Queen of Empty Promises

Dinner proceeded as usual, without further contact from Julian. Once everyone was fed and sent away, the rest of the staff began returning the kitchen to its spotless state, wrapping up at 2:30 in the morning. "Everyone can leave. Get some rest before tomorrow." Julian dismisses before turning his gaze to you. "Except you." Now that nobody was busy, you felt everyone's eyes on you as they filed out of the kitchen, leaving only you and Chef Slowik in the pristine kitchen. "How long have you been cooking?" He asks you. "Since I was a child, chef." You answer. "It was my duty as the oldest to take care of my siblings when my parents couldn't or wouldn't." "Do you enjoy it?" He questions. "Immensely, chef. What started as my duty became my passion. I can't do anything besides cook." You answer calmly. "That's not entirely true. You can follow orders better than the others. You can present better than them, you can work harder than them. I believe you are better than them." Julian states. "How would you like to be my new sous?" He offers. It's a miracle you manage to keep your jaw off the floor when you answer him. "That would be the opportunity of a lifetime, Chef. I'd be honored."

"I expect more from my sous than the other chefs, you know." He warns. "I expect my sous to follow my orders to a T, to go the extra mile to make sure Hawthorne runs smoothly, to do as I say without questioning or arguing with me. Do you think you can do that?" He asks, stepping up to tower over you. "Yes, Chef." You say with a nod. "Then get on your knees." His voice was atonal, devoid of any emotion, almost to the point of being robotic. He said it like it was any other order in the kitchen. There's only a split second of hesitation before you sink to your knees before him. "Do you know what I want from you?" Julian asks, tilting your chin up to meet his dark blue eyes. "You want me to prove I'll do whatever you ask of me, regardless of what it is, Chef." You answer. "Smart girl." Julian hums in approval, running his thumb along your bottom lip in a silent quest for access. Your lips parted just enough to take his thumb into your mouth before wrapping your lips around it. He watches intently as you suck on the digit, only to abruptly pull it out after a few moments. He kept a close eye on your hands as they undid his belt and zipper, fishing his rock-hard cock out without so much as a single tremble.

Julian's breathing catches slightly in his throat when you lean forward and take the head of his member into your mouth, moving slowly just like you had with his thumb before he took it away. With a steady grip on his base, you began slowly bobbing your head, taking him into your mouth little by little. His eyes fluttered shut with each. A small groan escaped Julian's lips when he felt his head hit the back of your throat. "You can do it." He hums when you gag around him, and the way he says it makes it sound like more of a general statement, a fact even, and less of an encouragement. When you didn't move fast enough for his liking, he frowned. "You will do it or you won't be in my kitchen much longer." He said more firmly. You give a slight nod and take a deep breath through your nose before taking his length into your throat. You bobbed your head and relaxed your throat, taking in more of him with each bob of your head until your nose touched his pubic bone and you gagged. Julian let out quiet noises as you worked, bobbing your head along his length with garbled noises, letting your tongue trace the vein on the underside of his cock. This continued for a few minutes before he tangled his fingers in your hair tightly and pulled you off of him.

Lust entirely darkened his eyes when he tilted your head up to look at him. "Get up and bend over the counter." He says in the same voice he'd used to send you to your knees. You wordlessly scramble to your feet and turn around, but he stops you from bending over. "Undress first." You don't trust your voice to speak for you, so you just give a nod and strip down to your underwear. A small, genuine smile crossed his features as he watched you. "Perfect." He mutters. He easily maneuvers your pliant body until you're bent over the counter. "You'll be a good sous... but an even better partner," Julian says as he runs his hand down the curve of your spine until he reaches your ass. "P-Partner?" You question, your voice faltering when he pulls your underwear down until the flimsy fabric falls slack and drops to your ankles. "That's right." He nods, stepping up behind you and teasingly running the head of his member through your wet petals.

"Do you want to know why I've picked you specifically?" Julian asks, dragging his tip through your folds until it catches on your entrance. "Why-" Your question is cut off when he leans over you, slowly pushing his member into your waiting opening. "Because you're obedient and eager to please," Julian whispers, kissing the shell of your ear softly. "I picked you because you are submissive." He states as he bottoms out. "You crave having orders to follow, being told what to do, and I'm going to be the one to give that to you." He husks as he slowly begins to thrust his hips. He talks over your moans. "You aren't just like the others, you're more special than them, more talented, more intelligent, more devout. You are better than them." He says as he thrusts into you. You gripped the edge of the counter as his thrusts quickly went from slow and easy to fast and almost punishing, each one forcing a moan out of your throat. Julian tangles his fingers in your hair and turns your head to the side enough to press his lips to yours in a heated, commanding kiss, biting your bottom lip slightly. That hand stayed tangled in your hair, holding your lips to his while the other left your ass to give your clit some rough attention. He angles his hips some until he finds your G-spot, reveling in the louder moan you let out.

"J-Julian..." You stammer breathlessly between your moans. "Not yet." He hisses as he bucks his hips into you, furiously chasing his release. The edge of the counter was beginning to painfully dig into your hips with each rough snap of his hips. The closer you get to your impending orgasm, the more your vision blurs and fills with stars. The combination of Julian's thrusts, his attention to your sensitive clit, and the way he tugged your hair was quickly bringing you closer to the edge you were determined not to fall off of just yet. Every movement of his was hellbent on seeing if you could follow his order. "See? You crave not disappointing me." He whispers smugly in your ear as he nears his climax. "Go on, pet, let go and come for me." Julian orders. It sends a chill through your body as you cave beneath him, letting go and moaning out his name as white-hot bliss overtakes every fiber of your being. Julian falls over the edge right on the tail end of your orgasm, letting out an almost primal-sounding moan as he buries himself to the hilt before filling you with his release.

His grip on you loosens when your orgasms subside. You shudder some at the feeling of his spend dripping down your thighs. Julian smirks at the reaction while tucking himself back into his pants. He grabs one of the nearby dish towels and almost gently cleans up the mess between your legs. "Tomorrow, you can move your things into my home." He states. "Y-Yes, Chef." You mumble with a nod. Julian cups your cheeks and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before planting another to your lips. "You will be phenomenal as my sous, as my partner, and as other things to come." He says with a smile. "Thank you, Chef Slowik." You say almost numbly as your mind processes everything that just happened. "Please, you can call me Julian when it's just us," He says jovially. "Thank you, Julian." You correct yourself. "Anything for you, my dear," Julian says with a smile, pressing another kiss to your lips.

You were in the middle of washing your dinner dishes when your front door slammed open. Mumbled swears filled the room when it was just as quickly slammed shut. "Everything okay, Johnny?" You call with a hum, putting the last few dishes out to dry before meeting him in the living room. "Fuck do you think?" He snapped rhetorically, frustratedly trying to undo his tie. "What happened now?" You asked as you swatted his hands away from his neck, gingerly untying the fabric. "Did Dickie fuck something up? Tony get suspended again? Livia-" You started listing off the usual suspects for his frustrations, only for him to stop you with a frenzied kiss before saying anything else about his wife. "I don't even wanna hear her fuckin' name right now." He growled. You nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt, discarding the fabric as soon as you were done with the last button. "I'm fuckin' sick of that woman," he spat as he watched you kneel in front of him, making quick work of unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down to his knees.

"What'd she do this time, baby?" You asked softly as you kissed his clothed thigh. "Gave me a fucking headache like she always does." He growled, watching with rapt interest as you finally pulled his boxers down, a small sigh of relief leaving his lips when you finally took him into your hands. "I'm sorry, Johnny." "We were just trying to have a nice fucking dinner with Dickie and Joanne and she wouldn't stop being a raging bitch." He complained, groaning quietly when you took his tip into your mouth. His head fell back, and a sigh fell from his lips as he relaxed the further you took him in. "Good girl." He mumbled as you started slowly bobbing your head on his length. Part of you perked up at the small praise, getting comfortable on your knees. One of your hands rested innocently on his thigh while the other began to lightly play with his balls. Another groan escaped him as his hand tangled in your hair, holding your head in place as he started fucking into your mouth. "Good fuckin' girl." He groaned, somehow tightening his hold on your hair as he bucked his hips faster, reveling in the sounds of you gagging on his cock. "Always know just what I need." He muttered, mainly to himself as his hips slowed some while he started to think.

When his hips started to stutter, he quickly pulled you off his cock, accidentally sending you sprawling backward some. "Bend over the counter, bella." He ordered, holding a hand out to help you up off the floor. You nodded and quickly did as he said, looking back at him over your shoulder when he pulled your night shorts down. One of his hands started massaging your ass while the other took his length into his hand. You arched your back some when you felt his tip prodding your entrance, your head falling some at the little resistance he faced as he slowly entered you. "That's my girl, so nice and tight." He mumbled. "You're sweet little cunt was made for my cock, wasn't it?" He coos before his hips meet yours, finally bottoming out. He stayed there for a moment, letting you get used to him like he always did. A firm slap to your ass made you jolt up some "answer me, princess." "Y-yes! I was, Johnny!" You said quickly. "Good girl." He said, soothingly rubbing the stinging area on your cheek where his hand collided. Slowly, he drags his hips back and thrusts them back forward. He worked up a slow, steady pace, savoring the little moans and whimpers you made with each drag of his hips.

"You know what I want more than anything in the world, bella?" Johnny asked, leaning over to press a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Hmm?" You hum in response, eyes slightly fluttering open. "I want a good, perfect little wife who'll do whatever the fuck I say without arguing." He husks, nipping your earlobe as his hips moved faster. His hand fell to your clit, pinching the small bundle and cutting off anything you were going to say to him. "And I want children I can be fucking proud of," he hissed, his pace gradually growing more erratic. "Johnny," You moaned out, panting slightly as the coil started to tighten. "I want a clean fucking slate and you know what, bella?" He hummed, sucking and biting until a nice hickey was left on the crook of your neck. In your pleasant, cock drunk haze, you could only hum in response. "You're gonna give it to me." He growled.

"J-Johnny!" You mumbled, clarity slowly coming back to you as his words processed in your mind. "Shh, you'll be perfect, baby, I promise." He coos, leaning over you to keep you firmly in place over the counter as he drove his hips into you with a force. "You'll look so fucking beautiful nice and full, cara, so fucking perfect." He husked, his hips again beginning to stutter as his release quickly approached. "But Johnny-" You objected. "I'll take care of both of you, princess, don't you fucking worry about a thing." He swore and the moment you felt the spring in your belly break, your objects stopped with a loud moan of his name. His body holding you against the counter was the only thing that kept you from falling when your knees buckled. He buried himself as deep as he could before his orgasm hit, holding your hips in a bruising grip as he rode it out.

When the bliss of your orgasms washed away, Johnny carefully picked you up and sat you on the counter. He smirked to himself as he inspected the mess between your thighs. "Johnny..." You mumbled nervously. He looked up at you and gently cupped your cheek "don't worry, princess, nobody's ever gonna give the next Mrs. Soprano shit." "But what about-" You argued and he cut you off. "I will take care of everything, princess. Don't you worry about a fucking thing." Without giving you more time to argue or fight him, he carried you to the bedroom and carefully laid you out, grabbing a pillow to put beneath your hips. "We'll start fresh, cara, and this time, I'll do shit right." He swore, planting a kiss on your inner thigh with a grin. He slowly kissed up to your navel, his lips lingering just below your belly button for a minute. "Keep yourself like this for a bit. I'll be back tomorrow." He said. True to his word, he came back the next day and the following day, staying the night every few nights.

A couple of weeks later, when you both got the confirmation you were indeed pregnant, he gave you a ring and a promise: you'd be married before the baby got there. You'd all but forgotten about his wife and children in the meantime, too caught up in helping him with various things to get ready. Reality came to smack you upside the head when, six and a half months after that first night, Livia came into the department store you worked at with some of her friends. "Look at you, dear!" She said when she noticed you organizing one of the displays. She immediately pulled you into a tight hug, her gushing over your situation turning to white noise as guilt filled your mind. "Who's the lucky man, dear?" She asked again, regaining your attention. "Just this man I met named Francis." You lied through your teeth, feeling your blood pressure skyrocket. "Well, he better fucking treat you right. You know my Johnny's trying to get me admitted to some looney bin? The balls on this fucking man." She complained. "I'm sorry, ma'am." "Oh please, calling me ma'am makes me feel so old, I come here enough just call me Livia." She says. "I'm sorry, Livia." You say softly, offering a small, sympathetic smile. You weren't just apologizing for his behavior, you were apologizing for your own, not that it'd make a difference in the slightest. At the end of the day, you were still fucking her husband, you were still carrying his baby, and you were still one reason their marriage would be ending, whether or not she knew any of that.

The second you closed the door, you knew you had made a mistake. You could smell gunpowder and cedarwood with a hint of something earthy and metallic; you smelled him. The scent was so overpowering you weren’t sure how you missed it when you first opened the door; you can only assume your panic clouded your senses. The old oak floorboards creaked beneath his heavy boots as he stepped out of your bedroom into the hallway. His arms were folded over his broad chest as he looked down at you with a mixture of irritation and anger. The look alone made your already tense body stiffen up as if suddenly struck with rigor mortis.

He scoffed when he saw your gaze flicker back to the door. “No more games, kitten. No more running away from me.” He said with controlled anger. “You’re my omega whether or not you like it.” “Obviously I don’t.”   You weren’t sure what on earth compelled you to talk back to him, but as soon as the words left your lips, you regretted it as the restrained facade he’d presented vanished. He’d crossed the room in half the time it took you to turn and rip the door open. He slammed it shut and used the force of his body to pin you firmly against the wood. “I’m tired of your fucking attitude.” He hissed angrily. With no great effort, he picked up your struggling form and hauled you to the bedroom, unceremoniously dropping you onto the bed. The already small space felt 3 sizes smaller, his hulking frame firmly standing between you and the only exit in the room that didn’t involve breaking your neck on a broken fire escape. He watched you back up against the headboard as he took his belt off. “I’m done playing games with you.” He said sternly, using his entire weight to immobilize you so he could tie your wrists together and to the headboard with his belt.

Any of your remaining struggles died down immediately when he pulled a utility knife out of his back pocket, using it to slice open your shirt in silence. You went from doing what you could to get out from underneath him to perfectly still in .05 seconds, the tip of the knife digging into your skin enough to leave a red scratch in its wake without breaking the skin. He didn’t need the knife to tear the fabric. Its sole purpose in this move of his was a warning. “I’d give you anything, you know that?” He asks as he nudges the fabric of your t-shirt to the sides, sliding the tip of the knife under the thinnest part of the front of your bra, watching the threads slowly tear against the pressure of the blade. “You just had to fucking stay with me.” He hissed, quickly snapping the blade up, snapping the last few threads of the fabric apart.

“So tell me, kitten...” He starts, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he gets out of bed, putting the knife away. His hand rested on one of your thighs and he finally met your gaze, an angry type of hurt swirling around in his dark brown eyes. "What the fuck does Billy Russo have that I don’t?” "I love him.” You whispered. He barked out a laugh at that. “And you think he loves you? I hate to break it to you, but you’re nothing to him!” He spat. “All you are to Billy is somewhere to keep his dick when Dinah puts him in the doghouse.” He deadpans. Your argument died in your throat when he, in one swift motion, yanked down your pants and panties. His thumb slowly ran through your lips as the room went silent, save for your hitched breathing when two of his fingers entered you. He watched your face contort as you tried not to make a sound for him as he curled and thrust the digits slowly. “I’ll say it slowly for you, kitten.” He hummed, quickly pulling his fingers out as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down with his boxer briefs.

He carefully maneuvered to straddle you, spreading your legs around him to make it easier to position himself at your entrance. “Billy. Does not. Love you.” He said, punctuating every few words by slowly dragging his tip through your petals, coating himself in your wetness. The words stung, just like he intended them to. Knowing you’d regret doing it, you mustered up all your remaining courage and spit at him, fighting the smirk at the unbridled anger on his features as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Without saying another word, he sunk into you until he was buried to the hilt, one of his hands going to cover your mouth to muffle any sound of disagreement or protest. “He was never going to marry you.” He growled with a slow drag of his hips, followed by a rough thrust forward. “And he was never gonna pick you over her.” Another slow drag and rough thrust punctuated his words. “Billy was never going to knot you, or give you pups.” He sneered, his veil of composure beginning to wear thin(ner). “And most importantly...” He started, drawing his hips back until only the tip of his member was inside of you “he was never going to claim you as his omega in any capacity.” As he said the words, he slammed his hips into yours, his hand smothering the would-be loud moan you made.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it, kitten?” He asks as he rocked his hips roughly. “You want someone to make a good little omega outta you? Want someone to keep you nice and safe while filling you up with their knot day in and day out?” He asked tauntingly as his hip movements became harder and faster until they devolved into rapid rutting. “He never planned to give you what you wanted..” He growled, reaching between your bodies to rub rough, fast circles on your clit with his thumb. When he felt you were getting closer to your release, he pulled his thumb away and grabbed your chin, making you look into his eyes as he swore “but I do. I plan on giving you everything, kitten.” He promised. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a hungry, passionate kiss, swallowing your pitiful noises at the feel of his knot swelling, his hips still rutting against yours. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you weakly attempted to push him off of you, knowing you stood no chance against the brick wall that was Frank Castle. When he finished swelling, locking your bodies together, he tore his lips from yours and sunk his teeth into your neck, over your mating gland.

The strangled sound you made started as one of pain as his teeth sunk deep into the tissue, an almost burning sensation emanating from the wound and slowly turning into a feeling of white-hot bliss as endorphins flooded every last nerve in your body, only to be topped by the feeling of your dam breaking as your orgasm crashed into you like a bullet train. All the different stimuli made it almost impossible for you to register the feeling of his release flooding your innermost chasm, filling you up, and truly giving you everything he had to offer. Lazily, he laved at the wound he’d left on your neck, panting heavily as he slowly calmed down. As his tongue slowly laved at the wound, you felt yourself being tethered to him as the mental bond quickly formed. Your brain, now too exhausted to fight it, surrendered to him completely. Without so much as slightly dislodging his knot, he flipped himself over and took you with him, laying you on his chest. “You’ll be a good omega for me, won’t you, kitten?” He asked in a husky voice. The lull of slumber was quickly calling you, seeping into your bones, leaving you only able to nod your agreement.