summary: A direct follow-up to this bit that started the whole universe of dark mafia boss Curtis. You're taken to Curtis' home - your future home and argue with him about his choice of a wife.
warnings: dark and soft-dark elements; arranged marriage; forced marriage; threats; dominant and possessive behavior; Curtis is too damn smart; also who doesn't love to live a spoiled wealthy life; brief mention of breeding kink
Author's Note: I had this scene in my head forever, but somehow couldn't get around to write it. Until today. Just sat down to it at morning and ten hours later here we are 😅
Curtis Everett Masterlist
Full Masterlist
Curtis Everett was a scary motherfucker.
For many, his position as the head of the mafia was enough to deem him dangerous and terrifying. His orders were behind many lost lives, disappearances, blown up places, companies going forever out of business.
Yes, that was enough to consider him scary.
But as you sat in the back of his car, eyeing him from the corner of your eye, you knew there's more to be afraid of.
Until today, you thought yourself to be disinterested in him and the aura surrounding him. Of course, being connected to the mob web, you were aware of who he was, how he looked, and how he operated. But you were rarely at the events he frequented. Your family was in the mafia, but not on the upper levels, not in the inner circle that would grant you such nobility.
Well, until he dropped the bomb with his decision to fucking marry you.
Out of all the available, better matched mafia princesses.
That term might suit you in the general way - a girl who was brought up in the mafia; but it wasn't a category you'd put yourself in as an adult woman.
The fact you were mostly on the outskirts of mafia social life was one of the reasons. All the more making the whole situation unbelievable, that Curtis would for some reason choose you.
This unpredictability, as well the fact he appeared to be two steps ahead with every move, made him that scary motherfucker in your eyes.
Lack of physical violence against you (aside from being tossed over his shoulder and carried to the car) was surprising, too.
Your father and uncle might have been good men when it came to treating women, but there were enough disgusting scumbags in the mafia who raised their hands on their wives or daughters. Who held them hostage in abusive households, while wetting their dicks in diamond-encrusted bitches that dared to look down on those scorned women as if they were better.
Yet, something told you Everett, despite being the law when it came to the conservative traditions gluing this dark world, wouldn't raise his hand on you.
Even as he hoisted you over his shoulder, he was careful with his force.
Oh, you hated him at that moment. So much. But a slightly breathless thought passed your mind when he put you in the backseat of the car.
That Curtis Everett was a man.
As primitive as it sounded. Shallow, too. Still, you couldn't stop that fleeting thought that no man before him was able to just lift you up.
Well, not the men you dated, anyway. Aside from a short fling with one of the young mafia soldiers back when you were barely eighteen. After that, your choices have been guys outside of the famiglia.
Nice guys. Charming, non-threatening, with safe passions and gentle hands.
For so long, you told yourself that's what you wanted. That's what was healthy and normal. You were still convinced of that, it's just that some part of you liked the brief moment of being manhandled by an imposing, lethal man.
A man sitting next to you in the confines of a heavy black suv, with his legs spread wide, tattoos crawling up his fingers from beneath the cufflinked sleeves of a pristine steel gray shirt paired with an equally dark suit.
In the small space of the backseat of a car you could smell his perfume. Pine and herbs and salty sea.
Funny, you would expect that the ruthless devil at the head of the most powerful mafia to smell of grime, gunpowder, and death.
Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the fabric of your dress over your knees.
"I really think this is the wrong choice." You spoke up, keeping your voice confident, but not daring.
You had the will to fight for yourself, but you were aware of the workings of the world, especially this criminal one. There were repercussions for everything and it'd be stupid to think you could get away with disrespecting the fucking Don.
You also liked living, so you had no intention of chewing through your own arm just to get free, like a caged animal.
Curtis' pointed a single finger at you.
"That is exactly why you're the perfect choice." He said, with the same calm, polite finality he was talking with at the dinner at your family's place.
"What?" You frowned, confused. "The fact I don't want it?"
"No. Because you are furious, but able to control yourself. Because, despite trying for many years to stay outside of mafia workings, you know how to play that game."
"If you want a smart wife, I assure you there are quite a few to choose from. Not every mafia princess is a spoiled, stupid bimbo." Which wasn't their fault, either. It was how they were raised.
Who knows, maybe if your dad was up in the ranks and more influential, you too would be groomed to be a completely docile, sweet mouse.
"Each woman brings different advantages." Curtis said, not the least remorseful.
"I don't come with many," you countered.
Your family was a part of the mob. Your father, his brother, your brother and your cousins. They all were on mafia payroll, though they dealt with a small part of the whole crime machine.
Their influence and wealth were slightly above compared to middle class civilians, but not much compared to mobsters of higher status.
Besides, it's not like Curtis needed more money. He had the most of all.
Power, too.
"I disagree." He surprised you with his simple but genuine statement.
"But let's continue this at home." It was that moment you realized the car had stopped and you reached the destination.
Home. Curtis used that word purposely. Not his place, not inside the house. He called it home, reminding you of the inevitable fate.
As you stepped out, the materialistic part of that future spread before you in its glory.
The mansion was impressive. The grounds surrounding it, as well. Not a monstrosity, but a surprisingly warm classic, like an Italian villa. You bet there was a swimming pool.
Damn, you loved swimming. And sunbathing. And sweet cocktails.
You shook your head, getting yourself back on track as Curtis' hand touched your lower back and nudged your forward.
Inside, the interior was welcoming and stunning. You half expected an overabundance of gold and kitsch, but was greeted by classic comfort. This was a place that could really feel like a home, not just a statement on status.
Curtis guided you to a spacious room in which a wall of windows was interrupted by a massive, stucco fireplace.
"You may claim to be insignificant or not belonging, but I see it quite differently." Curtis opened a small wine fridge in the custom made bar and poured two glasses.
He handed you one.
"I'm confident in my worth as a human being," you took the glass from him. "But I don't see reason behind choosing me for a mob wife. For you out of all!"
If some soldier working under a Capo wanted to ask for your hand, it would be more believable. More likely a situation to fight and decline, too.
But the boss of bosses staking claim? Unbelievable.
Inevitable, too.
"Hmm, the Don is usually expected to marry for alliance." Curtis agreed. He stood opposite of you, neither of you sitting down. "However, at the moment, I'm in no need to form an alliance. Don't need to support the power using outsiders."
"What I'm in need for is to strengthen inner structure."
You took a sip of wine, mostly to wet your lips and throat.
"Okay, I get wanting to marry a daughter of your own men." You nodded in return. "It provides them with honor and respect, while further securing their loyalty to you. Still, it doesn't-"
"Lower ranked can be the weakest links when it comes to loyalty, but your family has been spotless for many years." Curtis explained.
"I don't believe you made that choice just to reward my family." Curtis may have been an honorable man, as far as criminals went, but even he wouldn't make such a big gesture for an insignificant last name.
"I didn't." He took a sip of wine, and you couldn't help but watch the way his throat moved as he swallowed.
"Your family's so called reward will echo through all the ranks."
Curtis' eyes glinted something cold and calculating. Instead of being only scared, you found yourself intrigued by the plan he was weaving.
"For the others on lower level it will mean hope for their potential promotion in the future. That their daughters will marry to higher ranks, or sons given positions under Capos."
"Sons... you mean my brother will-"
"He'll be working under McGregor." Curtis confirmed, the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. "And with that new prestigious position and connections, he will get the hand of Giana."
It was shocking that the Don himself knew of such minor, gossip-level things like a foot soldier being in love with Capo's niece.
"Moreover, it will shake the upper ranks." Curtis continued in the same calm tone, only his eyes betraying heightening triumph.
"And sometimes, when you shake a branch, bad fruit falls."
Shit! He truly was two steps ahead. Of everyone.
Your breasts rose up in a quickened breath. You had a certain weakness for intelligence. A dose of fear spiked anew, too, for it meant Curtis definitely had a counter argument to every point you might roll out.
"If it comes to it, you'll find out which of your ups are greedy and power hungry enough to betray you." You concluded with a nervous swallow.
Curtis only nodded, taking another sip of his wine. Taking you as his wife wasn't just a whim for him, even if some might see it as it. Actually, it served him well, if most of people remained clueless.
"As for you," the cold in his eyes transformed into something ravenous that almost made you take a step back, "before you list me names of other unmarried girls from lower ranking families..."
You really were ready to come up with some propositions.
"You're fit to play the game and be a rightful queen by my side. Smart, confident, brave. And-" he sighed with relief- "a woman, not a child barely out of age."
Pressing your lips together, you almost laughed at his clear discomfort at the prospect of marrying and fucking an eighteen year old. You'd give him a point for that.
"What about the part of me not wanting to be a mob wife?" It had to be the wine that made you ask so boldly.
Or, perhaps, you were slowly accepting the unchangeable fate and merely poking at the bear.
"I would call it bullshit." Curtis shrugged.
"Excuse me?" You bristled.
You took a few quick steps over to the coffee table to put your glass down, then braced your hands on your hips. Curtis didn't move from his spot, only turned around to face you.
"You paint this picture of someone who's been trying to cut ties with the mafia, but you're still here. Sure, we can discuss how you'd probably be chased and brought to heel, but-" slowly, he took another sip of wine, completely unbothered- "would you, really?"
Before you opened your mouth to retort, he continued:
"You're very smart and resourceful, know how to talk people up and make connections. If you were truly determined to get away from it all, you would. And we probably wouldn't find you."
"Honestly, it's possible we wouldn't even put much power behind that chase. A daughter of a lower ranking mobster, we'd do it for the sake of your family's name, but named the case cold after a few weeks."
Your pulse quickened with annoyance. At his words, but more at the truth he was revealing and which you knew at the back of your head. Because, if you put all your effort into disappearing, you'd fucking succeed. For-fucking-ever!
"Still, you stayed." Curtis' voice was a smooth blade, cutting off your armour piece by piece.
"You ventured outside the lines of mob's web with your dates, but never formed close friendships with those not from the famiglia. Perhaps you'll claim it was to keep people safe, but I wonder if it wasn't because you feel more at ease with those who understand this life. Who understand certain comforts, dangers, and... cravings."
Your blood rushed south, pooling heat in your core at the mentioned thrill.
"You went all bold with the degree unusual for most mafia princesses to choose, and I admire that. Yet, here you are, not looking for a job in that field. You upgraded your family's small business, but it's nowhere near what you're qualified to do."
Because you wanted to be different. You wanted to be more than just a mold everyone else was cast from. You wanted to sate your ambitions and stimulate your brain.
At the same time, you couldn't imagine not being at your family's cafe.
"Actually-" Curtis paused to put his own glass on the table and took a step towards you- "you don't seem to have been doing much different things than other mafia princesses."
"You work more, yes. You spend less, yes. You don't frequent many brunches and cocktails, only Carmella's monthly spa spree. But you eat only at mafia owned places. You participate in Fiore's and Layton's community cookouts."
You wanted to scream at him that you supported the community, nothing else. But was it the sole truth?
It was also a habit. And, somehow, a distaste for anything that wasn't from the world you knew.
You could also admit that you acted spoiled on rare occasions. You couldn't afford to buy only brands, or to splurge on three bags full at Sephora. And you were fine with it. Still, you bribed Sabrina at Claude's boutique, to put away for you that short, pale pink faux fur they had in the upcoming order list.
Curtis' gaze slowly slid down your body then up again. It wasn't lecherous, yet felt like a dark promise of devouring you whole.
"Maybe you don't like to be called that, but you are a mafia princess. And you can be swooped away by the mafia king."
"You have it all figured out, don't you?" You huffed, frustrated with losing all reasonable arguments, beside just pure spite.
"Yes." He didn't gloat, he simply stated.
"Well, you haven't even really proposed! No getting on one knee and offering a ring!" You blurted out, throwing your hands in the air.
Mirth formed soft wrinkles around Curtis' eyes. His mouth widened in a grin that balanced between amusement and a shark's bite.
"Because it's not a proposal."
No, it wasn't. Proposals had the option of refusing. He wouldn't accept yours. Already didn't. It was quite magnanimous of him that he even entertained the whole discussion on the matter.
"But if it matters to you so much-"
His hands gripped your hips in a flash. He lifted you, so easily once again, then tossed you onto the sofa.
The world spun, before your gaze settled on the light wooden beams crossing the pristine white ceiling. Then your eyes shifted to look at the man hovering over you.
He pushed your legs apart, kneeling on the floor between them. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box.
Your pupils widened, and breath hitched in your chest. Though you weren't sure if it was because the motherfucker was clearly prepared for an actual traditional proposal, or if it was because of the way he had you splayed under him.
Curtis opened the box and a setting of blinding stones sparkled at you. The ring was stunning. Possibly worth half of this mansion.
You gaped as he took the ring in one hand. With his other, he lifted your hand, which somehow felt beyond your control. Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, all the while holding your gaze.
"I won't ask if you marry me, because you will." Curtis rubbed your knuckles with his thumb.
His other hand moved to your chest. Fingers brushed over the swell of your breasts then circled your throat.
"In six months." He leaned down, his voice lowering into a purr as he laid each new tile of your fate for you.
"Official announcement comes next week. We'll host the annual Christmas party for the famiglia as an engaged couple. A few other events before our spring wedding."
He pushed closer. You felt the heat of him between your thighs. Your clit throbbed with interest. His fingers on your neck tightened slightly and your pulse quickened beneath his thumb.
"I won't fuck you until our wedding night. I'm traditional like that. Plus, I don't want anyone to have any doubt about me choosing you. There won't be any claims that I did an honorable thing after knocking you up."
There was a mention of condoms at the tip of your tongue, nearly rolling out in a begging tone.
"Because when I fuck you-" his breath tickled your lips as Curtis leaned closer- "you will take me bare. Always. In every hole. You will leak with my cum and swell with my child."
Your pussy clenched around nothing.
The gasp that fell out of your lips wasn't of an outrage, nor mortification. Curtis read it for the need that it was, his eyes igniting with victory.
He slid his hand up your neck, until his long fingers bracketed your jaw. He held you in place, with a dab of force to remind you that he would always be holding the reins, even as his mouth took your lips in a soft, sensually maddening kiss.
Thinking of the follow-up to the engagement with mafia Curtis. That first night and morning after.
Your brother's stupid grin when he brings over a bag of things your mother quickly packed;
He's smug that he got promotion and a blessing to court his sweetheart, but he's also a brotherly troll who notices you're more flustered than angry and of course teases you.
You're considering telling Curtis he should reconsider that marriage, because really you're way past your prime since you're suddenly experiencing hot flushes
a clear sign your menopause just hit
surely not your body reacting to the fact Curtis just undressed in front of you, in the bedroom you're supposed to be sharing.
You tried to reason sleeping together makes no sense, if he's adamant on no sex until wedding night.
To which Curtis smirked, asking if you're afraid you won't be able to keep your hands to yourself
Which he then followed - shirtless, tattooed, towering over you and nearly pressing you against the bed post - with obscenely sinful murmur that he will happily resolve all your tension, but you're gonna have to be a good girl and wait for his cock to stretch your pussy.
The sudden shyness when you stepped out of the bathroom in your silk set
the nervousness and unexpected hot excitement at sharing that big bed with Curtis
feeling his warmth and having his hand boldly rest on your hip
How surprisingly good you slept, once you managed to fall asleep.
In the morning, you ate breakfast together. In the lavish dining room, where Curtis made sure you sat right next to him, not on opposite ends of the long table.
His calm, amused responses to some of your sassy comments.
He didn't allow you to go to your family's cafe alone, but drove you there. Or rather you both were taken in the car with a driver.
Curtis made sure that you were seen with him - his car pulling up right in front of the cafe, already filled with some of the regulars; Curtis stepped out first and helped you out
then brushed his curled knuckles along your cheek before kissing you in a way that could be considered modest, but still curled your toes.
The official announcement of the engagement was set at the end of the week, but he wasn't going to pretend he didn't own you already.
summary: Despite your family being part of the mafia, you led a quite free life compared to the other single women in the mob. However, it's all about to change when the head of the mafia decides to make you his wife.
warnings: dark and soft-dark elements; arranged marriage; forced marriage; threats; dominant and possessive behavior;
Author's Note: For now it's just a collection of short musings and ficlets, not a full story. But since this Curtis gained quite a lot of attention, I think he needs a separate masterlist (for potential future purposes).
Summary: You and Curtis are having to deal with literal and figurative nightmares while working to make sure the Garbage Men operation runs smoothly.
A/N: Reader is plus sized female. No other descriptors used.
Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, PTSD. Please let me know if I missed any!
Part 4--Part 6
Series Masterlist
Curtis finishes up the last of the phone calls needed to get Rogers' house and Fowler's apartment cleaned up without too many questions. Police investigations had to happen, there's no way to hide an explosion at Rogers' house or gunshots at Fowler's apartment. But intervention was needed to keep the investigations from going too far and incriminating the Family.
"What a week for Mace to be on vacation," you mutter, half joking.
"They needed the break," Curtis grumbles. "Besides, it'll be good for them to know Franco is no longer an issue."
"True," you nod. "Poor DC was so shaken up. Can't say I blame her, though."
Curtis grunts and rubs his eyes. It's been an emotionally fraught night. The man who killed his little brother is now dead, but not by his hand. He feels deflated, like he's been denied his chance at closure.
"Let's get something to eat and then get to bed," you suggest. "We're barely functional right now."
Curtis just nods his agreement.
You wake up with Curtis' arms around you. Based on his breathing, you can tell he isn't asleep.
"Feeling better?" you groggily ask.
"Always better when I'm holding you," he replies.
"You know what I mean."
"My point remains valid," he pouts.
You giggle a little and Curtis' shoulders relax a bit. Holding you close, making you smile. They're the greatest joys in his life.
"We've probably got a lot of work to do today," you start. "Lots of follow up visits and calls to make."
Curtis lightly growls his displeasure as he nuzzles his beard against you.
"I know, I know. Maybe we should take a page from Mace's book and see about a vacation."
"They'd fall apart without us," Curtis sighs.
"Probably. But that's all the more reason we should be building up the ranks in the Garbage Men. Getting more people to spread out the work."
"Higher ups are gonna be extra skittish about bringing on new people right now."
"I suppose you're right," you sigh. "But I'm keeping that as a goal for us. Our information gathering is the best, but we're spread thin. Someone going on vacation shouldn't put us our people at risk of getting killed."
"Fair."
You feel Curtis' stomach tighten, even though he tries to hide it.
"We should probably get some breakfast," you suggest.
"But I need more cuddles," he pouts.
"And I need to pee," you retort.
"Fine," he grumbles. "But you owe me more cuddles.
The week is primarily spent making sure covers are kept. People need to think the Garbagemen are normal civilians and that means their schedules aren't impacted by recent events. It's also a good opportunity to cement stories in the public. Rogers' house wasn't bombed, it was a faulty pipe that led to a gas buildup that went off. Everyone should marvel at the miracle that the couple made it out and that their baby is safe. If anyone suggests otherwise, they get laughed off as being paranoid or reading too much into these things. Go for the simple answer, that's the right one, right?
It was also a good way to shore up weak spots in the information network. One of the old lady's Hal cleans pools for says she heard it was an attack? Hal charms her into telling him her sources so they can make sure they don't get farther. Jake's web crawlers find someone talking about gunshots heard after the explosion? He makes sure the posts get swamped with bots while he figures out who was posting so you and Curtis can figure out how best to keep them from talking about it.
Mace and DC return in the midst of everything and are quickly caught up. DC does breathe easier knowing there's no one out there trying to kill her and she returns to work at the Free Clinic much happier.
You're happy for the couple, but also a little jealous. There's no vacation for you and Curtis. No real time off from the demands of the job. And you know it's by design. Curtis' design, specifically. Work himself ragged so he was too tired to dream. Too tired for the nightmares to find him. But he's been making sure to take time for you, take time to rest. And that's when the nightmares started getting more pronounced. It makes you feel responsible.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Curtis tells you as you're cuddled up on the couch. "About...about Edgar. About the fact I'm never getting revenge."
"Oh?"
"I think you were on to something when you talked about putting Edgar to rest. He never got a funeral. No one remembers him except me. I think that's what's...haunting me."
"Okay. What are you thinking about doing for him?"
"This might sound weird but...a scholarship? So more kids don't end up like he did?"
"I love that idea! And with how much money we make, we can definitely sponsor a few scholarships each academic year."
"We?"
"If it's okay, I'd like to join you on this. I did get started in this gig by teaching, after all. But, if it's something you'd rather do yourself, I absolutely understand."
"No, I really appreciate it. And it'll mean helping more kids. Thank you for this, Teach."
"I'm always happy to support you," you smile before kissing him. "Want me to look into local schools to see how we can get things started for the Edgar Everett Scholarship?"
Curtis beams at you, eyes soft. "You're the most incredible woman in the world."
Hello, my favorite partner in horny crime! Do you have any random thots about mob!Curtis you’d like to share? 🤲🏻❤️
Ah, mob Curtis, I need to come up with a name for his universe, because I have a feeling I won't abandon him anytime soon and he will continue to haunt my thoughts 😏
He's really that annoying stoic type, colder than ice when you're burning like a flame in your irritation; the fact he welcomes your outrage with an almost bored kind of expression annoys you more than the fact he took you;
but it lasts only to a moment, until he snaps when you least expect it, when you're convinced you could throw something at him and it wouldn't even leave a dent;
that's when his hand finds itself around your throat and you freeze;
he doesn't slam you against the wall, doesn't even tighten that grip much, but he steps so close that his scent overwhelms you and the dark heat of him burns through your clothes;
he's so much bigger, so much stronger, so fucking lethal
and his voice is a velvet snap on your senses when he asks you: "My hand, or my belt?"
You stare at him not fully comprehending his words, mostly because you're trapped in those intense blue eyes and your focus is all on the rough tattooed fingers circling your throat;
"Men who fight me get a bullet to the head. As my wife, you have the privilege of choosing my hand, or my belt to tan your ass."
a small frown mars your forehead, but before you manage to utter any objection, Curtis interjects: "We can take on discussing your body's sovereignty if I find your bratty pussy dry after you take my punishment."
he tightens his fingers an inch and tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you
"But we both know you're going to be wet. And all the more frustrated for your husband's cock."
Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.
A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.
