#mafia reader

Your chest felt hollow, and it felt like you were choking on air as you walked the uneven path before you. Both physically dark and metaphorically isolating. You’d made a choice tonight, and you weren’t sure if it had been the right one, but you were sure that it might have been, and really, that’s all we can hope for. Isn’t it?

You were materialistic to a fault - a fact you were not ashamed of. You liked nice things; clothes, shoes, skincare products. And yet, as you walked towards the cottage you’d gone through great lengths to keep secret, you had nothing but a small duffle bag slung over your shoulder. The kind of bag someone like you might carry weapons in before a long night.

Someone like you used to be, you corrected yourself. It was time to be someone different.

Relief washed over you when you ceased to feel nothing but uneven dirt and brush under your feet. You were walking on stones now, which meant you were close. This place nestled within the forest outside of Yokohama was only the first stop. You couldn’t afford risking anything longer than a couple days stay.

Leaving the Port Mafia wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible.

Finally, when your feet ached you saw the tin roof shining underneath the moonlight’s gaze. Relief washed over you again.

But it was short lived.

There was a figure standing on your porch, and though you remained several yards away with only the moon serving as a flashlight, you could’ve recognized that frame in the depths of hell. Though fear gripped your heart, you found humor in the fact that one day you likely would come across his frame in the depths of hell. There was no more fitting place for either of you.

You stood staring at each other when you stopped short of the cottage’s wooden steps. Dazai looked out of place here, standing tall in his dark coat with his hands in his pockets. His calmness did not soothe you. You knew the neutral gaze he held was a facade. There was a storm brewing in his amber eyes. Betrayal, they accused you.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up,” he said, voice disturbingly calm. “You walk slowly in the dark, a poor quality in a mafia member, but I suppose that might be just as well since you’re leaving.”

You realized, then, that you weren’t breathing. You must’ve stopped a while ago since your lungs had begun to burn. You opened your mouth and took in what you could.

He let you stand there, catching your breath. You’d been cornered like a wild animal, and now you stood frozen like a deer in headlights. You wondered if letting you breathe now was his last act of mercy. His features were so stoic that it was terrifying. He looked like every bit of the mafia executive he was. You willed yourself not to think of it until oxygen flowed through you again. You would never catch your breath if you thought of how the man you loved might kill you tonight. Though it was unrequited and hopeless, you certainly loved him, even as you ran away. Even as you hated him.

You didn’t know if he felt the same, or if he was even capable of it. You’d only just progressed past fucking exclusively in alleyways and filthy corners of headquarters.

“You knew I’d come,” you said, once you recovered. There was no sense in asking how he’d come to know of this place’s existence. You’d always known it had been a risk.

“I did.”

You swallowed, your mouth so dry that the action was physically difficult. It would be unbecoming to beg for your life, and yet you didn’t want to die.

“Are you here to kill me?” You asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How about you come on in, I’ve taken the liberty of unlocking your hideaway for you.”

The words smelled sour, and you wondered how bitter they’d tasted on his lips. It was the first time you’d witnessed emotion from him since you’d arrived.

You followed him in slowly, knowing you could be marching to your death. Death would be standard for sneaking away from the mafia in the dead of night after promising to devote your life to the organization. You wondered how he’d do it. Would he choke you with the elegant, nimble fingers that had been your undoing so many times in the past? Would it start as it usually did, his hard cock against your waist? Only, instead of choking leading to fucking, would he continue to squeeze your throat, eyes on yours until you collapsed?

This cottage had once been a refuge for you, but it felt stifling as you stood feet away from Dazai, both waiting for the other to begin.

“I had to leave, Dazai.” The words sounded weak as they left your mouth, but it was the truth. Wasn’t it?

Dazai chuckled darkly. “You did not. You didn’t have to do anything but your job.”

“And what is my job, Dazai?” You spit out. Remembering why you were both here. Remembering how you’d been betrayed. “You’re the reason I joined the mafia in the first place,” you accused him angrily. “You appeared in the dead of night like a demon, and told me I might as well put my skills to better use, right?”

At his silence, you dared to continue, stepping towards him. “And how is this better, exactly? Is the money supposed to make everything worth it? Is it the camaraderie? I had that before. I had people before.”

Dazai scoffed. “You had a small time group of rag tag criminals who leeched off of your ability.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you thought of their faces, the youngest of them only sixteen. “They cared about me,” you insisted, your voice sounding strangled.

Dazai scoffed.

‘They didn’t care about you, not like I do,’ were the words you could see in his eyes if you looked past the anger that clouded them.

Instead of revealing himself, he glared at you. “If they cared about you, why did they stop speaking to you once you joined us?” He asked. “We never monitored your communications. We don’t do that to members we trust,” he spat.

‘We don’t do that to members I vouch for. To people I trust.’

You shifted uncomfortably, body feeling too heavy for your feet. “How would you know that if you weren’t spying on me?” You bit back. It’s not as if you told each other everything. It’s not as if you were dating. You couldn’t even call yourself his lover.

The smirk forming on his face was menacing. “Because it took you months to even find out they were dead.” He laughed. He was being mean now, but he was right. You’d only found out by chance that your old gang was dead. You’d been in one of the storage rooms, doing research for an upcoming mission that Mori assigned you when you came across the file which held their names, “Deceased,” scrawled next to each one.

Dazai was uncharacteristically patient as he waited for you to choose your next words. His hands remained in his pockets as he leaned against the wooden wall of your cottage’s tiny living room. To an outsider, he might look casual. But you knew he could kill you at a moment’s notice.

“I cared about them,” you finally whispered as tears formed in your eyes. You willed yourself not to look away from him as you blinked away the wet heat threatening to spill. Dazai had never seen you look weak before. You wondered, briefly, if it disgusted him. But he surprised you, as he so often did. He didn’t comfort you by coming closer and putting an arm around you, but there was a softness in his eyes that had not been there before. It was something you’d never seen, and you felt your heart learch, threatening to break even further at the sight.

“It wasn’t planned,” he finally said. “Mori didn’t plan it. I didn’t plan it.” You could tell he wanted you to believe him, was desperate for you to, but you couldn’t.

You furrowed your brows in confusion as you thought about the bits of information you’d learned yesterday when you’d come across the file which named the six people you’d once loved like family as dead. You thought of their faces and heard their laughs as you let the information sink in. They’d been killed by the Black Lizard two months prior at one of the warehouses you’d never been to. You wondered how long they’d been tortured there. You wondered why it happened at all. You’d been a small time group when Dazai found you and promised you the world. You’d left them, and let them hate you for it all because you’d been greedy. All because you wanted to follow Dazai whose eyes sparkled. He’d challenged you. He was better than you. At the time, it had been so rare to meet someone better than you.

“They were killed at one of the warehouses. I’ve seen it countless times now, Dazai. They were tortured and then killed. They were small time. It was cruel,” you insisted, voice growing firm again.

“It was an inventory warehouse,” he explained, though he still leaned against the wall and made no move to close the distance, you would’ve seen his fingers twitch had they not been stuffed into the pockets of his trench coat. “It had been an attempted raid.”

Your lips parted as your entire body went stiff. A raid? A direct hit to the Port Mafia? They wouldn’t have been so stupid.

“You’re lying to me,” you accused him. “You’re lying to me because you don’t want me to leave.” You were furious now. How pathetic could he get, lying to you like this? “Did you order the hit? What, were you scared I’d go back?”

It was you closing in on him now, stepping out from the shadows of the darkened living room, stalking towards the wall he leaned against lazily. You didn’t want to die, but you’d rather him kill you then lie to you.

He made no indication that he feared you as you closed in on him, you felt your ability rising within you. The power humming as it extended from the pores of your body. You had the ability to release a toxic gas which put people to sleep. You’d been indispensable to your gang of ungifted misfits. You’d abandoned them.

You’d known the gas would stop before it reached him. Even if he wanted to die by your hands, even if he felt he deserved it as he was forced to soak in the sheer pain in your gaze, No Longer Human was automatic, always protecting him.

You felt useless, tears finally breaking free. You wanted to strangle him, but the thought of losing another person you loved made your chest ache and weigh heavy on your body.

You were face to face now, frozen as you fell apart in front of him. “They wouldn’t have been so careless,” you insisted through your tears, fighting back a hiccup. God, you must look pathetic.

“They were,” Dazai assured you. “They aimed to steal guns we’d just received. They’d been casing out the warehouse for a week. We found photographs on one of their phones.”

You took a shark breath. “How long have you known?” You asked him, as you stared at the ground, tears flowing slower. But you still couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes any longer.

“I’ve known since the day after.”

You began trembling, and stumbled backwards, overwhelmed by the need to get away from him. Your fall was broken by the old, worn down paisley couch, which had been in this living room since you’d been a child.

“You’ve known for two months and you didn’t tell me?” You asked weakly, as you sat down, staring at the wood paneled wall in front of you.

Dazai didn’t respond, and for a few moments you only heard your panting breath. Your eyes had run dry now as you processed everything. The betrayal from your former allies, and then the continuous betrayal from the only man you’d trusted since you’d abandoned your friends in search of something more. In search of him. Wherever he’d take you, you’d wanted to follow.

You felt the couch dip beside you, and you allowed yourself to look at him once more. He looked sad. You hated the way the emotions twisted his features.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he admitted. “It weighed heavily on me.”

You swallowed, having finally produced some spit to soothe your dry, scratchy throat.

“Would it have made it better?” He asked. “If I had told you sooner?”

You thought about it for a moment. The betrayal of your friends, the ones you’d always hoped to make amends with once their anger faded like you’d thought it would, would’ve hurt just the same. But, that wasn’t the only thing breaking your heart right now.

You nodded your head. “It would’ve been better,” you supplied. “Coming from you.”

Dazai hummed in response. “Then, I’m sorry.”

You both sat in silence for what felt like hours. It might’ve been. The clock in this living room had been broken for nearly a decade.

“What does it depend on?” You asked him, finally breaking the silence you’d fallen into.

“Hmm?” Dazai asked, shifting to face you on the couch.

“My death,” you reminded him. “What does it depend on?”

“Are you coming back with me?”

You paused again, thinking. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you said eventually.

“Where were you going to go before?”

“Australia, to start,” you said. “I‘ve always wanted to go.”

“You never mentioned it,” he thought out loud.

You nodded your head. “We don’t really talk much about things like that.”

You weren’t sure what you expected Dazai to say, but it certainly wasn’t, “We could try.”

You whipped your head towards him, confusion clear on your features. “What?”

“We could talk about things like that, if you wanted,” Dazai repeated. As if it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever said. “I wouldn’t mind talking about what you like and the places you’d like to go.”

“Would you tell me?” You asked him, feeling a pathetic gooey feeling replacing the ache in your chest. “Would you tell me about the things you liked and the places you want to go?”

He nodded and smiled. A real smile. A gorgeous smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Without realizing it, your body had begun leaning into his, as if you were both magnets. It was pathetic really, that you’d ever thought you could leave him behind.

When he kissed you, it was different, hesitant. He wasn’t trying to claim you like he usually did. As his tongue slipped slowly into your mouth, it felt like he was trying to remember you, savor you even. You moaned into his mouth at the thought.

His hands tightened around your waist possessively, as if he were scared you might run away. You let your hands wander to his hair, something you almost never did. It had felt too intimate, but he groaned when you tugged on his dark brown locks.

He pulled away after he sucked gently on your lips and just… stared at you. At first, you wanted to shy away from the action. This was all so unlike him. It was so unlike you, but you forced yourself to look at him as he looked at you, and his eyes looked desperate. Something they never had before.

‘Stay,’ they seemed to beg you.

“I have a bedroom here,” you told him. “It’s probably dusty.”

He smirked at you, finally looking like himself again.

“We’ve had worse,” he said.

He followed you through the narrow, short hallway of your one bedroom cottage into a room you hadn’t visited in far too long. It was, of course, covered in dust. You moved to open a window after you’d switched on the light, but his arms wrapped around you from behind.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispered into your ear as he nuzzled against you. You sighed and leaned into him, savoring intimacy you never got to share. You wondered if he’d ever show you this side of him again. You hoped he would, but even saying he would actually talk to you should be enough.

You turned around slowly, wanting him to take in the sight of you as you pulled your shirt over your head. He swallowed as you unclasped your bra, eyes not leaving your breasts as it fell to the floor.

“The rest,” he demanded, gentler than usual. You felt hypnotized by the softness of his voice as you unzipped your pants and shook off your underwear.

You stood there, naked, feeling far too exposed as he stared at you.

“Well?” You asked, voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“I can’t believe you tried taking this away from me.”

His voice sounded raw, and you drew a sharp breath at the implication. “I’m sorry,” you said, realizing it was the first time you’d said it. You began walking towards him slowly, as if he might back away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered it this time, once your face was a breath away from his.

“Show me,” he whispered back. “Show me how sorry you are.”

You dropped to your knees and unclasped his belt. He started shaking off his jacket and his shirt as you unzipped his pants. He rarely got this naked for you, and you took the time to acknowledge him. Even bandaged, he was gorgeous. The words died on the tip of your tongue, like so many other had before. Three in particular.

You licked him slowly, from his base to the tip of his cock and kissed the head. You looked into his eyes, which were lidded with desire, but still so soft.

You took him into your mouth, slowly easing your head further until you’d taken all that you could, and he moaned as he hardened inside of you.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re being so good for me.”

You felt warmth spreading in your chest at the praise. You wanted to be good for him. You never wanted to hurt him again. You couldn’t tell him that, atleast not now. So you settled for giving him the best head of his life.

You moved expertly up and down his cock, covering it in spit and licking the shaft as you moved. When you paired your mouth with your hands where your mouth couldn’t reach, you relished in the feral, guttural sound that escaped his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered the words as he cocked his head back but restrained himself from bucking his hips, almost as if he was scared to break your trance.

You kept up your ministrations for a couple more minutes, until he gently grabbed your hair and pulled you off him. You whined, confused, and he chuckled.

“I don’t want to cum in your mouth tonight, princess,” he said as he pulled you up from the ground, your thighs feeling wobbly. He dipped his finger into your slick folds. “Always so wet for me,” he taunted you. Your mind had turned to mush, and you let him lead you to the bed like you were a zombie.

His fingertips stroked your cheek softly once he laid you out on the bed, and you nuzzled into his hand, drunk on his sweetness. Again, you felt three words die on the tip of your tongue, wondering if he’d known already. Wishing that he might feel the same. Just as quickly as his fingers had left your pussy, they returned. He started with one, circling inside of you before he paired it with another, watching you like you were his prey as you arched your back and whined for him when he began stroking against your g-spot.

“Please,” you begged. “Please kiss me.”

You watched his eyes widen in surprise, and you wondered if you’d made a mistake, begging for something so much more intimate than the spankings, and quick fucks you were used to, but his lips captured yours before you could doubt yourself too much.

This kiss was soft in a different, hungrier way than the hesitancy he’d moved with earlier. His tongue slipped into your mouth greedily, but he let you meet him halfway, still shirking his usual dominance. With your eyes closed, you melted into him fully, feeling like you were floating. When he pulled away, you were panting, lips parted and swollen.

The tip of his index finger traced circles around your collar bone, and you arched your back, hoping for some friction.

“Do you need something?” Dazai asked, because he couldn’t just give you what you wanted, even if he was being sweeter today.

You nodded your head. “You,” you whispered before you leaned up to suck his neck gently, licking your way up to his jaw. “Fuck me, Osamu.”

One hand grabbed your wrists and lifted them above your head, he held them there as he slid his cock into you slowly as you mewled for him.

“Thank you, thank you,” you moaned as your soft walls clenched around him.

He let go of your wrists to take hold of your waist, pulling your body into his until your face was tucked into his chest. You had to turn your head so you could breathe, not wanting to pull away from him.

“Fuck,” you curled your toes moaned as he started fucking you in earnest. You saw white when you closed your eyes, clenching around him as hard as you could, wanting to feel as full as possible. It wasn’t hard to accomplish with his thick, long length inside you. It was pure ecstasy, being taken like this by Dazai.

“You like that?” he asked, and you nodded your head as much as you could against him. He pulled away just enough that he could see your face. “I didn’t hear you,” he tsked. His taunting words were spoken so softly in contrast to his thrusts, which were growing harsher.

“I love it so much,” you whined before you mustered all the strength you could to kiss his shoulder. “Feels so good.”

“Lay back down for me,” he instructed. You wanted to protest, but there was no room for dissent in his eyes, so you loosed the grip your legs had around his waist and laid back down properly against the bed, whining when he pulled out of you.

“Stop whining,” he hissed as his finger went to stroke your clit.

“S-sorry,” you apologized as you willed yourself not to buck up into his hand. He slid back into you slowly, and the angle was different than he had ever done. He pulled your legs up above his hips and angled his body at a slant as he positioned himself forward until his face was parallel to yours. The position was so intimate, you wanted to turn away to escape from his gaze, but his cock inside you was paralyzing.

Slowly, he started moving his hips and his dick shifted in a circle inside of you. Your walls spasmed as you were completely filled, feeling him everywhere. The first time his pelvis rubbed your clit you jumped underneath him.

“Just relax, and take it,” he whispered. You nodded your head dumbly and let the pleasure consume you. Your legs shook as his cock continued moving in a circular motion inside of you, his pelvis stimulating your clit in a way you hadn’t known was possible. One of his hands started playing with your nipples, pinching them just how you liked while the other held you in place by your waist. Your body kept trying to move, to buck into his, but his firm grip held you down.

The tip of his cock pushed against your cervix with each circular pump, and your walls couldn’t stop tightening around him. Pleasure zipped through you from your clit to your core as you lost control of your body and gave in.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Tell me how much you like this.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you moaned. “Never - never felt so good.” And it was true, just a few seconds later you felt yourself cumming harder than you knew was possible. Your legs shook uselessly and your walls kept spasming, it was endless. Had you not been having the strongest orgasm of your life, you would’ve had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the guttural, bordering anamalistic sounds you released. The pressure on your clit sent waves of pleasure through your entire body all while his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly. It felt like he was everywhere. You were so completely and overwhelmingly consumed by him.

He didn’t stop, even as he admired you. Your pupils were blown wide, and your face was frozen in an O so perfect he would’ve thought you were faking it had your walls not still been spasming around his entire length.

“Fuck, are you still cumming?” He teased you, knowing you were too far gone to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you’d been orgasming repeatedly or if you were experiencing one long, endless orgasm at his hands. Your entire body still shook, and your clit was aching. For more? For less? You had no idea.

“ ‘m gonna cum inside you,” Dazai growled out, as he began fucking you regularly now, thrusting in and out, giving your poor pussy a break from the endless and overwhelming pleasure the circles had brought you. Your blood started circulating again, and you were able to blink, feeling how dry your eyes had become from being paralyzed on his cock.

“Cum for me,” you breathed out, using all the energy you had left. “Please.”

That was all it took for Dazai to spill inside you. Your walls felt so good soaked in him.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into him as you both caught your breath. His chest was sticky with sweat, and you realized how much of a workout that has been for him. After several minutes passed you were beginning to feel like a person again and you asked, “What was that?”

“Something new I wanted to try,” Dazai hummed. Fingers circling your back. “You were so sexy, it was like you were cock drunk.” He chuckled.

For once, you didn’t have the energy to scoff. Instead, you fell asleep on his chest. You knew he wouldn’t be there when you woke up, just like you knew he might not ever be this soft with you again. He’d promised you a bit more of himself tonight, and that alone was more than you’d ever thought to ask of him.

Dazai released a breath he’d been holding for ages as he stroked your hair. You looked so soft when you were sleeping. Much more innocent than the dangerous woman he’d roped into this world. He yearned to tell you how he felt about you, but knew it would be cruel for him to do so.

One thing was certain. He never wanted to be without you again.

Death, above all, the demise of one of the High Table members had not failed to get onto people’s attention, the powerful name echoing silently off of their lips, along with words of condolences - some laced with motive, some heartfelt.

It had been the general consensus floating around inner circles tied to the decision makers, that the High Table had lost a noble, honorable man, who had done many years of service to their cause.

Yet, who would be the long-awaited replacement? Would they come to the shared throne as just, deciding to keep the correct order, ensuring the smooth turning of the cogs within their secret society?

Or would they have been cruel and ruthless, allowing blood to be spilled rampantly, showing no mercy to anyone standing in their way?

None of it changed the fact, Santino would think to himself, as his newly polished leather moccasins took him further into the Continental lounge, into the figurative lion’s den with red drapery, gentle jazz and marble tables. The carefully curated beauty of the space appeasing his senses.

None of it compared to yours that shone through the corners of his universe, igniting his memories like his own morning sun - only for him to touch, to see, to feel.

A shine that the rock he had put on your finger could only try to match.

There would be moments to celebrate those of love, of course, Santino would think to himself.

Not when there was business to attend to.

His father’s ring wrapped around his finger was a constant reminder of the duty that followed him, as he approached the man of the house, informed and waiting for his arrival at his corner booth. His hand extended with a soft acknowledging smile, to the seat right across him which Santino took.

While he still had to come to sort out the details of his ascension with his sister, who had previously indicated that she wanted nothing to do with the ever-seeing entity of theirs - Santino hoped they would turn out to be just simple formalities to brush over.

And, above everything else, he had wished everybody else would see it as such.

Not that they would be given much of a choice when the cards played themselves out. Power had been passed on, and whether it had been a rightful transition, his family’s fate was inevitable. Alas, he would like to meet any that deemed otherwise, that deemed him unworthy to contend - maybe then, his calm demeanor would be threatened to change.

After all, only the ones closest to him knew - it had all been at the expense of losing his own blood, the father he had looked up to, whose legacy, by nature, required to be kept intact.

In this world, you win and you lose some, his father had always reminded him.

He had, over time, found that he did not like losing. Not by one bit.

“Vino?”

“Sì. Grazie.”

Ever the gentleman, Santino would watch with a thankful hint of a smile as the manager himself ordered him a taste of one of his favorite reds, the appetizing glass placed in front of him momentarily.

Growing up in the extreme riches and grandeur surrounding every environment he had ever been in, by contrary, had forced him to open his eyes to the one undeniable fact in this universe.

Everything had a price.

“My condolences, Signor d’Antonio,” Winston would offer with a genuine tone, eliciting a silent but thankful nod from his guest.

Some people had to pay it with their one life.

“He had been battling the illness for a long time,” Santino reminisced, his curls falling to his forehead ever so lightly, his eyes focused on the marble pattern as if trying to distract himself.

“Have you settled the funeral services yet?”

Santino’s head tilted to meet his gaze, the light catching the hard line of his jaw, a grim yet determined tone arising in his voice - hints of a plan, a calculated thought hidden behind the grieving demeanor.

“Speaking of the funeral service…”

The truth often had a habit of revealing itself, much to the relief of some and demise of others. In this case, neither of them could discern what the truth would bring eventually, treading on eminent domain, as if awaiting the silent echoes of the storm to finally arrive.

The rich red wine appeasing his thirst for the time being, Santino’s eyes redirected focus into his. There had been a newfound hunger in them - enticing, almost brilliantly gleaming in the light, almost as if reflecting the oiled little cogs of a plan turning in his mind.

Winston had known that this day would come, one way or another.

It had only been a matter of time.

“Winston. With all sincerity - I do not want to do this.”

The solemnity seeping into the air, Winston slowly raised the martini glass to his lips, his expression calm as usual save for the slight flinching of his jaw while he patiently waited for the words to flow out of the Italian in front of him.

“We have been thinking, planning, contemplating just how this task could be possible. And, truthfully, è impossibile.”

Fingers resting at the base of the glass, his green gaze almost in a trance focused on the slight sway of the crimson liquid as he spoke - pensive, decisive, almost regretful.

“The only way to make the impossible task possible - is through my late father.”

Santino’s eyes would lift up, almost in a testing manner to see if Winston would divulge any insights on his expression - yet the man listened, patiently, with intent, even if he had an inkling of an idea of what had been to come.

“And then, it clicked to me - the men Tarasov wants dead, most of them had been close to our circles of business. They are men that would not miss the funeral service of my father, if they value their reputation at all.”

An air of seriousness etched onto his features, Winston would take another sip from his martini, his questions to follow suit.

Questions he had already began to formulate an unfortunate answer to.

“And where would this be held?”

Having predicted this moment prior, replaying the scenarios in his head on the ride over to the Continental - Santino spoke with prepared ease, his words melting into the air lightened by the music notes.

“I was hoping you could help me with that, signore.”

His unoccupied left hand reached for the suit jacket’s interior pocket, the intricate watch he sported for the occasion shining under the dim light, briefly overtaking the attention from the nickel marker that his fingers pulled out to then lie the object flat on the marble table.

Right in between them, as if crossing a chasm too wide, the liability that united the parts for a brief moment in time.

“You have to understand - it is all for her.”

Further explanations were not needed to understand just what his insinuations meant, between the thin, blurred lines.

This was not for him.

It would never be.

The hauntingly familiar glint of polished nickel caught the light, shifting the point of attention to itself.

It was the object that had been the sole subject of a particular, long-forgotten section of his soul, his memory and mind - however sealed off, closed to any further invasion for as long as he remembered.

After all was said and done - this had been his doing out of desperation, all those years ago, buried deep into the cemetery of the past.

Winston had always thought he had more time.

More time to lull on what he had done in the past, to accept and maybe, one very lucky day if it ever came - to forgive himself fully.

There were worse fates to be had in this world, he would ponder, than a rightful collector arriving to collect his debt.

Santino’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly - it had been an evident sign of respect towards the older man, for all he had stood for. His gaze softening, a slight twitch in his jaw in anticipation of what was to come.

After all, demanding overdue obligement from his future father-in-law had never brought good luck into a holy union - yet, Santino hoped that this one time could be forgiven, as he tried to clear the one obstacle holding him back.

“New York Continental will host my late father’s funeral service, with John Wick in attendance - exception to be granted to conduct his business. ”

Winston’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath in, his voice low yet steady as he stated the obvious.

“Santino, you know the rules. No business can be conducted on Continental grounds. What you are asking for is impossible.”

With a metal click, the lid of the marker that had been sealed more than a decade ago was opened to showcase the dried mark on one side.

“My father’s blood says otherwise, signore.”

Closing the marker after his point was made, Santino’s green eyes darkened with gravity, leaning forward on his elbow against the table to speak closely.

“It is the only way. You came to my father, all those years ago, for her protection. When you needed to hide her to keep her from harm’s way. And, remind me - what did my father do, Winston?”

A spark of quiet affection grazed his face at the mention of you, memories flooding his conscience of when he had first laid his eyes on you, the moment you had stepped into his family home.

“He took her in. Harbored her in her most vulnerable moments. Raised her just like one of our own blood. ”

A similar set of memories must have been visualizing in Winston’s eyes as they became glassier by the second - yet, he held his composure.

However, Santino was not done.

“Camorra became the only family she had belonged to, after spending a lifetime thinking she had been orphaned. Hanging onto the hope that her father must be out there, somewhere, by some luck of the draw.”

Leaving the marker on the table, the Italian leaned back in his chair and took a leisurely sip out of his wine.

“If only she had known he had been right in front of her eyes this whole time.”

Those words seemed to have the desired effect on the hotel manager, spoken with truth yet with a hint of regret. Winston stayed silent for a brief while, contemplating - just everything he had done in the past that had led him to the current predicament.

Out of everybody, he had known just how he had to honor the marker’s demands. Winston discerned just what he had to do - and the damage control his obligated actions would entail, had he made it past. At that point, the issue had transformed from being one of feasibility, into one of helpless acceptance and curiosity. His gaze met Santino’s again, this time an unknown fear in them, accompanying his hesitant yet affirming nod.

Upon the response, Santino muttered a simple yet heartfelt grazie as he prepared to leave by putting the marker back into his jacket pocket - when Winston’s words cut the silence.

“And the High Table is informed of this?”

That had seemed to make Santino stop in his tracks briefly, his motions softening as he got up from the chair. Pensive, his jaw twitching as his features housed a gentle, knowing smile - as if the realization had dawned on him at that very moment.

“I am sure you have realized by now that you are staring at the High Table, Winston.”

Gotham, a city infamous for its crime and chaos, was the perfect backdrop for (y/n)'s latest endeavor. The city's reputation for lawlessness and the presence of vigilantes like Batman made it an ideal location for illicit activities. They had been sent here to keep an eye on things and make sure operations ran smoothly.

“Boss, we have secured the perimeter. No one gets in or out of here without us knowing” Matthias voice rang out, as he came running up behind you. Matthias was a younger soldier, far too young in (y/n)’s opinion, but they digress. You stood in the office, overlooking the warehouse, ready for the shipment of chemicals to arrive. “Sounds good Matt, Gino said he has pulled some strings for us tonight. No bats to worry about,” you gently intoned, turning back around as you heard the roar of an engine. “The bats will be preoccupied by a break out at Arkham Asylum, curtsey of the Moreno family.”

The truck backed in as a notification popped up on your phone notifying you that the break out has started, “Ah perfect timing, make sure not a single case of those chemicals is dropped. The Joker might have already paid, but I'm not dealing with that crazy guy tonight,” you commanded, as you sit at your desk, “If a single case is dropped, shoot the soldier who dropped it”

As the truck arrived and the cases were carefully unloaded, (y/n) watched from the office, a sense of anticipation and unease washing over them. The night was filled with potential dangers, and (y/n) knew that they would have to be vigilant to ensure the success of their operation. The warehouse was a ticking time bomb, and a single misstep could lead to disaster.

Jason sat on the edge of a roof, under his red hood, watching as the last of the escapees were rounded up. A voice crackled through his comms, "That couldn't have been a coincidence," it was Red Robin. Jason grunted in agreement, nodding even though no one was around. Pressing a finger to the comm, he responded, "Yeah, it felt too organized. Oracle, thoughts?" he growled, his calm night shattered by the unexpected chaos.

“Red Robin is right, so are you, Red Hood," she replied, her voice filled with disbelief. "Batman interrogated one of the head guards. They were paid and blackmailed into releasing the prisoners." The mention of the Moreno family caught her attention. "They said something about the Moreno family?" she asked, her voice rising with concern.

"Tt, I've heard of them," Robin interjected, his tone filled with a mix of annoyance and respect. "Ruthless bunch. They're a branch of the Sicilian mafia. Mother and Grandfather often talked about them." The revelation sent a shiver down Oracle’s spine. The Moreno family was a dangerous force to be reckoned with, and their involvement in the Arkham Asylum breakout made the situation even more perilous.

A groan through the comm, "Why is it always the mafia?" Spoiler whined, Jason could practically hear her dramatic pout.

Jason rolled his eyes at her, "It's not always the mafia, Spoiler," Batman's gruff voice sounded, joining the call. "However, Robin is correct. The Moreno Family is known for their ruthless tactics and even more dangerous members. This begs the question: why are they in Gotham? They're usually only in Sicily or New York."

Batman's words hung heavy in the air. Red Hood couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The Moreno family's presence in Gotham was a troubling development, and it was clear that something sinister was afoot. Their arrival could signal the start of a new era of crime in the city, a reign of terror that would rival even the Joker's.

Jason knew that they would have to be vigilant to prevent the Moreno family from establishing a foothold in Gotham. The city was already teetering on the brink of chaos, and the arrival of this powerful mafia family could push it over the edge.

"Oracle, were there any suspicious deliveries or anything coming into Gotham? Of the people who weren't involved tonight, this would leave Joker, Mr. Freeze, or Penguin. Perhaps one of them bought something from the mafia?" Red Robin queried, his voice filled with suspicion. The possibility that one of Gotham's most notorious villains had formed an alliance with the Moreno family was a terrifying prospect.

If any of the three had acquired a dangerous weapon or substance, it could spell disaster for the city. The thought of Joker armed with a new weapon or Mr. Freeze with a more powerful ice-based device sent shivers down Red Hood's spine. They would have to be prepared for anything.

Typing could be heard through the comms as Oracle, a.k.a. Barbara Gordon, investigated recent deliveries at the docks. "There was a shipment of weed killer coming from New York City today," she reported. "Although with the new information tonight, I doubt it was weed killer." Oracle sighed in exasperation.

Batman's voice called through the comms, "Let's reconvene at the Batcave. We can make a plan from there." Various voices agreed as they began to trek back to the Batcave. Jason's mind was a whirlwind of possible motives and thoughts. The Moreno family's presence in Gotham was a puzzle, and the mysterious shipment of weed killer only added to the intrigue.

As Jason made his way toward the Batcave, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were facing a formidable enemy. The Moreno family's arrival in Gotham was a harbinger of danger, and they would need to be prepared for anything.

(Y/n) grinned as a familiar, grinning man entered the office, guided by Matthis. "Ciao, Joker. It's fantastic to see you!" they exclaimed, rising to shake the madman's hand. "I hope the streets weren't too chaotic for you," they quipped, settling back behind their desk.

Joker let out a maniacal laugh, amused by the Capo's words. "I knew the Moreno family wouldn't let Batsy interfere," he cackled, beaming at (y/n). "So, I guess we're all set here. You have the hydrogen cyanide and Strychnodide?" (Y/n) nodded. "All I need from you now is your word that if caught with Moreno family goods, you won't snitch. And if we hear you plan to use these chemicals on children or wives, we won't hesitate to shoot first," they hissed, ensuring their point was clear. The Joker cackled, "I promise, little Moreno, it won't come to that," he assured, giving an exaggerated bow.

(Y/n) nodded, waving off the Joker's bow with a dismissive gesture. "Good, now leave," they commanded, leaning back in their chair. The leather creaked beneath their weight as the Joker cackled and departed, barking orders to his henchmen. Once the villain was out of sight, (Y/n) let out a low groan, rubbing the bridge of their nose. "God, that man gives me a headache," they grumbled, gazing up at the concrete ceiling. "Matthis, I think I'm going to go have some fun. Keep an eye on the Joker, and if he does anything we don't approve of, shoot him," they ordered, standing up. "I'm going bat hunting."

I hope you like my first Fanfiction! Let me know if I should write another chapter of What Comes Around!

They were never supposed to have even met one another in the first place. Their jobs were ones that should have pulled them far apart from each other's graces. He was an executive, after all, and she was just a lowly clerk. She dealt with numbers, paying off people who needed paying off, covering up the footprints of great men like him. He was supposed to send his subordinates to deal with her. That was what everyone else always did. Dazai wasn't like everyone else though, was he.

"I've got something for you." he stated, straightening up and taking a few steps into the room, his hands firmly in the pockets of his coat.

Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"What is it, another job?"

"A present."

Dazai pulled a box from his pocket, snapping it down on top of the work Y/n had splayed out over the desk's surface before her. It was large and flat. She eyed it suspiciously.

"It wont bite."

"You do."

"I said it, didn't I?"

"What is it, a bomb? Think it would be funny to watch me struggle to deal with something like that?"

"Don't give me any ideas." Dazai playfully replied.

"Is it full of anthrax? I have already told you, I have no interest in committing a double suicide."

"Just open it."

The Mafia was a dangerous place, those who worked there lead dangerous lives. There was no denying the living, breathing thing between Y/n and Dazai but... there was no place for such a creature here. Besides, neither of them would know what to do about it if there was. They had both forgotten how to be gentle long ago, were unsure if it had ever been in their nature in the first place. All that was left was the sharpness.

Hesitantly, Y/n picked the dark red box up and opened the lid. Nestled in the black velvet of the interior was a necklace. It was old, an antique locket of sorts with a few flowers engraved on its oval front.

"Nightshade." she commented.

"Made me think of you, Belladonna."

That was one of the things that helped tow the line, the invisible and complex line. Y/n never called Dazai anything other than his last name and Dazai only referred to her as 'Belladonna.' At first, the name had irritated her. It had felt like a denial of her personhood, her individuality. That was before she had known there had been a line to cross at all. She was older now, wiser. She looked back up at him.

"How sweet." she bitterly replied.

Dazai smiled his lazy smile in response. A girl could give up everything for a smile like that, even her life. Y/n wouldn't though. If she was willing to, that was mean it was all lost. They would have crossed the line long ago, if that were true. They couldn't have that. The line was what kept them safe, kept hem sheltered, kept them. He closed the distance, stepping up beside her in the space behind her desk.

"Here."

Long, slender fingers snaked around the locket's delicate chain, pulling it from its bed. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, securing the necklace. It felt heavy against her chest, a foriegn weight that seemed to cut right through her skin to her bones below. Gently, he slipped a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to him.

"Perfect." he hummed.

Had they already crossed it? Was it too late? If so, what had been the deciding factor? Was it the late nights up on the roof, talking till the sun rose? Was it the knocks at her door at odd hours? Had it been their legs tangled together beneath the covers night after night, no sex required?

"Thank you."

What needed to happen, what change had to occur for them to be able to say the words that echoed in the backs of their minds?

Dazai's hand lingered on her face for a moment longer. Y/n mourned the warmth of his touch as he dragged his fingers from her.

"I have to go."

Y/n sighed, turning back to her messy desk.

"The work of a Mafioso is never complete, is it."

A statement, not a question. Dazai let out a light laugh in agreement. Y/n picked her pen back up, listening intently to his footsteps as he crossed back over to the door. At the sound of a pause, a hesitation in the pattern, she looked back up.

"Same time same place?"

She smiled. Tonight, the kitchens. Stolen food, stolen time. Stolen kisses too most likley.

"Yeah."

Belladonna. Something poisonous, something detrimental. Something completely and entirely his, if he was brave enough to take her. Dazai wasn't so sure he was, not right now at any rate. Dazai was a man who didn't like uncertainties. In fact, he avoided them at all nearly costs. He didn't know if the day would ever come when the bravery or the assurance would arrive. With things as they were now, it felt inevitable. A ticking bomb, a precariously placed glass. One wrong move, and everything would shatter.

With a curt nod, he disappeared back out into the hallway. Y/n listened to his footsteps against the carpet of the hall as he retreated, picturing the way he must look in the moment, wondering where he was off to.

The line was there, the brick wall between them. They both knew it. How far was too far? Was it holding hands as they walked down the street, checking to make sure no one could see? They already did that. They already did a lot of things. Maybe... maybe the line would dissolve when the fear left or, maybe, when it felt more manageable, they would be able to cross it, if they hadn't already.

How far was too far?

Y/n reached her hand up to her chest, fingering the cool silver of the locket where it hung at her collar. Maybe, just maybe, they had gone to far already. Maybe the world was already falling down around them, they just hadn't noticed it yet.

----

Here is the quote that inspired this:

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particular deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need a refill and pronto. 

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere oopsie?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his fold, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way and you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your refurbished liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, Sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs. But she never committed to joining forces. 

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

She’s facing you, back arched and ass resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, the sweet bouquet of lavender rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

“You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave, because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. 

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — (Even though I doubt this is worth putting the taglist on, here it is anyway)