removes his hands as soon as you get out into the open air. Your knees buckle and he’s quick to catch you. 

“These fucking people, eh”, he grits out. “Hurting such an innocent thing. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Can’t trust anyone, nowadays”, SIC says and opens the car door, allowing Silas to help you in the backseat. 

Silas sits down beside you. He wraps his arms around you, bringing you close. His normally suffocating presence a big contrast to the coldness you’ve felt the past four days.

“Your pretty hands …”, he pouts and caresses the hands that had been banging at the door with all their might. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt yourself again. Even if you did it to catch my attention. Never again, you hear?”

You nod. 

“What did they do to you?” he asks worriedly. 

“They tried to pressure me eon information I didn’t have …”, you whisper. “I couldn’t answer them. I didn’t know, btu they … didn’t care. They kept pressuring me. I thought my head was going to explode. A-And when I accidentally relieved something—a little—they were on me like snakes, forcing me to say more. I thought that they would think I was involved. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Silas clenches his jaw. He wishes that he could go back and kill them again, this time do it even worse. 

“I’m so tired, Silas”, you mumble. 

“I know, baby, I know”, he coos sweetly. “I hate to see you like this. Seems like the only time you’re safe is when I’m with you. Sleep on my shoulder, little thing. I will take care of you, and when you wake up you will be safe and sound in the bed where you belong.”

The thought warms, for once. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to fall asleep, waking up in a bed softer than the one in the police station. You don’t have to open your eyes to know that you’ve been carried up to your shared bedroom. You open your eyes slightly. Silas is lying beside you, dressed in lounge wear. He looks straight at you with his dark eyes. His hand caresses your cheek. 

“Slept well?” he asks softly. 

You nod. Better than the last four days.

“I’m so relieved to have you back in my arms”, he says and pulls you back into his embrace. “And the fucker that dares to steal you away from me next time will have their eyes pulled out of their sockets. You belong to me, and me only. And no fucking cop, or criminal, or anyone else, will ever get to put their greasy hands on my baby.”

He cups your cheeks. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he scoffs. “All I wanted that night they took you from me was to have you to myself, but the only time I get to have you all for myself is after you’ve been kidnapped and we've both been through Hell. If only I could get to have you without that happening as well, huh? All to myself.”

His words have always been frightening you, given you a stone in your stomach … but for the first time, they don't. You're not sure what it is, and you're not sure if you're afraid of not being afraid of it. If the cops did that to you, then you’re unsure you ever want to go back. 

Those cops had no idea that they’d do more harm than good. You’re deeper in his claws than ever.

[hobicakess]

Wonderful World — JJK One-Shot Series

SUMMARY: The world had gone to shit just like many had theorized. The living was not only fighting the dead, but they were also fighting against themselves and each other. Jeon Jungkook has been in the field by himself for months, living off of scraps, his own rules of survival, and barely enough water. Along the way, he finds a ditzy girl spoiled girl ironically Princess and her crusty white dog. He understood they'd be a handful, but he was Jeon Jungkook, and he could handle anything.

RATING: 18+ (im not the momma you are in control of what you consume.)

PAIRING: Jeon Jungkook x Bimbo!reader

CONTENT WARNING: apocalypse!au, gore, blood, ditzy!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual established relationship, jungkook is sighing every three seconds, eventual smut, crusty white dog (yes that's a warning), minor character death, named reader, corrupt dystopian society, meanie jungkook, princess is just a girl, more to be added AUTHORS NOTE: i am back in my zombie apocolyse era!!!! this is heavily inspired by zombie land because i love it sososo much. the post for this story will be in shorts pushing 1k- 3k? words and my ask box is always open to request and thoughts for this series. If you are new to my blog welcome hottie! be sure to check out my other works, you"ll love it over here xxx

Jungkook had strict rules.

Four sips of water a day, only eat when his stomach is cramped to the point of when he couldn't walk, never sleep over an hour, don't let anyone in. He didn't need extra weight slowing him down from his destination. Was he being hard on himself? Maybe. Since losing his group in an unexpected ambush all those months ago he couldn't bring himself to be softer on his habits even if he had more than enough resources to keep him alive and breathing for the year. He was guilty, and angry. Angry at himself and angry at the world for what it had come too. Despite his personal angst Jungkook refused to die holding onto the hope he would finally reunite with his six soulmates.

Another unspoken rule of his was to never walk upon the main roads. Stay away from those maniacs dressed in military clothes and those who drove military trucks. So he stuck to the shadows, camouflage into the trees with stealthy movements. Quick and quiet, never stay in one place longer than two days. He's been in here for at least a day spending that time securing the area and everything around it before he could properly set up his base in the abandoned thrift store he found. Hopefully he could get as much rest as a person could during the end of the world. As he tracked back to his base swiftly moving through the tree-line with the new finds he managed to scavenge. He stopped when he heard a squeal that didn't sound like the parasites that took over the world. Peeking through the green he saw a woman. A frown taking over his handsome features as his eyes rake her clothing.

A tiny pink cropped tank top, tight denim shorts that had jeweled pockets, ripped black fishnets and wedged heels that threw him off more than the unethical outfit. On her back was a clear backpack and inside was a tiny sleeping dog who was unaware of the life or death circumstances their owner happened to be in. Surrounding her were geeks groaning and growling, taking swipes at her. Their only objective is to eat,eat, eat.

Jungkook didn’t deal with other people, for obvious reasons but he was still the selfless Jeon Jungkook who couldn’t turn his back on anyone, especially a woman clearly in need of his help. So he quickly jumped from the trees, holding onto his crow bar tightly and as he approached the woman and the group of zombies.

Until she screeched, "You broke my nail" pulling out a knife from her thigh garter taking down all four of the dead. Breathing heavily she blew a curl from her face as she turned, jumping at the sight of Jungkook's large frame looming over her with his crowbar up as if he was ready to attack her. She squeaks gathering herself into a tiny fighting position as she points her knife at him and he notices the handle was decorated with a dark skinned hello kitty print.

“You’re literally so sexy. I’d let you kill me as long as I’m in a chokehold.” Her big brown eyes trailed to his beefy tattooed and tanned arms causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. Clearing his throat he put his weapon down turning on his thick soled heels back into the ditch disappearing into the greenery. She wasn’t in any danger anymore so he wasn’t needed.

“You know it’s not very nice to leave a lady unattended in the middle of a road especially during an apco-" he was quick to grab her, shoving her down against the tree trunk. He smacked against her mouth, as a group of military men began to drive along the side of the road closest to them. His eyes met her wide ones as she blinked her wispy lashes at him. His gaze trails over the freckles that danced over her button nose, and cheeks, slight blood splatter caked there along with her forehead. She giggles quickly as he removes his hand from her mouth revealing a bright and pearly smile.

"Kinky." his lip curls in annoyance as he turns his back on her again.

“You can’t just leave us! Me and Minnie are great company.” He stopped walking when he heard the name of her dog minnie. Who's been surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal. Looking over his shoulder at her, he then shaking his head, he continued on taking longer steps.

“Okay I get it silent and boarding, dark and mysterious, tall, tanned, and handsome.She rambled on scurrying behind him.

“Whew you know what hulk- ACK!” a thud echoed through the trees making him turn seeing her fallen to her knees in mud. She sniffles as she tries to stand on her feet, failing miserably only getting her hands dirty in the process.

"They leave me all alone, take my stuff, then I break a freaking nail because of those nasty freaks, now I'm covered in mud following around an avenger who doesn't even. . ."

She's fully sobbing now, fat tears falling down her chubby cheeks as she gives up moving. "Just strike me downnnn"

Again his selfless heart was aching as he winced. He grumbles as he stomps towards her reaching his own hand out for her to take, after all this he couldn't find it in himself to just leave her not now. She sniffles as she looks up at him, then stares at his hand. With another pretty smile she takes it, letting him pull her upright, allowing her to rub her muddy hands on his black tank top with a defeated sigh.

“Thanks Thor.”

Huffing he began walking again this time slower so she wouldn't lose him. As he gets to the brick wall that seperates the forest from the store. She stares up at it and swallows hard. “How are we gonna get up there?”

Rolling his eyes Jungkook pulls his backpack off of his back, throwing it over the wall. He reaches towards her and she gasp, “You are not throwing my precious Minnie over that wall!” Stepping back from him a pout set on her lips. He shrugs and begins to climb up, leaving her there to watch as he disappears over the wall. Pouting and huffing, she removes her backpack from her back, strapping it in the front just in case she falls on her ass. “I'm way too pretty for this”

Scaling the wall she walked along it ignoring Hulks loud huffs and tapping of his boots. That's when she found a hole there big enough for her to fit through happily making her way through.

Jungkook might just leave her there on the other side of the wall. Hopefully she'll use whatever's there in her brain to find her way over the wall with her crusty white dog who he wished he could sleep like. He jumps at the tap on his shoulder turning to her standing behind him hands behind her back as she gave him a closed lip smile puffing the apples of her cheeks rocking back and forth on her wedges. “Guess what hulky.”

He raises a pierced eyebrow as she points in the direction she came from. “Found a hole in the wall!! You didn't even have to climb over silly.”

The happiness in her face fell as Jungkooks face hardened. Storming over to the said hold, cursing. He could have sworn he sweep the whole perimeter. How could this have gotten under his nose? He turns back to you standing pouty and confused. Since the first time meeting him Jungkook opens his mouth to speak.

“Good job princess” his voice deep and hoarse from not using it for months.

"OMG how'd you know my name" She smiles practically bouncing on her feet from the praise and his attention, twirling on a piece of her hair like a school girl with a crush. Shaking his head he turned back to fix the wall.

Inside of the thrift store, Jungkook listened quietly to her ramble about her love for thrifting and how she would rather thrift than online shop. Then he watched her get teary eyed again over not being able to online shop anymore. “It's just not fair!!! Like I was living the most barbie dream girl life, ya know?”

Accepting the tissue he handed to her staring at the sleeping dog in her lap. “Then bam the Internet shuts off, then boom my freaking neighbor tries to eat me.”

“Like I'm just a girl! I'm not fit for this at all.” Blowing her nose into the tissues finishing her tantrum while Jungkook debated on what to say. “I watched you knife four geeks by yourself, I think you're doing pretty good.”

“ Really?”

“Really?”

She giggles sniffing, as she held out her hand. “I’m Princess Marie sorry for the late introduction ‘s very rude.

Clasping his hand into hers, “Jeon Jungkook. Don't worry about it too much.”

His gaze drifted to her bloody broken nail.

“Let's clean this up, kay?”

Eagerly she nodded dark curls bouncing.

“Mmkay kookie”

Jungkook wouldn't admit it out loud but being in the presence of another human being that wasn't trying to kill him was nice. He knew that princess and her crusty dog would be a handful but he was willing to deal with it. Plus he missed being called by his favorite nickname.

- © hobicakess ! do not steal, modify, copy, plagiarize, nor repost any of the works on this blog without given permission!

[dmitriene]

mafia ghost needs an obedient pup that will wait for him settled on her knees, docile and lacking of sharp canines, knowing only how to please when he comes back from some business, irritated and in dare need to let off some steam.

simon needs you underneath his wooden desk, with your tongue sticking out, just a warm throat for him, sucking around his rudy tip with your eyes sparkling, directed towards his amber gaze, incinerating every little spot on your face as he gazes at the hollow of your warming up cheeks.

you lap around the veiny girth of him and beading slit until he decides to fuck up into your throat, sucking at the thick cock that pulses on your tongue, stretching your lips, until he places his calloused palms on both sides of your face and starts to thrust.

he needs you being able to wait for him already bare, not a single fabric concealing your flesh or being scattered on the floor, as if you already walked into his cabinet naked, settling yourself on the cold surface of the desk with spread legs, leaking honeyed slick, smearing it along your folds.

simon would like someone as unabashed as himself, to have your fingers stuffed in his mouth, letting him suck and lick on the strings of your cloying slick, as he rolls his hips and thrusts forward, bullying the meaty length of his cock in your tight cunt, velvety and sopping wet, a paradise for him.

to have not something of his own, but someone that will stick beside him on their own accord, and you're the one he needs, placed on his bulky lap during an annoying meeting, face nuzzled against the curve of his neck as he fiddles with your clit.

main masterlist. quidelines.