mafia boss price in the 40’s and how you both meet
you moved to the city to get away from a toxic family and start a new life. becoming a career woman, that they chastised you for. you attend a new church because the ones back home were full of hate but you wanted to at least give this one a try.
it’s not a big one, probably has more seat rows than people on a busy sunday service but it’s incredibly welcoming. a pack of four old ladies come up to welcome you to the church, ask to take you to lunch and ponder more about your life.
no husband? that’s alright dear. you are an exceptionally intelligent young woman who they can’t wait to see flourish in her career. you start to grab lunch with them more throughout the next few weeks after sunday service; a new routine for you while they gossip about their sons. something about the family business but you never understood what that particular business was.
you ran into mary on a late wednesday evening at the grocery store, running out of a cooking ingredient you forgot to grab earlier in the week. she had as well, claiming that she’s baking a large batch of cookies for the youth center with a 25 lb bag of flour in her hands (that you tried to help her with while she almost scolded you about it). you’re both making small talk as you hear a deep voice from behind her.
“there you are, mum. you can’t go wandering off like tha’.”
a bulking man of 6’2 with a mutton chop beard and bright blue eyes came right around behind mary and took the large sack of flour from her hands onto his shoulders.
“darling, i’d like you to meet my son john.”
it was like sparks between you but you couldn’t be sure if he felt them too.
“hello, love.”
smooth man. just like the playful mirth in his eyes and the grin on his lips.
“john? mary, is this the same john who actually slipped on a banana peel and ruined his grandmother’s birthday cake, right?”
the grin dropped and the tips of his ears turned red.
“mum! you told her that yet i don’t know anything about her?”
“then get to know her john”
he turned back to you as he heard you quiet giggles.
“would you like to go to dinner with me, love?”
“i would love to.”
“i’ll pick you up at 7 on Friday.”
“wait, you don’t know where i live.”
“no but my mum does, i’ll ask her for directions.”
mary and john had both walked out of ear shot before you could say anything else.
“thanks for helping me find my wife, mum.”
“of course dear. anything to help get me my grandchildren!”
Summary: after deciding to try out a new TikTok trend, Natasha quickly reminds you you're hers.
Word count: ≈1600
Warnings: possessive Natasha
Reading time: ≈12 mins
Type: oneshot
a/n - decided to try something different and have contemplated posting it for days. i think this is proper rubbish tbh but whatever
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
You'd seen the recent trends on TikTok, while you sat scrolling between various house jobs that needed completing personally. Trends never really interest you, but this one did.
The next video comes onto your screen. “My heel collection as someone who hates heels,” “My heels as someone who works in business.”
What harm could come from giving it a go yourself? You push yourself up from the sofa, moving to your walk-in closet in yours and Natasha's room. She was still at work, doing whatever mafia boss' do all day.
Perfect time to do a silly TikTok. You pull out a few of your favourite heels. A pair of black Loubuttins, with the red sole beneath the heel. A pair of simple black heels, Manolo Blahnik, if you remember it right. Then, Jimmy Choo heels, black, with a silver-stoned ankle strap. A simple tall, red heel. Long, above-the-knee black boots. Finally, another black pair, with straps that wrapped around.
You prop your phone up against the closet door, ready to record on Tiktok.
You step into the frame in just your old “stay at home” socks, then out just as the recording pauses. First, you remove your socks, then slip your feet into the Loubuttin heels with the red underneath. They were the first pair of heels Natasha had bought, so they were fairly special to you.
You reset the film, then step into the frame again, holding one foot up slightly to show the heels off properly before stepping out of the camera.
Next , the Manolo heels, simple, casual, with a relatively small heels. You step back into the frame once again, hold one foot up briefly, then step out. Two heels down, and still a good half an hour before Natasha should be getting home. You know she doesn't really like you messing around with TikTok trends, but she isn't here now.
You fasten the silver-stoned strap around your ankle, walking casually back into the frame. You'd seen other people's versions of this, watching them slip or trip or just look all-around uncomfortable in heels, but not you. If there was a professional heel-wearer, you were it.
Next, the pair of tall red heels. They were probably your least favourite of what Natasha had bought for you, but the way she'd looked as she handed them over with a bouquet of flowers was too romantic to say no to.
You have to work hard, as usual, to pull the knee-high boots onto your legs, your arm workout, really, but you loved the boots. You stand up from the little stool in the corner, rotating your ankles a little in the boots as you lean down to zip the sides up. They weren't exactly tall heels, so maybe it was something to do with them being knee-highs that made you feel so much taller in them.
You smile slightly, even though noone can see it, as you step back into the frame, slightly further away this time to capture the full length of the boots.
Finally, you slip on probably your favourite pair of heels: the black, stiletto-like heels with the wrap-around ankle strap.
You wrap it around once, twice, then finally buckle it together at the back of your calf, resetting the camera for a final time. Your perfectly manicured toenails, paid for by Natasha, of course, are visible now for everyone to see how much money she spends on your nails.
You curl one leg upwards slightly a final time, when you feel a silent presence behind you. Two strong arms snake around your waist, Natasha’s chin settles against your shoulder. “What’s this?” she asks softly.
You jump slightly before relaxing back into her warmth. “A trend.”
“Mm.” Her eyes drag over the phone screen, over the heels lined neatly across the floor. “And you were planning to post this?”
“Maybe.”
One manicured hand slides down your waist slowly before stopping at your hip. “Detka,” Natasha murmurs, almost amused, “do you have any idea what those shoes do to people?”
You snort softly. “They’re just heels.”
Natasha’s laugh is quiet against your ear. Dangerous. “No,” she says. “They’re my wife in heels. They make people stare.”
“People stare because you walk around like you own Manhatten,” you snort, letting her press her lips to your cheek.
“I own parts of it,” she replies against you, casual as talking about the weather.
You nod, “that's why people stare. 'cause you own the place.”
She shakes her head now, her hands gliding over your dress down to your waist to spin you around to face her. “People stare, because my wife is gorgeous.”
Natasha’s eyes flick down slowly, taking in the thin black straps winding around your ankle, the sharp heel lifting your leg just enough to make the slit of your dress fall open a little more. “…Those are new,” she says quietly.
You smile innocently. “You bought them.”
“I buy you a lot of things, detka.” Her hands settle on your waist again, thumbs pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress. “Doesn’t mean I expect the internet to see them.”
“It’s just a TikTok trend.”
“Mhm.” Natasha glances toward the phone still recording against the closet door. The little red light blinks steadily. “And how many people exactly were you planning on showing my wife’s legs to?”
You laugh softly. “You sound jealous.”
“I am jealous.”
The honesty catches you off guard enough that your smile falters slightly. Natasha steps closer until the pointed toe of her heel nudges between your heels. “You know what these say to people?” she asks, fingers sliding down the straps around your calf.
“What?”
“That you’re expensive.” Her voice lowers. “Untouchable. Mine.”
Heat creeps into your cheeks instantly. Natasha notices, of course she notices. She always notices. Her gaze drifts toward the lineup of shoes on the floor. The Louboutins. The boots. The Jimmy Choos sparkling beneath the closet lights. Little pieces of a life you never thought you’d have.
“You know what I like most?” she murmurs. You shake your head slightly. “That none of them look uncomfortable on you.” A faint smirk tugs at her mouth. “Everyone else wears heels like they’re suffering through them.” Her hand squeezes your hip lightly. “You wear them like weapons.”
You snort softly. “That sounds dramatic.”
“I’m Russian. Everything sounds dramatic.”
That earns a real laugh from you, warm and bright, and Natasha’s expression softens instantly at the sound. Then her eyes drift back to the phone again. “You’re still not posting it.”
“Oh, come on—”
“No.” She leans down just enough for her nose to brush yours. “Because then strangers start thinking they can look at you the way I do.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Very.”
You grin despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
Natasha hums softly. “Maybe.” Her fingers trace lightly down your front. “Keep the heels on though.”
Your eyebrows lift. “Natasha.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m appreciating my wife.”
You hum, “I kno—” cut off by her lips pressing against yours. Natasha’s hand tightens slightly at your waist when you smile against the kiss, like she can feel you trying not to laugh at how possessive she’s being. When she pulls back, her lipstick is faintly smudged now. “You think this is funny.”
“A little bit.”
“Mhm.” Her gaze drops again to the heels wrapped around your ankles. “You know these are dangerous.”
“They’re shoes.”
“They’re six-inch black stilettos on my wife,” Natasha corrects calmly. “That is a weapon.”
You roll your eyes affectionately. “You sound insane.”
“And yet,” she murmurs, fingertips brushing your stomach, “you married me anyway.”
Your phone is still recording from across the closet. The tiny red light blinks steadily while Natasha looks you over like she’s cataloguing every detail; the slit of your dress, the straps winding around your legs, the polished black heel against the hardwood floor. “You know,” you tease lightly, “normal people just say their wife looks pretty.”
Natasha’s mouth twitches. “I did say you look pretty.”
“No, you said I looked expensive.”
“You are expensive.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“It is to me.”
You laugh again, quieter this time, and Natasha’s expression softens immediately at the sound. It always does. Beneath the sharp suits and cold reputation and the way people lower their voices when she enters a room, there’s still this version of her with you; hands warm on your waist, eyes softer than anyone else ever gets to see. Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist absentmindedly. “Which pair is your favorite?”
You glance toward the line of shoes scattered across the floor. “These,” you admit, lifting one foot slightly. The black wraparound stilettos catch the closet light subtly. “Definitely these.”
Natasha hums approvingly. “Good choice.”
“Why? Because they’re your favorite too?”
“No.” A slow smirk appears. “Because they make your legs look incredible.”
“Natasha.”
“What?” she asks innocently again, though her hands slide lower to your hips. “I’m being honest.”
You shake your head, trying to hide your smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And you were about to post this online for free.” She tsks softly, dramatic. “Terrible business strategy.”
You snort. “Maybe I’ll post it anyway.”
Natasha’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Detka.”
“You can’t stop me.” A pause.Then Natasha reaches past you calmly and taps the screen, ending the recording instantly. You stare at her. “Did you just—”
“Yes.”
“That took me like half an hour!”
“And now,” she says smoothly, slipping the phone onto the shelf behind her, “you can spend that half hour paying attention to your wife instead.”
Your mouth falls open slightly in disbelief before you laugh again. Natasha smiles faintly at the sound, then leans in close enough for her forehead to rest against yours.
“Besides,” she murmurs softly, eyes flicking down to the heels one last time, “those were never meant for strangers.”
Thinking about Jack being the son of a mafia boss and Robby meeting him in an alley beaten and bloody on his way back to his apartment after his shift. Robby tries to call for help but Jack pulls out his gun and threatens him not to. Scared shitless Robby carries him back to his apartment and patches him up. Robby thinks that’s the end of it but Jack comes more banged up than before, this becomes a routine for the two. “Look I don’t mean to press and I probably don’t wanna know but whatever you have going on it needs to stop. I can’t keep patching you up like this, one day you’re going to get seriously hurt.” sighs “I know.” Part 2 here
Hey,I hope it isn't much of a bother, but if you'd like to can you write a yandere×yandere where both the mc and fc are affiliated/or part of the underworld?? Only if you want to tho!!
☆ SUMMARY | He’s the boss’s infamous bodyguard. You’re the secretary running the underground market. Neither of you would ever admit the truth: you’re hopelessly obsessed with each other. Too bad the boss found out… and now he’s determined to play matchmaker!
☆ TAGS | guns, violence, female reader (she/her pronouns), use of pet names (“doll” “baby girl”), slight nsfw themes, obsession, stalking, toxic behavior, mafia, crime, murder, demihumans, crazy x crazy, jealousy, etc.
☆ NOTES | It isn’t a bother at all all! Thank you so much for being my first ever request here on this account. I really loved writing this so I hope you and any others who see this enjoy it as well. (Honestly I loved writing this so much that I was almost tempted to start an actual x reader story about it).
Navros wasn’t a good man. If anything, he found comfort in knowing the love of his life was just as tainted as he was. There was no point pretending either of you could be saved. While he bloodied his hands on the front lines, you spent your days behind the reception desk of the underground’s most dangerous building. Different jobs, same rotten world. And if he was honest, the thought brought him nothing but relief.
You were one step into his life, he just needed to make you walk the rest of the distance.
So he did the one thing he knew best—he watched.
He watched you work. He watched you spend time with your friends. He watched your social media. He watched you walk home. Little by little, he pieced together every corner of your life into a book inside his head. He knew your favorite breakfast item from that cafe you liked, every step of your skincare routine, and the songs you played on repeat. He even knew which customers at the Market made you want to pull your hair out.
Navros made it his mission to learn every last detail about you… and yet, there was one thing he couldn’t figure out.
There was something you were hiding very well. He wasn’t dumb, he saw it in the way your eyes would dart over your shoulder before you checked your phone at work. He saw the way you’d keep your arm firmly draped over your sketchbook whenever you drew, refusing to let anyone catch even the smallest glimpse.
And fuck, he loved it.
He loved that there was still a piece of you beyond his reach. That, despite everything he thought he knew, you still had a secret tucked away. It only made him want you more.
If I asked, would you tell me? Would you get shy and defensive? What would you do if I began to pry? What pretty face would you make when I found out the truth?
Navros was dramatic enough to confess that it kept him up at night. He made a list of what-ifs in his head. There could be a million things you were hiding, embarrassing or not, and he had fun just trying to guess them. But there was also this creeping unsettling worry… what if you liked someone? Who wasn’t him?
His skin itched at the thought and he began to rake his nails down his tattooed neck. No, no, it wasn’t that. There was no one you met that you seemed interested in. He would know if that was the case.
Smoke billowed from his nose. His grey eyes turned black as he glared at his phone, scrolling through your social media.
There wasn’t a single soul in the fucking underworld, or the entire damn world, who could ever understand you the way he did. They’d scoff at your music, judge your strange breakfast choices, and overlook all the little things that made you beautiful. They’d never appreciate you the way he could. The way he already did.
You were too angelic for humans and demihumans. You were a treasure far too rare for anyone else to recognize. But Navros understood, he noticed, he watched. Even if you did have a crush on some nobody, he wouldn't allow you to get manipulated and used by them. He’d make you see the real them somehow.
“Navros, are you listening to me?”
He stopped scrolling, his body going stiff as he glanced up from his phone from the corner of his eye. His boss, the Don of the Esposito Family, Matteo, was leaning against his cluttered desk with a small smug smile as if he knew what his bodyguard was already thinking about. When he didn’t answer, he raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll take your silence as a no,” he snorted, red eyes narrowing. “What I was saying was that I want you to stand guard at the Market tonight.”
Navros said nothing at first. His head on the other hand went haywire. You were working the night shift tonight from eight to eight. “…Has something come up?”
“Jaz told me that they think some of Leon’s boys will be there tonight. They keep walking on my territory and we both know what happened last time they tried to do that,” the Don’s smug smile transformed into something deadly, “and I’d like to stop them before they try shit.”
Navros squinted. Leon was pushing his luck a whole lot lately, but he never thought he’d try to send his men into the Don’s territory so brazenly. It made sense that Jaz knew. That damn hyena knew pretty much everything, and as annoying as he was, he was useful when it came to getting information. He sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket with a small nod.
Leon and his men were an inconvenience he didn’t want to bother with, but you on the other hand… this gave him an excuse to be around you. And find out what you’re hiding.
“Very well,” he said, turning to the door, “I’ll head over there now.”
Matteo sat back down at his desk and his lips twitched into a small smile as he picked up an unopened letter. “Good. You know what to do if you see them. Make sure it’s bloody enough to give Leon a message.”
Navros didn’t look back as he exited the office, his scaled tail giving his excitement to see you away as it swished behind him slowly. He wouldn’t want to kill anyone in front of you but if he had to, he wasn’t worried. You had seen worse. He vividly remembered the time the Market was infiltrated and your desk was soaked with the man’s blood, your face coated in red as you rubbed it off with a wet rag as if it was just paint.
It was attractive, he won’t lie. Seeing you wipe off another’s man’s blood as if it was nothing… It made that dragon in him brew up like bubbling fire.
However, he wasn’t hoping to see that tonight and he just hoped it went smoothly. Because if it does, it gives him every excuse to get closer to you, and maybe if he was lucky—swoon you.
⦿ ━━━━━━━━━━ ⬇︎ ⬇︎ ⬇︎
Working at the Market was chaotic. Half the time, you wondered if each shift would be your last before some pissed-off customer put a bullet in your head. But even with the looming threat of death around every corner, you loved it.
It was the only job where you could do almost anything you wanted, so long as your actual responsibilities were taken care of. Scrolling on your phone, sketching in your notebook, binging Netflix shows—it was practically paradise! Just two weeks ago you were able to binge a whole first season of your favorite show because only three people walked in.
And luckily for you, Wednesday nights were dead.
The last Wednesday night shift you worked only included one crazy guy and he left after he realized he was trying to stir shit at the wrong place. Even though you weren’t high ranking, just mentioning the Don’s name made the usual people scurry. If they were smart, that is. The dumb ones were the ones you had to keep an eye out for.
Leaning back in your chair, you lazily scrolled through social media with a small grin. Navros’s profile was practically a ghost town, forcing you to dig through his friends’ accounts whenever you wanted to learn something new about him. And thankfully, his one friend, Damian, was chronically online.
The man documented every second of his life without shame. Honestly, you’d think a Capo would know better than to post so much on social media, but apparently not. Why the Don allowed it, you had no idea, but you weren’t fucking complaining about it.
It made stalking Navros ten times easier.
“Woah, when was this photo?” you mumbled as you zoomed in on a recent party post, noticing Navros drinking in the background with a displeased expression. A small grin slipped on your face. He looked like he was on the verge of slamming the bottle into someone’s skull. “Did someone put a fucking party streamer on his horn? He’s standing so stiff!”
Navros didn't like parties so you hadn’t a clue why he went to that one. Maybe he just wanted a drink.
From what you knew, even though he was quitting smoking and wearing those nicotine patches on his left arm, he drank a lot. Maybe it was just because he couldn’t get drunk because he was a dragon demihuman, but it still had to be messing with his kidneys, right? He really needs to watch that.
Maybe if I mention something in passing… no, no. That would be weird. He doesn’t even talk to me a lot.
Navros was in a world you had no right being in. He was a league above your own, you didn’t want to taint his perfection by getting your grubby hands all over his life. But it was tempting. It would be a lie to say you didn’t daydream about it… about being the one to hang out with him, to kiss him, to hold his hand, and go on silly dates.
You giggled and spun in your chair. He’s just so perfect!
He was so loyal to the Don it made you sick with admiration. And because of that undying loyalty and maturity, you knew he would hate your guts if he knew about your camera that had snuck a hundred polaroid photos of him when he wasn’t looking. He’d hate your guts if he knew about your sketchbook filled to the brim of his face, muscles, and silly scenarios.
You knew very well you were crazy… but how could you not be? Just look at the guy!
Finding another photo, you smiled at the photo Damien took with him. He looked sleepy in it like Damien woke him up from a nap just to take a photo, his white hair sticking out in odd angles as he scrunched his nose in a small snarl.
“So cute~! I wonder how he looks in the morning.”
You’d admit it. You’re a stalker. But you weren’t that bad of a stalker. Even if you were tempted to break into his place (because of course you knew where he lived), you knew you’d be caught instantly. You were human… he could sniff your scent out in seconds the moment you stood outside his door, much less walk around his place when he wasn’t there. You sighed and leaned against your palm.
I don’t think he has a girlfriend… you thought, frowning. His friends never talk about it and he doesn’t post about it. Plus I’ve never seen him with a girl.
The thought left a sour taste on your tongue. You didn’t want to think about what you'd do if he had a girlfriend. He was too busy with the Don to ever be focused on a girl, but if he was… you quickly shook the thought. No. You didn’t want to think about that. You didn’t want to imagine him with anyone else but you. Sure, you weren’t brave enough to be in his life, but some bitch ruining your fantasies with him made your chest tight with loathing.
I could always make sure no girl dates him. Like… if they got interested, or too close, I could always intervene. It’s not like he would notice if I talked to them before they even made a move on him…
“Hey there, doll.”
“Huh?” your head snapped up, scowling the moment your thoughts were interrupted, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to—“
You stopped and your heart dropped to your ass.
Navros stood on the other side of the desk with his hands shoved in his pockets. His white hair seemed to glow in the dim lobby light, his grey eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled, his pointy ears twitching slightly. You noticed he was wearing his work clothes; a loose fitted button up, dress pants, and shiny black shoes.
Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck is he doing here? Well, I’m glad he is here. But he shouldn’t be here! I didn’t do my hair perfectly today—
“Navros!” you choked, almost falling from your seat as you scrambled to sit up straight. “What are you doing here? You never—uhm, you never come here without the Don. Is… Is he here?”
He chuckled and your heart stuttered. Holy fuck, he’s so pretty.
“Ahh… no. He told me to stand watch here tonight, we got a tip that some of Leon’s shitbags might breach the territory and he wanted me to stand watch. So your night might be a little eventful.”
You didn’t know what to say in response to that. Leon and his boys had tried to mess with the territory before but you were never really worried about it… but why would they send someone like Navros to be sent here? This was a job meant for maybe a lower class worker or a group of boys, not the Don’s bodyguard. It just didn’t make sense why he’d send him and only him.
“Uhm… does that mean standing up here with me all night?” you asked, feeling sweat start to slick your palm. No way in fucking hell he was going to hang out with you the one night you were unprepared for him to do so. “You can, uhm, use this seat here!”
Navros raised an eyebrow and watched as you pulled a spare chair that was tucked away under the desk. He said nothing as he walked around the desk and plopped down on the seat. He sat on the very edge, his long legs bouncing on the edge.
Was he anxious? How cute. He didn’t seem like the type to be anxious, but maybe being away from the boss on such a low grade mission was making him a little anxious.
“Do you just sit here all night?” he asked, staring intensely. He really doesn’t blink a lot…
“Yes. I’m allowed to do pretty much anything I want as long as I make sure to pay attention when people come in,” you offered a small smile, rubbing your sweaty hands on your thighs. “I usually binge watch shows to pass the time… if I had nothing this job would be miserable.”
He smiled, shifting in the seat. “Oh, I can’t imagine. What were you doing before I got here?”
For someone who was supposed to be keeping an eye out for Leon’s goons, he sure as hell was only staring at you. It made you feel like you were under a spotlight. Did he know about what you were doing? Was that why he was asking? You glanced to the side, avoiding eye contact with him.
“Oh just scrolling through social media… My friends posted some things about a party recently and I was going through and liking their posts.”
That wasn’t a lie, they did have a party recently. However you hadn’t a clue if they posted anything on it. You prayed it was true.
Navros’ eyes narrowed slightly. Your friends hadn’t posted anything in hours, he always kept an eye on that and kept their notifications on to see when you were tagged by them on anything. So you were lying to him… he hummed slowly with a nod and glanced around the desk to see if he could see anything that stood out. Maybe anything that would give your little secret away.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. Most of it was sticky notes about work or notes left by your coworkers. There were some doodles on random pieces of paper and be paused when he saw your sketchbook sticking out from under a pile of papers. The same sketchbook you always covered with your arm when people were near so nobody saw…
I need to look in it.
Navros glanced over at you, watching as you pretended to do something important on your computer. He took that as a chance to do something bold.
“Oh wow! Doll, I didn’t know you did art!”
Time came to a screeching halt when you saw him reach for your sketchbook on the edge of your desk out of the corner of your eye. It was your fault, you didn’t think anyone would come in so you didn’t put it up in the drawer or your bag, especially not him.
Ice washed down your back when he quickly opened to the first page and you jumped up from your seat to snatch it back from his hands. But he was faster, of course he fucking was, and he stood up and held it above your reach with a laugh.
Your chair almost fell to the ground, his own squealing as it was pushed back. Now the two of you were standing. And there was no way to pretend as if you weren’t about to rip it out of his hands.
“Ah, ah. Now that’s a reaction. You must really not want me to see what’s in this,” he mused, his grey eyes crinkling around the edges. “That makes me want to look at it more.”
No, no, no. Your gaze sharpened and you glared daggers at him, ignoring the heat swelling up the back of your neck. Did he catch a glimpse of the first page? Did he see?
“Hand it over. Now.”
His grin widened and he lowered his voice into a low, raspy whisper, waggling the book as if it was a dog treat for a puppy. He hadn’t expected you to act like that, but he didn’t mind. He was getting information out of this.
“…and what are you going to do if I don’t?”
That was the problem, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t tackle him without hurting and embarrassing yourself, you doubted you’d even be able to knock him down. And threatening him with the pocket knife you had in your drawer would be pointless. Pointing a knife at the love of your life just because he held your sketchbook? Yeah. If you did that, you’d have to slit your own throat with it. You couldn’t threaten or harm his pretty face. So that meant you had to persuade him to drop it.
“It’s private!” You confessed, making your voice as stern and serious as it could be without being panicked, “so put it down and leave it alone! I… I didn’t think you’d be here so I didn’t put it up!”
Navros hummed and didn’t say anything as he examined your face. Your wide frantic eyes, rapid heartbeat, and sweaty brow—you were hiding something serious. His tongue swiped over his teeth as he debated on ignoring you and opening it. He wanted to see, wanted to see if you had a crush on some stupid nobody, he wanted to see what made you panic.
If it was something small, you wouldn’t have jumped up like that to stop him.
“Is it about a boy, doll?” he teased, trying to get a response. When your eyes widened he felt something sickening curl around his heart. He was going to fucking kill whoever the bastard was. He forced a sharp smile, eyes narrowing. “Oh. It is.”
He was definitely not putting it down now. He needed to find out who it was. Even if you were mad at him, he could find a way to make you forgive him after. He could just blame it on his curiosity, maybe explain that he had to make sure it wasn’t one of Leon’s boys as an excuse. Sure… you wouldn’t like to hear that, but he needed to know which man had your focus.
You jumped up to grab it and he held it higher.
Navros hated how desperate you were just to get it out of his hands. What guy was making you so nervous and embarrassed of a sketchbook? He couldn’t think of a single guy you talked to for more than a day or two. Anyone you were interested in the past… Well, they were more interested in you than you were. So he hadn’t a clue who caught your eye. Maybe it was someone online… maybe that was why you were on your phone so much.
Throwing his subtly out the window, he opened the sketchbook. Your heart skipped a beat.
“No! Wait, don’t look!”
Navros turned his body so your hand grabbed his arm, his eyes dropping to the paper as he began to flip through the pages. What prick was so important—
Navros went dead quiet. He stared at the pages and you swore you felt the entire world start to crumple beneath your feet. He was looking, he was looking at the artworks you made of him. His eyes widened slightly and his pointy ears twitched, the rest of his body unnervingly still. Even his tail wasn’t moving. His clawed nail flipped to another page and you shrank when you noticed what was on that one.
Drawings of what you imagined of him shirtless, his body in ways that would make you the biggest stalker pervert of the year, and taped in photos of him, walked in the lobby with the Don. Your legs felt like jello as you stumbled back. Panicked tears swelled in your eyes, your face scalding hot as your heart began to thrum like a drum in your chest.
“That—that’s not… I…”
There was no lie you could think of to save your skin. Saying you were just studying by drawing people you saw would be an obvious lie because the book was only filled with him, and saying you just thought he looked cool would be dumber because you had photos. All of the evidence pointed to you as a stalker… because you fucking were one!
Your throat closed up and you glanced to the side, wondering how fast you could run before he caught up to you and killed you for being a fucking creep.
He flipped another page. It was even worse. The sketches were much more obscene; outlines of what she thought his cock looked like, his hands and fingers in devious positions, the sketch of her hands holding onto his horns. There was one even with his tail wrapped around her naked torso followed by a sketch of his tail wrapped around her thighs.
Yeah, you needed to leave. Immediately. Screw this fucking job, your life was now on the line. He was going to rip out your throat with those claws, or worse, break your neck. Or maybe death was the better option—how the hell were you going to live through this mortification?
You took a step away from the desk. He snapped into motion.
Navros yanked your arm back so fast your vision blurred. You winced when he slammed you against the edge of the desk. The sketchbook clattered to the floor as he leaned into you, his face inches from yours as he caged you in with arms, nails biting into the wood. His dark blown out pupils stared into your own.
You saw your own terrified reflection in his eyes and suddenly you had the realization that this was where you were going to die. At your job, by your obsession, late at night.
At least he was the one about to kill you and not some disgusting fucker.
“I’m sorry,” you choked, trying to sound as if you weren’t on the verge of passing out. You might. His distance, cologne, and the fear of getting your throat slashed was making you dizzy. “I just—uhm… I—… I didn’t mean uhm…”
His jaw was tight and smoke billowed from his nose. You always wondered what being so close to him would be like, but you never thought it would be like this. Up close he looked ten times prettier. His white long lashes, the flakes of charcoal in his eyes, his plump lips. He was so handsome it hurt. You supposed seeing his face as your final moment was the best thing you could get out of this life. You glanced down at his clawed hand on the desk.
He would have no issue killing you. He was the Don’s bodyguard, he had killed innocent people for less than fucking stalking just because the boss ordered him too. You? Yeah, you were easy.
“You like me?” he blurted, his voice rough and low. “No, no, you more than just like me. You love me, yeah?”
You blinked. Would admitting that you were sickenly obsessed with him save you? Or make this situation ten times worse? You thought it was quite obvious you were obsessed with him. He saw the drawings you made of his cock and fingers doing obscene things, you were self aware enough to know that looked obsessive. You stammered to come up with an excuse.
“I.. uhm…”
Navros’ lips parted and his tongue dragged over his teeth, making your breath hitch as he tilted his head. “Baby girl, do you love me? Yes or no?”
Your brain glitched at the pet name. You were so used to calling you ‘doll’, a nickname you only assumed was something platonic, but now he was calling you baby girl. Your stomach fluttered with butterflies and you stared at his lips as you spoke. It felt as if you were staring directly at the sun, so warm and radiant, that you were getting burned alive.
“I mean, uhm… I—I wouldn’t have drawn those if I hated you…” you averted your gaze, “I mean…”
Navros shakily exhaled. “Ohh… you do. You love me.”
Mortification lodged itself in your throat and you struggled to come up with a response. He watched for only a second before suddenly, before you have time to think, he surged forward. His lips slammed against yours.
The lobby faded as your brain focused on the feeling of his warm lips on yours, his hands shifting to hold you.
The kiss was harsh and bruising. Your eyes widened and his lips glided over yours, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you so close you were convinced you were about to get absorbed. Every neuron in your brain sparked and it took only a second before your hands kicked into gear. They wrapped around his neck and roamed his hair, your eyes shutting instantly. A groan rippled through his chest and his tail whipped behind him, knocking one of the chairs down. You didn’t bother to worry about it.
He was kissing you. Navros was actually kissing you! This had to be a dream. No, he killed you already, this wasn’t real and you were just in heaven.
As if you’d go to heaven.
His hands roamed down from your face and to your waist and then to your ass. He was handsy, groping, pulling you close as he could. His sharp teeth nipped at your bottom lip and you moaned against his lips, making his entire body arch into yours. You don’t know how long the two of you kissed, but by the time he pulled back to breathe, your lips felt as if they were on fire.
His lips brushed over yours as he pushed your back into the edge of the desk again. He huffed against your lips and pecked them, again and again, as if he couldn’t get enough. Your clammy hands gripped onto his biceps as he leaned back to stare into your eyes.
“Ahhh… I’m so glad,” he licked his lips, “I thought—I thought I was going to have to bash some fuckers head in.”
You were slow to respond. “What?”
His grey eyes were black as they crinkled around the edges, so giddy and adoring that you thought your eyes were making it up. He laughed softly and his hands grabbed your waist again. “I watched you. For months. I thought you were hiding some crush that was a fucking nobody and heh, it’s me. Fuck… that’s so good. Really good. I learned everything about you but didn’t even fucking realize you were taking pictures of me when I wasn’t looking—Ha! you’re just as bad as me!”
It took you a second to register what he was saying. Navros, the man you had spent a whole year pining for, stalked you. While you stalked him. He was just as crazily obsessed as you were with him. And he was going to kill someone just because he thought you had a crush on a made up man.
“I—“
“I learned everything about you,” he confessed, the words spilling out so fast now that he knew he didn’t have to hide it. His breathing was ragged and he began to pepper kisses on your face. “I know where you live, your favorite breakfast food, your favorite songs, what your hobbies are. I know how you sleep. I even know what shampoo and conditioner you use in the shower. I watched you walk home whenever I got the chance between time at work. I… I know everything—No, wait, now I know everything.”
All of those fantasies you had about him were true. Those late night dreams where you wondered if he was just as obsessed as you were with him, the times you wondered if he wanted to kiss you like you did him, it was true. He was hooked on you. He was staring at you as if you were a drug and he was an addict finally getting a taste. Just like you thought about taking care of a girl who talked to him, he thought about killing a guy you had a crush on.
This… can’t be real, you thought. This isn’t real.
But it was. And fuck, you might as well be in actual heaven.
“Now I know you’re really perverted, aren’t you, baby girl?” He cooed and tilted his head, grinning, “Drawing my fingers like that… and what you think my cock looks like. You weren’t even far off either. Mine has a little bit more of a curve, but it’s okay—I can show you on another day.”
Your face blazed. All of this was just happening so fast. One moment he was looking at them and you thought you were about to die, then he kissed you, and now he was confessing his undying love for you? Plus he was so bold you weren’t sure he could get much bolder than that!
He grinned, his tail swishing behind him as he grab your waist and hoisted you up to sit on the edge of his desk. He looked up at you and his eyes softened.
“Ahh… I’m keeping you forever,” he murmured, “you’re perfect. You’re a crazy bitch just like me.”
He looked crazier. His eyes were manic with the thought of you, his fingers tracing symbols on your waist.
“You’re not creeped out?” you asked, hesitantly raising your clammy, shaky hands to touch his face. He melted and leaned into your touch like a lovesick puppy, a purr like growl in the back of his throat. Oh my god he’s leaning into me.
“No, baby, I’m happy,” he confessed and his black eyes bored holes into your face. “You can take as much photos as you want. In fact, you can tattoo my name on your forehead and I’d be happy. I want you to look at me. Only me. Fuck… I won’t let you even glance at anyone else.”
Your shaky fingers trailed his cheekbone. You exhaled, already forgetting you were at work and were in an empty lobby. The cameras were most likely catching every wind of this—hopefully they didn’t have mics attached to them as well.
“…Does that mean you’ll only look at me too?”
Navros nodded eagerly, his hands squeezing at your sides as he pulled your legs to wrap around him instead of dangling over the edge the desk. His breath brushed your lips as he leaned in for another kiss, saying, “Yes. Only you.”
It was a blur. The kiss, the conversations shared after, or even if anyone showed up for the rest of the night. All you could remember was the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his clawed hands holding your waist, hands, and face. He didn’t do anything raunchy—but he was definitely touchy. He had every excuse to touch you, even if it meant holding your pinky.
You weren’t really sure how it got to this point. If you knew he was as obsessed as you were with him, you would have shared your sketchbook and photos with him sooner! But now he was leaning against your shoulder, sitting beside you at work, talking about something you never thought he’d talk to you about… and he was just as hooked as you were.
It was safe to say when you went to bed after your shift, you prayed to God that it wasn’t a dream.
And he did too.
↳ | 5k words | Aug 2nd 2026 | Edited ✔︎ |
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Price, who runs most of the businesses in the city you live in, but everyone local knows it's all to hide his ... shadier dealings.
(part 2)
You, who only know him by his reputation and not to see, have no idea who the nice man you meet in a club one night really is.
And he's so charming at first, with just the right edge of rough that you like.
By the end of the night, you've had enough to drink that you don't question why he has a back-office in the club. You just let him lay you out on his couch and settle between your legs.
Only come to your senses when you wake up a few hours later, snuggled close to a bare chest. Slip back into your dress and grab your dress before sneaking out. And as you turn to quietly click the door shut, you see the tiny placard on the door.
J. Price.
"John," he'd rasped into your ear, buried inside you. "Call me John, darlin'. Say my fuckin' name, there's a good girl."
You vow never to see him again, are sure he won't mind - it's just a one-night-stand, after all.
Until, a few months later, when, after a job, him and his boys stop at a diner for some food and you happen to be his waitress.
You beg your colleagues to take the table for you but they all take one look at the men and pointblank refuse.
When you finally dredge up the courage to approach the table, John looks up and immediately smiles at you.
It's only when his eyes drop to the small, but prominent, bump under your shirt that his smile fades and you know you're in trouble.
the ribbon you’d originally used to delicately tie matt’s usual bouquet of white roses together is no longer on that pretty little bouquet. in fact, they’ve been repurposed, tied in a sloppy bow around your wrists behind your back.
your cheek presses into the table in the back office of your shop, matt having you bent over it as he pounds into you mercilessly from behind. you’d always been a sweet, soft-spoken girl—but who’s to say you don’t like being fucked like a slut?
matt was naked, while you simply had your panties and jeans discarded on the floor. matt’s hips slap into your bare ass from behind, the lewd sound filling up the entire room. he’d pulled you into the back room the second you tied the last ribbon, ignoring the customers still chatting just outside the door. you can hear the customers’ voices drifting in, but the risk only makes your pulse race harder. you’d hoped to God nobody was hearing this.
“such a good girl, takin’ my cock so well, hm? hope nobody hears you,” matt mocks, fingers digging into your hips bruisingly. usually, he was an absolute sweetheart to you, despite his cold, dangerous shell. but during sex, he was a whole different person. he knew how you wanted to be spoken to. how you wanted to be fucked. how you wanted to be treated overall. and you loved that.
your walls clamp down on his dick, eliciting a low groan from him. “matt—“ you gasp as he hits a deep spot inside you, so deep it had never been reached by anyone before him. so deep you weren’t even aware it could feel so, so good. he chuckles darkly, slamming into you even harder, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with a sickeningly sweet pressure.
“yeah, baby? y’like bein’ a little slut for me?” he rasps. you lift your head from the table, nodding frantically with a whimper as tears drip down your cherry-red cheeks. his large, veiny hand snakes it’s way around your hip, his flesh shockingly cold against yours as he trails it down to your tummy. he holds his palm flat on your lower belly, applying a delicious pressure against it. “say it.”
“yes—yes, i—mmph!” you’re cut off by your own pathetic moan, walls tightening around his length once again, earning a shaky chuckle from matt. he trails his hand down from your tummy to your clit, rubbing small, teasing circles right on it. your legs begin to tremble beneath you, now relying completely on matt’s single-handed grip on your hip and the table you’re folded over. your body’s in a state of pure bliss, hardly able to keep up with the intensity of his harsh thrusts. “r-right there—fuck—right there, matt!” you cry.
“mm, right there, baby?” matt removes his hand from your clit, placing it back on your hip. you whine at the loss of stimulation, but he quickly makes up for it when he lifts your hips slightly, earning a new angle for his cock to hit all the good spots inside you. he’s hitting your sweet spot dead-on now, and high-pitched, squeal-like moans flow out of your mouth, your body starting to tremble in his grip.
your ass stings, flushed red, as his hips slam into you again and again, his quick pace starting to affect you further. you note that familiar hot feeling pooling up in your lower belly and you know you could snap at any given moment with the way he’s fucking you.
“bet you feel so, so good, sweetheart, hm?” matt coos, his voice shaky with pleasure as you clamp down on his length once again, symbolizing how close you are. a string of desperate whines leave your swollen, parted lips, eyes hazily fluttering shut. “matt—i—please!” you babble, the string in your belly fraying, violently threatening to snap. your tied hands squirm behind your back, muscles tensing as the pleasure builds higher and higher.
“you wanna cum, sweet girl?” matt purrs teasingly. he leans over your body, connecting his chest with your back, his lips resting right next to your ear. you feel his labored breathing beside your ear, trailing down the side of your neck, sending goosebumps to pop up all over your body, despite your high temperature. the harshness of his thrusts have you seeing stars.
his arms rise from your hips, up to your waist, wrapping around it and caging you between them.
you nod fervently, needily. matt growls, the tip of his tongue ghosting over the shell of your ear, “words, baby,” you whimper, not sure if you were even capable of forming coherent words. “yes—please—yesyesyesyes!” you plea, squeezing his cock between your slick walls harder than any time before, sending a shiver down matt’s spine as his loud, hazy groan plays into your ear.
“good fuckin’ girl…cum on my cock, baby. know you can.” matt assures, tightening his grip on you as he nears his own climax. your orgasm hits you first, a white-hot bliss flashing over you as you writhe between him and the table, a string of high-pitched moans falling from your lips. as matt feels your creamy release coating his cock, his hips stutter, his own high crashing into him like a tidal wave, his seed painting your walls warmly white, mingling with your own release.
he pants into your ear, not daring to detach himself from you just yet. “fuck, you’re so perfect, baby.” he mutters, his breathing ragged and uneven. your lips softly curl up into a hazy, proud smile at his words, eyes fluttering shut. “for you only…” you mumble, clearly absolutely spent.
whis arms tighten around your waist, like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go. his lips brush against your temple, pressing a quiet kiss into your skin. “mine,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of both your breathing. you hum, blissed out and content, your fingers twitching behind your back as the ribbon digs into your skin—still tied, still his. outside, the faint chime of the shop door opening goes ignored. you’re too lost in him to care.
author’s note. . . hi! first actual fic for matt and petal…hm…not sure how i feel about this it’s really short, NOT PROOFREAD and nonsensical but whatever! IM GOING TO SLEEP NOW CAUSE ITS ALMOST 1AM AND MY PERMIT TEST IS AT 8:30AM GOOODNIIIIGHT!
As always, feel free to leave constructive criticism!
Ch.1, Ch.3
TW: nothing, I think
WC: 1.4k
You finish up the stitches as best as possible, and after his dizzy spell has passed, you lead him to your couch. He sits down with a surprised grunt, “This is the most uncomfortable fucking couch ever, is it made of concrete?”
You ignore him as you begin to make him some scrambled eggs. “You should eat and drink something; it will help you feel better.” You don’t need him passing out. Hopefully, you can get him out of here soon.
“You're a weirdo”
He doesn’t even know the half of it. You carefully break eggs into a bowl with an amused huff, “I’m well aware. Now, can I, your amazing savior, know your name, or must I just call you Mr. Intimidating Criminal?”
He smirks, “While I definitely don’t mind the compliment, you can call me Sukuna, doll.”
You pause your whisking and slowly turn to look at him, shocked, “The same Sukuna who owns all of downtown? As in the major criminal, Sukuna?” Fuck. . . what did you just get yourself into? No, wait, this could still be a good thing. You’re sure he can still help. You did save his life after all.
“Yep.” He pauses; not many people recognize his name in connection with his less-than-legal activities. “Now, I don’t like owing people, even a pretty thing like you,” he drapes his thick arms across the back of your couch, showing off his broad stature and expansive artwork that travels across his body in long lines and wrapping rings, “So, what is it that you want from me? Money? You live in this shithole,” he gestures waving his hand in a lazy circle, “I can get you a nice penthouse in a much nicer part of town.”
You avert your eyes and turn back to the stove. “While that sounds appealing, and trust me, I would love to get out of here,” You would honestly rather live anywhere else, but you can barely keep up as is, “I have a bigger issue. We can talk more about it when I fix your stitches tomorrow, but I need help with something you're more equipped to handle. . .” you trail off, and he hums in acknowledgement.
Handing him a plate of eggs and a cup of juice, you reach for a business card to hand him as well, “I will be here from 6 am to 12 am. Come anytime tomorrow,” you point your finger at him, “but do come tomorrow, seriously, those stitches can get nasty if I don’t fix them.”
“Do you not sleep?” he looks down at his very expensive watch, which probably costs more than your entire month's rent. “It’s already 4 am?” Your face doesn’t change as you jut your finger at him again. He throws his hands in the air in a placating gesture, “Okay, okay, I’ll make time to swing by, happy princess?”
“Thrilled,” you sigh, leaning back from his personal space, “Yeah, I don’t sleep much on weekends, it’s a chance for extra money. But if you are done eating and feeling better, I would absolutely love it if you could leave so I could take a nap.”
“Ya, I’ll get out of your hair, doll,” as he stands up, you study his movements for any signs of instability, “I’m fine, I’ll see you tomorrow for our second date.” While walking out your door, he smirks and holds your business card up between two fingers, and does a somewhat salute goodbye.
You sigh and close the door, resting your back against it for a moment as your eyes flutter shut. The thought of a nap is nice, but an all-nighter is more realistic, pushing yourself off the door, you drag your feet back into your cramped living room. You slump back into your concrete-esque couch, pick your now third cup of coffee that has gone cold, back up and resume shuffling through the piles of documents spread across your table.
The next day, in the late afternoon, Sukuna finds himself standing outside of a building with a bag in one hand and double-checking the address on the card you forced on him with his other. It’s a run-down and beyond old veterinary office, but it’s clearly still in operation. He flips the card over and sees a handwritten note on the back. Shrugging, he opens the door. The receptionist’s black hair is tied up in a knot with pieces falling in front of her glasses. He approaches her as she pushes some of her hair back behind her ear.
He clears his throat to get her attention and repeats what the note said, “Excuse me, I don’t have my pet with me, but I have a few questions for the doctor.”
She looks him up and down, rolls her eyes, and bluntly states, “You don’t own a pet.”
After an awkward pause between the two, you come out from the back, “Maki, stop making my customers uncomfortable. He brings money, which helps me pay you!” You look at him and motion towards an exam room, “Follow me.”
You quietly shut the door behind him, “I bring money?” he asks as he sits in one of the chairs, “I have to pay you when you're the one who demanded I come here?”
“Duh, how else am I supposed to keep this shitty place afloat? Plus, you're the Sukuna, I know you can pay.” You quip as you start to pull out the necessary supplies to redo his stitches.
Ignoring your quick, but accurate response, he pulls out a single rose from a grocery bag, “Here, I’ve been told you are supposed to give your date flowers.”
Your hands stop, the procedure of readying supplies that normally comes so naturally to you suddenly escapes you. “First of all,” hands starting again, slower this time, as you let out a small chuckle, “this isn’t a date. Secondly, you said flowers, plural, where are the others?” You tilt your head at him, eyebrow quirked up as you take the rose, it’s notably free of thorns.
His jaw drops in a playfully shocked expression, “I don’t even get a thank you? I didn’t realize you were such a brat.”
Rolling your eyes, you smile and sniff the sweet-smelling flower, “Thank you, Sukuna.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’ll get more flowers on our other dates. I have a feeling I will be seeing you more often. Now, what is it you need from me?”
“I need you to take your shirt off so you don’t get a disgusting infection”
“You know that’s not what I meant, but if you wanted me to strip again,” he pulls his shirt over his head, and you pause once more in your movements to admire his muscular build for a moment, “you could have just asked.” He finishes his sentence and smirks when he notices you staring. “What do you need handled?”
He hisses as you start to cut the poorly done stitches out, and you sigh, “I need you to intimidate someone. . . My mom’s the reason I live in that shitty place and why this office is going under. She sends her debt collector after me, and I would rather pay him than end up as the alley rats’ next meal. And the last time I tried to send a low-level criminal to stop him, I ended up having to pay double and fix the kid up.” You mutter, “I should have trusted my gut, but he convinced me he could handle it.”
You feel the rumble of his voice as you continue to work, “That’s light work, just give me a name”
“His name is Jogo.” You avoid eye contact and focus intently on your hands,
He pauses for a moment, “I know Jogo. I’ll make sure the shithead never bothers you again, doll.” He tilts his head to look at you, and you look up at him with appreciation.
His stomach tenses at a particularly tender stitch, “Ya fix people too? That why you're so good?” he mumbles.
A flash of pride crosses your face, quickly followed by pure exhaustion, “Yeah, that’s also why I barely sleep. Vets are open during the day, but doctors who treat criminals are open at night, because, for some reason, no one can manage to get hurt during normal business hours.”
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door and a scrawny kid with partly pink hair walks in, “Hey, miss, Maki said just come in and I- SHIRTLESS MAN SHIRTLESS MAN!” The teen screeches as he points, and you hear Maki’s cackles from the front desk. “Wait, Boss?” he lowers his accusatory finger as he tilts his head in confusion.
Your head snaps up at Yuji, then to Sukuna, “Boss?”
He sighs, “Don’t tell me it was this idiot you sent after Jogo?”
