Warnings: 18+, cursing (lots of it), blackjack dealer reader, sailor mouthed reader, reader threatening violence, Steve executing mentioned violence, mentions of blood, one surprise / forced kiss (depends on your stance), manhandling, kidnapping, threat of spanking (???) and mentioned future forced marriage...(yeah I know 😅)
A/N: A sequel is now in existance 😅 Control
"You can't prove it." The man in-front of you said.
"Listen assface, I don't have to prove anything to you or to anyone else. I have the right to kick you out of the casino if I have the tiniest hunch you're cheating. Next time you try to count cards have the brains to not mumble the numbers out loud, idiot." You glared at the guy sitting at the chair at the blackjack table.
"I understand you're angry, princess.” Your eye twitched at the nickname. “I'm on the winning streak and you don't want to lose anymore money, but this attitude isn’t going to help you get a good tip." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug. You wanted to slap that smirk off of his face.
"Now really listen to the words coming out of my mouth, asshole. If you don't stand up and walk away, I will literally kick you out. As in shove my foot where the sun doesn't shine. Got it, prick?" You said as you leaned over the table, leering at the man in front of you. A pair of arms grabbed your shoulders and straightened you.
"Excuse my dealer, Jerry. She didn't acquire any manners when she was growing up." Steve smiled politely at the man, keeping one arm draped around your shoulders.
"It's okay, Steve. Just make her deal me a new set."
"You seem to be on a winning streak." Steve smiled at the huge pile of chips on the table.
"Finally Lady Luck smiled at me. You know I have all that debt to pay." Jerry replied with a giant grin on his face. It was almost comical that he thought Steve wouldn’t recognize deception a mile away.
"I remember well." Steve's smile vanished, but he turned to you nonetheless and slapped your butt softly, earning a murderous glare from you. "You heard the man, Doll. Deal the cards."
"But-"
"No wait. Why don't you get 5 additional decks? Let's test this Lady Luck, Jerry is raving about." Steve interrupted you and smirked as Jerry paled.
"But-"
"No buts Jerry. You said it yourself. You're on the winning streak and I don't see how your luck could spoil so fast."
You took 5 extra decks from below your table, opened the new decks and shuffled the cards. Before you put them in the machine, Steve put a hand over yours and looked at Jerry.
"Why don't we play old-school, this round? And to make it more interesting, I'll play with you. If you win, your debt to me is erased."
"Okay. Deal." Jerry smiled as he took the too obvious bait and Steve took a seat opposite of you, smirking. You knew what you needed to do. There was a reason why you were Steve's favourite, even with your sailor mouth. You were incredibly clever, you knew how to rig the game in your favour and how to recognize a cheater a mile away.
Another round started and Jerry’s obnoxious confidence was crumbling. What made him even more nervous was the fact that Steve was eerily calm. The men were tied and both had a lot of money in play, yet only Jerry was anxious. As you started dealing a bag was placed over his head and he was dragged out of the main room. Steve calmly finished his drink and winked at you, extending his hand. A chill ran through your spine as you finally caught on the deep seethed rage Steve was exuding. You cautiously clasped his hand.
"Come on, Doll. Time to fulfill your threats." He kissed the top of your hand and you reluctantly followed him to his office. Jerry was forced in the chair, his confidence and proud posture now long gone. You swore you could see him trembling as Steve sat down in his chair. You awkwardly stood in the doorway until Steve beckoned you over.
"Do you know why you're here, Jerry?"
"I-I don't know..." The other man stammered.
"You were caught cheating-"
"I wasn't counting cards, I swear, you have to beli-" Jerry immediately stopped talking when Steve put his hand up.
"If she," He pointed at you. "says you're cheating, you're cheating. She's a pro in this, aren't you Doll?" You nodded softly. You were still trying to determine if his anger was in any way directed at you.
"Now Jerry, you heard of the expression 'The house always wins.' right?" Jerry nodded. "Good. So the house, me in this case, hires the best, her in this case, to make sure, a weasel, you in this case, doesn't come in and try to cheat his way into winning. Especially if the said weasel owes the house money. What were you thinking Jerry? Trying to pay me with the money you would’ve stolen from me?" Steve raised his eyebrows.
"I-I-I'm sorry Steve. I-I was just desperate and I have bills to settle with-"
"I think you mentioned something about kicking him out, didn't you?" Steve interrupted the stammering man and looked up at you. You nodded and Steve stood up from his chair, making Jerry cower.
"Well then, I guess we know what happens now, don't we?" He smiled and put on his brass knuckles before laying a solid punch on Jerry, the other man falling from the chair with a loud ‘thud’. Steve ran his other hand over his hair, smoothing it back in place, as Jerry howled in pain. You quickly closed your eyes and turned around, trying to escape the beating that will surely follow.
"Tell you what, if you can handle the beating, I'll really consider erasing your debt not only to me but to Bucky and Sam as well." Steve smirked at the man sprawled on the floor.
"Steve." Your voice broke the tension.
"No. You're staying here. If you want to bad mouth in my casino, then surely you can stomach a little violence, especially if you so carelessly threaten with it." He turned to you, his voice changing from playful to cold. It was at that moment that you realized, he was furious at you. As he resumed his beating, the urge to run bloomed in your chest, but even you weren't rebellious enough to contradict Steve in a situation like this.
After he was satisfied with his work, Steve walked to the liquor stand and poured himself a glass of 1500$ scotch. He downed it in one go and refilled it. He observed the bloody mess on the floor, his ragged breath barely making any noise in a now too quiet room. You were trying to contain the shiver that erupted in your body when his eyes landed on you.
"You see Doll, your words have consequences and you need to be careful with what you say and how you say it. And to who you say it to." Steve slowly walked towards you, a smirk dancing on his lips. He stopped in front of you, bumping your chin softly with his brass knuckles, smearing Jerry's blood on your skin. Your eyes were the size of saucers and you tried turning away from him, but he grabbed the back of your head, pulling you towards him and kissing you hard. It consumed you, just like him, it was intoxicating. After the initial shock died down, you pushed him away with all your might, sending him stumbling back a few steps away.
"Why would you..." You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, trying to get the strong smoky scotch taste out of your mouth.
"It's time you and I have a conversation about us." He sat down on the chair, his legs opened wide and he stared at you with that stupid shit eating grin.
"There is no us." You crossed your arms over your chest.
"Yet."
"Ever."
"I don't know if you were present these past two years, Honey, but I'm not usually a man people say no to. What makes you think you will be different?"
"There's a first time for everything." You glared at him, but your resolve was quickly broken when he let out a deep rich laugh.
“You see, this is why I kept putting up with your disrespectful language. You,” he extended his finger, pointing it at you. “just get under my skin and you always leave me tip-toeing on edge between wanting to rinse out your mouth and kissing you until you forget to speak.”
“Besides, it’s not like you have much of a choice. The word No doesn’t really exist in my world.” He took another big sip of his scotch, getting up again to now pour two glasses of the liquor.
“Do you need me to bring you a dictionary?” you raised one of your eyebrows and shook you head as he raised one of the glasses at you, offering you the drink.
“I’ll manage.” He smirked and downed your glass. The door opened and Steve’s bodyguard, Craig, entered the room, taking the bloody mess on the floor out of their sight.
“So,” Steve collapsed on the chair again, looking you over. “where should we begin?”
“I hope you’re joking.”
"Listen, Doll. I made you an offer and you're not really in a position to say no. Do you know how many women would trade places with you?" His voice got harder, hating the contradiction he received from you.
"Great, then pick someone else. I don't want to be yours. I'm not a possession you can own, Steve." You spat at him. You knew you were playing with fire, you just saw firsthand what happened to people that piss him off.
“You seem to have misunderstood me. You don’t have a say in this. However you do have a say in how this happens. We can do this the nice way or the hard way.” Steve straightened up, with a smug smirk playing on his lips.
“You must not know me well, if you think, I’ll surrender without a fight.” Steve smirked and whistled.
The door opened again and Craig grabbed you, dragging you out of the office and shoving you into the awaiting black SUV. You kept fighting his grip and shouted profanities at Steve, who was calmly following you.
“I’m sorry Miss.” Craig turned to you from the passenger’s seat when he sat down and the other man in the car started driving. You calmed down as you reminded yourself that Craig was also just doing his job. You couldn’t really blame him…
You were driving for what felt like hours. With each passing minute the panic was slowly rising in you as you were now deep in the woods. Were you going to die because you refused Steve fucking Rogers? You groaned at the thought.
When you finally arrived, Steve’s other bodyguard, John got out of his seat and opened the door for you. When you refused to exit the car, he grabbed your hand, dragging you to him and threw you over his shoulder. He was a giant man, towering over 6 feet and you stood no chance.
"What is wrong with you?!" You yelled again as you were dumped on the hard forest floor and John returned to his car. You were cursing as you dusted yourself off and finally caught sight of Steve as he got out of his blue Tesla and came to stand in front of you.
"You son of a bitch!!" You screamed and ran to him, punching and kicking at him. He just calmly blocked your attacks and waited until you calmed down.
"Bastard." You panted.
"Language, Doll." He threatened with an extended finger.
"Screw your language and shove that finger up your ass." A new wave of fury enveloped you.
"I'm serious, Doll. Your parents didn't spank you enough when you were a child and if you don't start behaving yourself, I will be more than happy to rectify your behaviour."
"You wouldn't dare." You stared at him with wide eyes.
"Try me." He put his hands on his hips.
"Fucking prick." You cursed under your breath as he turned away and advanced to the house in the middle of nowhere.
"What was that?" He turned his head, giving you a warning glance.
“So, is this where you kill me?” You finally ask as the SUV speeds away, leaving you alone with the mob boss. He let out a laugh.
“Of course not. You’re more useful to me alive. We’ll be spending a few days here to get to know each other better. And if you’re going to play nice and dial down on your sailor mouth, we might get back even sooner. We can then talk about the wedding details. Now come on, the cabin hasn’t been used in months and there’s too many things to clean.” He said and left you in a state of complete shock in the middle of the woods.
Phew, this was a longer story then I planned! It’s over 2000 words! 😮 I finally did mob Steve 💙 but it came out darker then I originally intended 😅 maybe I’m just in a darker mood these days 😅
Thank you for reading! 😊🙏💙
The GIFs are not mine , they belong to the amazing creators! 🙏😊
Summary: You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and violence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer?
Chapter warning: smuuuuuuuutttt!!!! At this point, I feel like I'm turning this in one big porn, lmao.
A/N: Well, guess who updated this fic after a year or so?! I'm slowly starting to actually get into the story, instead of them just having sex lmao. Just give me some time
Four times. That’s the amount of times you fucked last night. You never knew it was possible for a guy to have that kind of stamina. All your past lovers, may it be a boyfriend or a quick fling, never had more than two rounds before they’d pass.
A warm hand lands on your hip as he scoots himself closer, making you the little spoon. You can’t help but smile. Cuddling is so underrated. Even if it’s not with a boyfriend, but just a fling. It gives this feeling of respect. Like you actually matter, like they don’t use you just to have sex and get it over with.
You scoot back, pressing your back to his chest and ass to his crotch. It’s hard. You can feel it in an instant. It’s either a morning wood, or this guy is somehow horny again. Let’s go see and find out.
As innocent as can be, you move your ass, acting like you’re trying to get a comfortable spot in his arms. He reacts to it by letting his hand fall from your hips to your belly, dangerously close to your breasts. You move again, this time trying to test the waters, but still innocent enough that you could play it off by repositioning yourself.
He pulls you closer to him and sighs heavily into your neck. His hand cups one of your breasts. Slow and lazy teasing must be one of the best things in the world. To wake up and slowly get into it. To not be in a hurry and enjoy the little touches you both give each other.
A warm kiss is planted in your neck. Your hand finds its way to his hip. You let it rest there while slowly moving your ass now, grinding on his crotch. His breath is getting a bit heavier. His legs are starting to intertwine with yours.
“Goodmorning”, he whispers with a husky undertone.
“Morning”, you giggle back. Your ass hasn't stopped moving, instead it is only starting to buck more into his hard cock. His hand starts massaging your breast and you let out a small sigh.
“Did you sleep well?”, he asks, followed with a small kiss on the gape of your neck.
“Mhmm, amazingly. You?” The hand that you had on his hip, now presses your nails in his skin softly. These small things are making you crazy. The grinding, his hand on your breast, his lips in your neck. You’re so heavily turned on and not a lot has happened yet.
“How could I not? Next to such a beautiful woman?”, he answers.
You roll your eyes and let out a laugh. “Really? That’s your cliche answer?”
He jerks his head up, getting you out of the spooning position as he pushes your back to the mattress. “It might be cliche, but it’s true.”
His soft lips meet yours. A soft kiss, his hand moving from your left to your right breast, repeating what he did before. When the kiss breaks, you look him in the eyes. The eye contact stays. It feels so intimate. His blue eyes look at you as if you’re the only thing existing in this world. His tender touches make you weak, his sweet words make you speechless.
There’s this tingle in your belly. A dangerous one. One that will only cause trouble if you ever dare to say it to him. It’s slowly starting to dawn on you as you’re still looking in his eyes. Slowly you’re realizing what’s happening, even though you’re not one to fall for this easily.
You’re catching feelings.
His hand leaves your breast and slowly wanders lower, touching your belly, only making the tingle grow. You break eye-contact. This is uncharted territory for you. You never catch feelings. You close your eyes, trying to get back in the moment, trying to enjoy Steve’s touches.
He slips a finger between your folds, making you gasp. Your eyes shoot open again, looking directly into his eyes. He smirks, but his gaze never wanders.
He crooks his finger and finds your clit as if it’s the easiest job on earth. A quick moan leaves your mouth, your eyes close again to focus on the feeling. Shots of pleasure shoot through your body every time he makes a little circle.
“Steve…”, You sigh. “Please…”
“Please, what?”, he asks. Your eyes stay closed, but you can imagine his stern look on his face. Jaw clenched, eyebrows down, eyes dark.
“Please, make me cum”, you manage to get out.
“Already”, he smirks. “Aren’t you a greedy one?”
You weren’t even that close. You just couldn’t think straight anymore. The knot in your lower stomach was building, though. His finger leaves your clit and moves backward. Slowly he pushes it in and out.
“I want you to look at me, baby”, he huskily says. You obey and open your eyes. It was amazing how focused he was on making you feel this good.
A second finger now slowly pushes in, getting deeper and deeper. The deeper he goes, the louder your moans become. He crooks the two fingers slightly, hitting the right spot as if he always knew how to do it.
The knot that was first a little bubble, was rapidly building. How could he make you squirm in a matter of seconds?
“Does that feel good? Do my fingers make you feel good?” His thumb now covers over your clit, pressing it. It doesn’t give the same effect as his middle finger, but it does add to the feeling his fingers are giving you from the inside.
“Fuck yes”, you moan. “Please don’t stop, I swear to god.”
Your free hand shoots to his arm, encouraging not to stop. You know that your orgasm is close now.
“Oh, yes, baby, baby, baby”, you repeat quickly as you squeeze your eyes together.
“Look at me while you cum”, he orders.
You forcefully open your eyes, hoping it won’t ruin your fastly building orgasm. But, when you see his face, all you can do is let go of all your worries.
“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes”, you now lisp with your teeth clenched to each other. “Oh fuck, baby, gonna cum!”
He gives you an encouraging smile. “Cum all over my fingers, babygirl. I want you to cum. Cum for me, c’mon, cum for me.”
Your orgasm finally reaches you. Your eyes still locked with his, your mouth wide open but not a sound coming out of it. It must have been the most beautiful sight for Steve to see.
Your back arches against his chest, your legs weak but somehow still standing. There are waves of pleasure going through your entire body. Steve, however, is catching your every move.
“That’s my pretty girl, let it all out, fucking deserve it.” It makes you feel so safe to be this vulnerable, only adding to your already intense orgasm. His fingers are slowing down, trying not to overwhelm you with the intense feeling that comes after.
Your orgasm slowly passes and you come back to senses. His fingers move back up.
“Wanna taste yourself?”, he asks with a little smile on his face. You nod. This time, he takes peace with you not answering with words and puts his fingers in your mouth. Your lips close around them. Slowly, he pulls them out again, his eyes never leaving your lips.
He let his head down next to you on his pillow again. You look at him, but stay silent. For a second, you want to reload your energy, it’s what you needed after this intense moment.
A few seconds go by and you feel how you’re slowly ready to give the favor in return. You turn to the side, your hand now wandering his chest. It stays silent between the two of you, but eye contact remains. You don’t want to get your hopes up, but if he keeps staring at you like this, you might think that he will answer the feelings you’re starting to have.
Your hand is lowering until it reaches his already very hard cock. You wrap your hand around it and slowly start to go up and down. His eyes close. One of his hands is going under his head, the other one is squeezing your leg softly.
Small hums leave his lips. His eyebrows knit together, but the rest of his face is relaxed. Your hand is starting to pump faster, but still at an easy pace. There’s no rush this morning. His cock twitches in your hand a few times, implying that you’re doing a great job, even though it’s not that hard.
You let go of his cock and wander your hand lower, grabbing his balls softly. Steve moans softly. “That feels amazing.”
You play with them for a few seconds, grabbing them both softly and squeezing them very gently. You didn’t want to focus on them for too long, so you let go again, your hand back on his cock. This time, you speed up the tempo. You can feel how Steve is slowly starting to move more, sometimes even jerk up a bit.
“Fuck”, he sighs. “Wait, wait…”
You stop and look at him. He turns his head to you. “As much as I’d like to cum by your hand, I’d much rather cum in you.”
You nod, knowing that you on top is his favorite position. So you get yourself on top of him, his cock right beneath your pussy. You give him a quick smile, before looking down and using your hand to guide him into you.
Slowly you sink down on him. It never fails to give you that nice stretch again. A little sigh leaves both of you, before you start lifting yourself up again.
You set a slow pace, but quickly build up the speed. His hands fly to your hips, guiding you and helping you set a pace that he enjoys. His hips start moving too, meeting you halfway, giving you a little less work. Small moans start to leave you.
“You’re so fucking beautiful on top of me”, he sighs. “My fucking slut. Mine.”
The words encourage you to pick up the pace a little faster. In return he starts to moan out loud. “Yes, fuck me like that. Yes, yes.”
It’s all about his pleasure for you. You know you won’t cum like this, but that’s okay. You had your turn, now he has his. Steve, however, thinks differently. One of his hands leaves your hips and his thumb finds your clit.
You slap his hand away and put it back on your hips. “It’s your turn, not mine”, you say with a wink. He nods, something you didn’t expect. Normally he’s in charge so he decides what’s going to happen. Maybe he’s too horny to complain.
You take the pace down again, so you can concentrate on taking his cock all in and then almost all the way out. You make sure that your arms aren’t in the way to block the view for him. He looks at you and you bite your bottom lip softly.
When he looks down, you smile. He can’t seem to get his eyes away from it. “Oh my god”, is all he manages to say.
That’s when you pick up the pace again, still trying to get as much in and out of you as possible. It seems to work, as his moans are quickly growing louder, his eyes still focussed on where you two meet.
“Holy shit”, he sighs. “Keep going like that and I’m gonna cum-”
And so, you keep going like that, you even try to pick up the pace even more but you’re not sure if you’re actually doing so. His eyes now close, suggesting that his orgasm is building. His mouth is O-shaped and his hips stopped moving.
A slapping sound is filling the room, along with your soft moans. After a few seconds, grunts come out of Steve’s mouth. His nails dig in your hips and his legs stiffen. You quickly lower your pace, knowing that it could be too sensitive to move this quickly.
“Holy fuck.” His eyes are now on you. They’re blown out, full of pleasure. It’s one of the most amazing sights you’ve ever seen. And you somehow feel special, because you’re only one of the ‘few’ to see it.
When you notice he’s slowly getting back to reality, you sit down, with his cock still in you. He goes with both hands through his hair. “I don’t think I will ever get over how amazingly good you are.”
A satisfied smile appears on your face. It’s always nice to hear that your skills in bed are good, especially if a man like Steve says it. It feels like he isn’t easy to impress, but somehow you did.
You get yourself off him and let yourself fall back into the mattress. He scoots closer to you, putting a hand on your waist. “I want to ask you something.”
You nod, silently saying that he can ask you whatever he wants to ask you. He’s full of surprises, so you’re wondering what it could be.
“I never really do this kind of stuff, but you’re a smart and beautiful woman”, he starts, making you a bit more nervous. “Would you like to join a party tonight? Be on my side? Be my date, basically?”
A smile appears on your face and the tingle you felt in your belly grows. To be honest, you didn’t expect Steve to see you as dating material, it felt like he wasn’t that kind of guy.
“I’d love to!”, you cheer. “So… It’s an official date, right? Before we get things mixed up.”
“Yes”, Steve laughs. “An official date. The party starts at 8, so… be ready at 10.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to this fancy party”, Wanda calls from her bedroom. You roll your eyes.
“I didn’t say it was fancy”, you reply with a chuckle.
There were two dresses in your hand. A red one, made of silk which will accenturate your hips and show a bit of cleavage; and a white one, made of lace and showing a bit more skin.
“Wan! Which one should I wear?”, you call from your own bedroom. You hear some ruffling before she appears in your room.
“The red one, white is way too…. ‘I want to marry you as soon as possible’ kind of vibe”, she chuckles. You let out a laugh and nod your head in agreement. White might be a bit too much.
“And what about the make-up?”, you ask.
She looks you up and down and then the red dress. “Definitely a cat eye. Do you want me to help?”
You nod with big eyes, like a helpless puppy. Doing make-up was never your best quality, but Wanda was phenomenal at it. It’s not like you never wear it, it’s just that you never invested so much time in it to actually become good at it.
Wanda walks out of the room to get the make-up. In the meanwhile, you get yourself out of your jeans and shirt and in to the beautiful red dress.
When Wanda gets back, she has two big make-up boxes in her hand. “Lets get your ready for a party”, she giggles.
You take place in your chair and she gets another one from the kitchen to take place in.
“So, tell me”, you say as you wiggle your eyebrows. “How’s Maria doing?”
She smiles softly. “She’s good!”
That’s all you’re gonna get? Hell to the fucking no!
“How was your date? Did you go to the fountains?”, you ask curiously.
“Yeah we did. We talked for hours, didn’t even notice when it was midnight”, she says, finally giving you a bit more information. “We walked home around 1am, shared a kiss and then I went to bed.”
Wanda works on your make-up while you continue talking, about anything really. School, Maria, Steve, family, friends, work.
“So, can I expect you to be in class tomorrow by 9?”, she asks with a mischivious smile on her face. You playfully slap her shoulder.
“I’ll try to”, you grin.
TAGS: (I get it if you want to be removed after a YEAR lmao, so message me if that's the case)
Summary: Your family's small funeral home comes into financial trouble. In desperation your father finds the most unlikely solution to solve his financial problems.
Warning: 18 + Only, Dark themes, blood, slight inappropriate touching, slow burn
Note: no smut this chapter
Dark Steve x Reader, Mob AU
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
As you cleaned your instruments by the sink your father rushed passed the morgue's door.
"Oh dear lord" the old man huffed as he jogged down the hall. You paused and listened as the rear door opened and a cacophony of voices barreled through the hall, growing in volume as they neared.
When things became clear you frowned. Three men burst through the morgues doors. You watched as Steve and your father helped a heavily injured, Bucky, through the room, on to the stainless steel embalming table.
Your stomach knotted as you watched your father help the man that assaulted you. He had thoroughly interrogated you the first night you came back from the club, but you left out that unnecessary detail. Thankfully since that night Bucky had not been in his office to greet you, but that did little to stop the tightening of your gut when you walked through his office door.
You watched on as Bucky bled profusely on the table and by the looks of things he would be going in one of those cabinets soon. If he died you doubt that would hold in baring in regard to your fathers entanglement.
Gingerly your father backed away and stood next to you, his face riddle with remorse.
"Hang in there Buck" Steve pleaded with his bloody companion. "Bruce is on the way" he reassured over Bucky's grunts, his left side the main focus of his attention.
Whoever Bruce was you doubt he would make it here to make a difference if the blood didn't slow. If he died good riddance one less mobster to deal with.
"Are we just waiting for him to die before we burn him" you asked your father quietly as you watched Bucky writhe in pain.
"Shh quiet. Bucky's the gate keeper that holds that beast at bay." Your father's head drenched with sweat, his concern written all over his face.
How much worse could Steve be? You had mistaken him for the leader of the pack the first night, but your father was quick to educate you that there were two heads to the beast that ran the city.
You looked at him for a moment before looking back at the men across the room.
Without a word you dug through your cabinet. You grabbed the fabric scissor, a tool you used many a time to let out clothes for the bodies to fit and an aspirator, a long metal rod. Despite the fact that he had assaulted you, you had to force yourself to push past that. Maybe if you helped saved him, they might let your dad out of his agreement.
"What are you doing?" Steve challenged, finally noticing you, you paused for a moment with your back to him. When you turned to face him you tried to swallow your nerve. Steve was a man to be feared, that fact made more clear as he hovered over his friend like a mother bear protecting its cub.
"We need to stop the bleeding. If we don't he won't last much longer" You pointed out calmly, approaching with the tools, placing them on the metal tray next to Bucky. Steve observed you cautiously, but when Bucky moaned again, this time much lower than before his attention went back to Bucky, who looked semi conscious.
"Dad can you get a pillow from one of the displays please."
Taking the scissors you quickly began cutting through his sleeves and across his chest, tossing the bloodied fabric to the ground. When he hadn't move you gave him a quick side eye making him falter, reluctantly leaving you alone with the mobsters.
There was so much blood you weren't sure where to start or what you were trying to accomplish. There seemed to be several bullet holes along his arm and left side. Some exit wounds and a few you were sure had not. There was also the bone that looked to be protruding from a gaping hole, splintered badly. It was if he took a shotgun blast to his arm.
"I need your help tightening the tourniquet. " You tried to sound sure of yourself, but the hope in Steve's eyes ignored that. High up his arm you made use of the discarded sleeves. Bucky felt as if he were growing cold, with his drop in temperature you felt the anxiousness of his partner.
"What do I do?" Steve sounded desperate, you rattled out orders as Steve neared, taking the aspirator in his hand. The long piece of metal needed to be used to whined the fabric and cut off the circulation.
Once Steve finished the tourniquet you hurried over to the drawers against the wall that held various supplies. You didn't know if you should sew up the wounds that had an exit point or try and fish out the ones logged inside.
"I thought you said this was just a patch-up" a strange man mostly slurred out, accompanied by Thor and Sam, followed by your father. The nervous older man kept his head down as he moved past the other mobsters to place a satin pillow under Bucky's head.
"What the fuck is Strange doing here?" Steve fumed at his men.
"Hey.. hey relax. We couldn't find Bruce." As Sam spoke the vein on the side of Steve's head looked like it would burst. The new man that stood apart from the group looked as if they dragged him from the side of the road. His hair was wild and just as wiry as the beard on his face. His torn, disheveled clothes led you to believe that he did not come along willingly.
Steve's phone rang interrupting his tirade. Taking his bloodied hand he dug it out and placed it to his ear. His ire finding a new focus with the caller on the phone. He raked fingers through his hair, making his locks turn crimson.
"Fix him" Steve commanded Strange with the phone still pressed to his ear. His attention split in three different directions. You watched Steve's face contorted, whoever it was on the other end did not call with good news. Giving a sullen look to the man slipping out of consciousness Steve stormed out.
Strange seemed nonplussed by Steve, but that might had much to due with his liquid courage. The smell of which permeated off him as he neared you.
"You.. you work here?" Strange snapped at you.
"Yes.." You answered quickly. He eyed you up and down as he walked over casually to the sink. Washing his hands like a surgeon before a procedure.
"Do you have a bone saw?" Strange inquired.
You replied 'yes' and without further instruction you retrieved the electric saw. Along with it you brought over another disposable smock and gloves.
"Hey whoa whoa" Sam called out as he watched the exchange. Strange's hands looked off, bending unnaturally as if they had been crushed by a hammer. You looked at him with concern, he looked ashamed as he frowned, taking the items from you, hiding his hands under the pile. "What do you mean saw?" Sam stressed at the lack of response.
"There is no saving that arm." Strange replied curtly, the booze in his system you were sure fueling his courage. He dressed in the smock quickly and placed tools from his bag next to the tray."I need to cut it off and sew up what's left." Strange huffed as he dressed awkwardly in front of the group.
The shiny, toothy, steel rested on Bucky's wet arm. Strange pressed the teeth hard against Bucky's flesh, he took one last deep breath and then flicked the switch on the electrical saw. The high pitch of the machine was only matched by the screams of Bucky. He rose as the blade tore through him, thrashing wildly atop the table in pain.
"Hold him!" Strange commanded.
Thor was the first to hold his shoulders down, your father moved over to help hold down his mid section, while you and Sam took hold of his legs. Bucky thrashed against his friends and screamed in pain. The tourniquet did little to stop the flow of blood, but Strange was not concerned.
"We can't do anything about the pain?" Thor shouted over Bucky’s agony.
"This is a morgue, people are normally way past pain when they arrive" you shouted back. If Strange had anything he didn't care to offer. If he was a doctor you wondered how he got mixed into this world. Maybe he wanted Bucky to feel every bit of this, maybe he was the cause of his injuries.
By the time Strange got to the bone Bucky passed out and you worried if he would wake up by the time finished.
The arm fell to the floor, Strange wasted no time in rushing to get his sutures.
When your eyes strayed from Strange's work you found Steve barreling through the door. His eyes dilated with fury at the sight of his mutilated friend.
"You fucking butcher" Steve charged Strange. Sam and Thor did nothing to stop him. His light eyes turned dark. He was going to kill Strange.
"Steve stop!" You interjected, standing in-between Steve and Strange. The fact that he halted left you in amazement, it felt as if you stopped a charging bull mid stride. Steve's eyes struggled to pull their focus towards you, but once there they burned with intensity.
"Your friend is going to be just fine." You spoke carefully, if it was a lie Strange didn't speak to contradict.
"Strange is a doctor right?" In the corner of your eye you could see Strange's frozen apprehension that mirrored your father's.
When Bucky gargled in pain his eyes shifted to the bed again. You truly didn't care if Bucky died, but from the look in Steve's eyes you couldn't guarantee he wouldn't dispose of you and your father in a fit of anger and grief. You needed to get Steve out and let the man work.
"Come on.." You looked at Steve pleadingly. Stepping closer to the massive man, growing bolder as you raised a hand to stroke his arm, holding your nerve and when he didn't protest you linked him.
A technique you watched your father use many a time with widowers that were over come with emotion. His eyes looked down at the placement of your hand, but he didn't brush you off. "..let the doctor work." Nervously you walked him out of the room.
When the door closed Bucky's agonizing cries seeped through into the hall. Steve planted his feet, making you stumble backwards a bit. This was as far as he was willing to let you take him. With his back to the door, Steve squeezed your hand tightly. His eyes red and glassed with water.
The strength it took for him to not let them fall was a familiar sight. You had watched many times before, men desperately holding things together for the sake of their family.
You stepped closer, closing the space in-between, his hard look turned soft with confusion. Slipping your hand around the back of his head while wrapping your other hand around his shoulder, cradling him into a hug.
"This isn't your fault." You whispered into his ear. You weren't even sure if that was the case, but it sounded like something he needed to hear.
"He would've made the same decisions I'm sure if it were you."
Steve bent, but his arms stayed on his side. The awkward embrace made you second guess your decisions thus far. You felt out of your depth, your father was the comforter, he always knew what to say while you preferred to keep your distance.
When you felt him lift his arms, almost unsure of himself as he began to embrace you. It was as if, with his men away he gave himself permission to be soft. You wondered how long it had been sense he made a decision that made him question himself so deeply.
"Everything dies around me." Steve's voice cracked a little as he talked and then you felt a wetness on your shoulder. It was clear he blamed himself for the events of the night.
"It's OK, he is gonna be OK" you reassured calmly. Another lie you fed him to give comfort. You felt his head nuzzle into your neck, his hug grew tighter as you rubbed circles on his back. Steve's nose glided gently along your neck, quietly inhaling you, making you stiffen.
Stepping a leg back you attempted to brake the embrace gingerly, but his arms tensed, tightening around you.
"S-steve.." you stuttered. A peck so light on your neck sent prickles all throughout your body, you had to convince yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you.
Until Steve's palm started to move and your heart started to pounded hard the lower it got. The thought of him using you as a distraction crossed your mind and hoped with everything you were wrong. When his hands smoothed over the curve of your ass you stifled a gasp.
Steve's embrace fell when the door knob rustled behind him. Giving you a chance to back away.
"The doctors finished" your father poked through the door.Steve didn't turn to face him, his face reddened and wet.
"We will be there in a minute." You assured him. He nodded at you and closed the door leaving you alone with the emotional mobster yet again.
"Sorry I don't normally" he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Let’s just go check on your friend" You cut him off before he could explain any further.
Warning: suggested abuse, angst, suggested murder, needles, and eyeballs.
(Y/N) couldn’t see a thing, everything was just pitch black. He tried to move but felt ropes tighten around his arms. He stopped moving and felt the rope settle around his arms. “You bastard!” (Y/N) yelled, thinking it was his ex who had trapped him there.
“I will not be a slave to your every whim, even if you keep me locked up here!” He yelled out and moved forward, it had been a bad decision. The ropes tightened further around his arms and pulled him back. “I’m not scared of your family or your money!” (Y/N) felt his chair tip back by the sheer pull from the rope.
He landed harshly and hit his skull against the concrete floor. A grunt came from him as he tried to move, though lights were turned on, it blinded him. The pain from hitting his floor combined with being blinded by light erased all hope of survival.
(Y/N) felt someone help him up, their hands almost gentle with him, one warm and the other oddly cold. However, in his delirious and frightened state, he managed to break free and tip the chair away from whoever had helped him up, (Y/N) kicked the chair towards them as he tried to get away, the rope further tightened around his arms. It felt as though the rope would break his arms at any moment, it tore down into his flesh but (Y/N) was too high on adrenaline to even feel it.
Steve watched from the stairs as this unfolded, to say he was surprised was an understatement. Bucky looked helplessly up at Steve, almost begging to be helped. He reminded Steve of a puppy. Steve went down to the boy and cut the restraints, he immediately got punched in the face as a result.
(Y/N) slowly regained his vision, not that it was worth anything, his entire world was blurry. “Get the fuck away from me.” (Y/N) growled as he backed into the wall, he felt his arms sting and looked down onto them, red lines cut across his flesh, he knew fully they were wounds.
Steve looked to Bucky confused. “I thought your client said this would be an easy target?” Steve questioned, it got (Y/N)’s attention.
“What client?” He demanded.
They both looked towards the squinting man. “The Hamilton family’s youngest-“ Bucky was caught off by a groan. (Y/N) felt himself get weaker. He had to get away from there. If he could just focus… The man had spoken, but nothing seemed to register.
“Kid?” Steve moved forward, (Y/N) took this as a chance to kick towards the other, however, Steve caught his foot with ease.
“You are clearly hurt, please allow me to help you,” Steve said as (Y/N) struggled against his hold, tiring himself out even more.
“Bullshit!“ (Y/N) felt the exhaustion set in, “No one helps someone…” He blinked, trying to keep himself awake, fear for what would happen if he fell unconscious plagued his mind.
He felt two strong arms lift him up bridal style, the young man was too tired to even fight back, yet he tried. His hand grabbed the jacket of the other, “If you kill me, at least tell the bastard I fought until I died.” Steve looked towards Bucky confused, what the fuck had Bucky brought in?
“Sorry Steve, I didn’t know he would put up such a fight,” Bucky looked around the room as Steve walked upstairs. “Can we keep him? The client wants a young man, this one is a fighter. I can easily find another.” Bucky followed up.
A small sigh came from Steve as he carried the young man into the medical room. Doctor Banner was already there. “If he wants to stay… maybe. I will not promise anything.” Steve looked back at Bucky with a warning glance.
“Both of you, out of my room. I will tell you when he is ready to talk.” Bruce pushed Steve out and shut the door, had it been anyone else Steve would have been angry, but he knew not to anger the doctor. The other side of the doctor was… less desirable.
Two days had gone by, Bucky knew the police wasn’t searching. All the targets he got was those who wouldn’t be missed. Bucky didn’t know if it was a result of his training or past. He had lost all memories that weren’t from after meeting Steve. Small glimpses of his childhood were there but other than that… nothing.
The doors to the infirmary opened op. Bruce walked out looking tired. He took of his glasses and started cleaning them, a habit he had gotten when stressed.
“He is ready, just be careful. He can’t see much.” Bruce said as he walked away. Bucky was on his feet in a second, he walked into the room only to see (Y/N) on the bed. Somehow managing to look strong.
“Why did you take me? Soldier, what does Rumlow want from me?” The question took Bucky by surprise. He stopped walking as he starred at (Y/N) confused. “How do I know it's you? The way you walk. Long legs and the boots, always the same brand of boots. Heavier towards the back, you have a slight limp too, from the time you were shot in the hip.”
(Y/N) sat up and looked towards Bucky’s direction. “I can’t see a damn thing, so I remember the way people walk. Yours haven’t changed in four years.”
Bucky walked over, now conscious about his walk. “I don’t remember you…” He looked at the others face, desperate to have some recall of his past.
(Y/N) looked at Bucky. The blurry mess of a man he once knew. No, this was someone different. “You don’t remember?” He asked, unsure as to the extent.
Bucky shook his head, but when he saw (Y/N) didn’t see it he quickly answered. “No, I don’t. I was injured. When I woke up there was nothing.” Bucky said as he averted his eyes.
(Y/N) reached over and grabbed Bucky’s metal arm, “Can you feel that?”
“No,” Bucky said as he looked down at (Y/N).
A small smile came onto the others face as he softly pressed the space between the thumb and other fingers. It was as though Bucky’s arm woke up. He could feel the way (Y/N)’s soft hands touched his wrist and palm. How the air moved around it.
“Come on soldier, you wouldn’t wanna keep me waiting!” A burst of cheerful laughter could be heard across the farm. Bucky ran outside, equally smiling, and happy. Being tasked to keep his boss’s boy toy safe was the best job ever.
Bucky ran over to the other and picked him up. He spun (Y/N) around before putting him down. (Y/N) looked up at his face, “I love you.”
Bucky shook his head at the memory. He was distraught. That memory couldn’t be real. What was happening?!
Bucky pulled his arm away just as Steve walked in. (Y/N) heard the steps but didn’t care. “Soldier, Bucky,” Steve looked worryingly between them, something told him to not step in, “listen to my voice and calm down.”
Bucky shook his head. “N-no!” He yelled out loud. (Y/N) walked over and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulders, he sang a soft song.
Bucky smiled as he heard (Y/N) sing in the kitchen, “What are you making doll?” He asked as he entered the kitchen.
“A surprise for later, either close your eyes or sit out in the hallway.” (Y/N) pointed a spoon at Bucky. He simply held his hands up as he walked back into the hallway.
“You know me, even if you don’t remember it and if you do… then I forgive you.” (Y/N) said as the song ended. Bucky felt tears come to his eyes. Without even realising he was doing it, he hugged (Y/N).
(Y/N) hugged back. His hands grabbing onto Bucky’s shirt. He rested his head on the taller man’s shoulders. Steve felt as though he had invaded their privacy, he was happy that Bucky had found someone from his past, but this reaction. Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky’s past was worth digging up, he worried for his friend.
They pulled away from each other, (Y/N) reached up and cupped Bucky’s cheeks. “Steve, what are you… right.” Bucky looked from (Y/N) to Steve. (Y/N) walked over to the bed and sat down, Bucky had to stop himself from following.
“I came to check up on Mister (Y/L/N), though apparently you two know each other,” Steve said as he fully walked back in. “Why didn’t you recognise Bucky before?”
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Maybe because I thought fucking Rumlow had taken me or one of his men. Maybe because I was so fucking scared that I was fully ready to die escaping. Just so that bastard couldn’t control me any longer.” (Y/N), not aware of the fact Steve was the boss, spoke his mind, fully letting his anger see the light of day.
He wasn’t scared of Steve, not even of Rumlow, okay, maybe he was scared of Rumlow... He was definitely scared of Rumlow.
Bucky whistled. “Doll, Steve runs this whole family,” Bucky said, not recognising the fact he used the nickname.
(Y/N) didn’t waste a single second in shrugging. “I’m 89% sure he was the one to carry me up. The fact I’m not dead even though I most likely decked him…” (Y/N) looked towards Steve for confirmation.
Steve was caught off guard by (Y/N). “I… He is right. What were your ties with the Hamilton family again?”
(Y/N) was still on edge, however, having Bucky near him was calming. “I was the boy toy to Rumlow, he showered me in money as long as I would just suck his cock whenever he wanted it, get fucked whenever he wanted it and be that pretty little thing he took with him everywhere.” (Y/N) shrugged.
‘I just so happened to reveal all their business information to ten outsiders, causing massive losses…’ (Y/N) thought to himself.
“Why can’t you see?” Bucky asked, “The memories… you could see me there.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched in his throat; the night played over in his mind. “I was caught… with someone.” That wasn’t a lie. “Who I had grown to love. Rumlow took us both towards the outskirts of the city before he killed the person. Or so I thought… He injected something into my eye…”
“I’m sorry about that.” Steve shook his head.
“It’s fine, I went underground after that, Rumlow has a lot of… enemies. I provided slightly useful information and they kept me safe… Managed to get a job in hells kitchen. At a law firm there. Then… Bucky picked me up. How many days have I been here?” Suddenly (Y/N) got worried, he knew fully what Matt could do.
(Y/N) moved towards the edge of the bed again, he stumbled out of it. “I need to call him if he thinks I’m dead.” (Y/N) pleaded. Bucky pulled out his phone.
“Who is he?” Steve asked, worried for the safety of his people.
“Matt Murdock. The blind lawyer from hells kitchen.” (Y/N) shook his head. “He gave me the job. He helped me get used to living without being able to see much. He’s like a brother to me.” (Y/N) felt Bucky’s hand on his shoulder.
“Doll-“ Steve raised his eyebrow at that, “What is the number?”
(Y/N) told Bucky what to write before they called. Both Steve and Bucky left the room. It rang twice before anyone picked up.
“Matt?” (Y/N) asked, his voice cracked slightly.
“(Y/N)?!” It was from Karen. (Y/N) smiled as he heard her voice. He heard the worry in her voice.
“I’m alive. Where is Matt?”
The phone was taken from Karen, Matt was there. “Are you okay?” Matt asked concern laced within his voice, he had made no attempt at hiding it.
“I’m fine… mostly. I’m with someone I trust… just got injured.” Matt knew (Y/N) well enough to know the situation was bad.
“Is it your ex?” Matt asked, more than ready to beat up Rumlow.
“No, no. I promise it’s really nothing. Just a ghost. I will be back home soon… hopefully.” (Y/N) smiled at that.
“Three days and I will look for you,” Matt said. (Y/N) smiled at that, it truly felt as though he had a caring older brother. Other times Matt would annoy him… yeah, they really did have a sibling-like bond. Both fucked up, for sure. But they had each other.
“I have to go, be safe Matt.” (Y/N) hung up and walked over to the doorway. “Thank you, Bucky.” (Y/N) held the phone out in front of himself, the dimly lit hallway made it pretty much impossible for him to see.
Bucky gently took the phone, spooking (Y/N) in the progress. “Sorry doll,” Bucky said again, still not realising he had used that very same nickname.
(Y/N) bit his lip but didn’t say anything about it. “I’m not a security threat, am I free to leave?” (Y/N) asked.
Steve looked at Bucky for conformation. Bucky, on the other hand, wanted to know more about (Y/N), know more about this mysterious man from his past, he felt drawn towards him. That had been the reason he even took him in the first place.
As Bucky didn’t answer or make any confirmation, Steve decided on the best option at hand. “Yes, you can leave. But I will place Bucky as a guard around you until we know for sure that you won’t tell anyone or be in danger.” Steve said, Bucky and (Y/N) gave him the same panicked look, both not even noticing the other did the same.
“And that’s final. Bucky pack up for a weeks’ worth of travel. Fill me in every three days.” Steve left the two of them. He shook his head as he walked away. He knew (Y/N) somehow loved his childhood friend and by the look of it, Bucky had loved (Y/N) too. The stories lined up.
Bucky had been found in the other edges of his territory, shot in the head. Bruce miraculously managed to save him. Though Bucky had lost all memory from anything before. Steve had gotten his childhood friend back, but at what cost?
(Y/N) was now fully panicked. "I only have one bed!" And a small one-bedroom apartment.
Fandom: Marvel, Avengers
Relationship: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers
Tags: Soulmates, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Whump, AU No Powers, Mob Boss Steve
Words: 8.002
Summary:
Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate's arm before they threw him back out into the streets.
---
As far as kidnappings go, this one is almost civilized. Apart from the fact that they greet him by pulling a bag over his head and knock him unconscious before he can say a single word.
Tony wakes up in a mostly clean warehouse, though, instead of some cell in a ratty basement where he is sure to catch pneumonia and die before Stark Industries would have a chance to pay ransom, even if they were in the habit of doing so. His hands and feet are bound with rope that sits tight but not enough to hinder his blood circulation. It feels like a professional job, fancy knot and all.
Most importantly, he is not hurt beyond the distant throbbing of where they hit his temple earlier.
Blinking fully awake, Tony finds himself facing a man. He is rather short and stocky. A mop of dirty blond hair sticks up over the mask covering his face.
“Good evening,” Tony says amiably.
The man narrows his eyes at Tony but does not lash out as he half-expected. Somehow, he does not think that is a good sign. It feels as if they are waiting for something.
“Do you think we could deal with this unfortunate business quickly? I’ve got –” A slap cuts Tony off, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing loudly in the otherwise empty warehouse.
It was not hard enough to split his lip. Tony is not sure it will even bruise. It was a warning, nothing more. More so, this is all still so terribly polite that he considers heeding it.
Before he can decide on a course of action, the man steps forward and puts his hands on Tony’s jacket – or rather inside it. He goes for the inside pocket and gets out the USB drive Tony has taken to carrying everywhere as if he has known exactly what to go for. On the drive are Tony’s personal projects and some stuff he does not exactly want to fall into the hands of his board members. All of them have constant dollar signs in their eyes but Tony thinks there are limits to what they should make their money with.
Truth be told, his conscience got more or less only reborn when they refused all of his attempts at steering the company in new directions. Green energy, communication, medical technology. Tony is good at what he does. He can revolutionize more than just the weapons market. That would come with risks, though, and the board does not want to take any as long as Tony is making them enough money without them.
Tony glares at the man, who holds the drive up in the air, looking at it with some disdain as if he does not think that little thing is worth all the trouble of snatching Tony Stark off the street. He obviously does not know the kind of gold mine he is holding. The data on it is saved elsewhere too, of course, but getting the drive is much easier than breaking into Tony’s home and getting the information from there. This feels less and less like a random kidnapping.
Tony’s mind immediately runs through the handful of people who know about the existence of the USB drive. Pepper and Obie do. Some of the board members should at least suspect that he is not going to stop making plans even if they rejected them. A few people down in R&D might know, not anything specific, though.
In front of him, the man speaks into an earpiece. “Got it.”
So there are more of them lurking somewhere. At least two where present when they picked him up, but Tony does not think that will be all. Getting to him, even if he is rather lax with his own security, needs more than two brains.
“If all you wanted was the USB drive, you could have asked, you know?” Tony speaks up in as nonchalant a tone as he dares. Sometimes, it is better to show some fear, but Tony has never quite managed to let go of his pride long enough for that. “There was no need to drag me all through town to your stunningly clean lair.”
The man’s mouth twitches, but Tony is sure it is not from amusement.
“Don’t they teach you posh people when to shut up?” the man growls, but makes no further move.
“Conversation furthers the horizon,” Tony quips, watching the man closely without being too obvious about it. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”
The man takes a step forward until he towers over Tony. The hand holding the drive is balled into a fist. Tony knows how this story goes. They tell him to be quiet and follow their rules, he keeps provoking them until they make a mistake. Sometimes they do not make mistakes, but Tony has made it out of every kidnapping alive up until now.
“Don’t.” A woman steps up. Bright red hair, moving in her combat boots as if she is doing ballet. This one is dangerous.
“Why not?” the man asks. He whips up his hands but instead of them breaking Tony’s skin with a hit, he produces a mass of dirty cloth out of thin air and forces it into Tony’s mouth, effectively gagging him.
The woman glares. Even though it is not directed at Tony, he feels the primal urge to flee or at least duck. The man does not even flinch. Perhaps she looks tougher than she is, although Tony’s gut tells him it is the other way around.
Before they can continue their argument, two more men enter the room. They are both tall, but where one is blonde the other is dark. The dark one’s glare is almost as potent as the woman’s and definitely meant for Tony. His eyes are unforgiving, making Tony feel like this might be personal after all. All of their masks reveal just enough of their faces to make them fearsome, definitely human but less approachable for it.
When the men come closer, something metallic glints between them, but Tony cannot get a good look. It could be a gun but just as well a strangely coloured glove.
Without a word, the short guy hands over the USB drive to the tall blond, who studies it briefly then pockets it with a sigh. Just a moment ago, it seemed like they were only after the drive. Now, though, the air is filled with a new tension, harder somehow.
They communicate silently and it feels like an argument. For once, Tony thinks better of disturbing the silence. He would probably even do so if he were not currently gagged. The blond, who has to be the leader, considering that they are all waiting for his verdict, nods tersely. His shoulders are painfully straight, almost as if he does not want to be here.
“All right,” he says. His voice sounds like it could be melodic if it were not infused with disdain. When he turns his head and looks at Tony, his eyes are cold, making Tony shudder. “Let’s do this.”
Ice spreads through Tony at this and it has nothing to do with the sense of impending violence filling the air. He knows these words, knows them by heart. During his childhood, he used to recite them to himself as if they were a prayer. He has never imagined hearing them in a situation like this.
The words alone would not mean anything, of course. He has heard them a thousand times. They are accompanied by a burning sensation crawling up his arm, however, touching a place he has kept covered up since he was eight years old and woke up to these exact words in a sprawling script across his forearm. The first words his soulmate would ever say to him. It is just his miserable luck that he would hear them during a kidnapping.
Tony’s focus zeroes in on the man who has spoken them, oblivious to the fact that he has just now declared his soulmate fair game to his companions. He is still looking at Tony but no recognition flickers to life in his eyes.
Tony strains against the rope keeping him mostly immobile and then against the cloth in his mouth. He does not know what he would say, even if he had full control over his tongue, but he feels like he has to do something. He yells something unintelligible. It does not have any effect.
Before he can do anything else, a dark shape steps in front of him, obscuring his view of the gang leader, and the first punch hits him square in the stomach, dispersing all rational thought.
The first hit is never the worst. It feels like it, certainly, because no matter how unavoidable a fight appears, that first step from a simple argument into a violent, physical altercation will always have something unreal to it, something impossible to brace for.
This time, Tony did not know he had to brace for something. Despite the kidnapping and the harshness in these people’s words and movements, their encounter has almost felt like a straight up business transaction. Someone wants Tony’s personal files, so they are getting them. This does not feel like part of a deal, but not like they are just roughing him up for the fun of it either.
All other thoughts leave him when the fist hits him again, hard enough to throw him out of the chair. Distantly, he feverishly tries to concentrate on possible reasons for why they are doing this so he does not have to think about his burning forearm and the fact that the gang boss who has just ordered Tony’s beating is his soulmate.
Tony hits the ground with a crack. Years of practice have him guarding his head with his arms, even though that leaves the rest of his body unprotected. He rolls up into as tight a ball as possible and tries not to count the blows. His brain being what it is, he cannot help collecting information anyway.
Despite the flurry of blows and kicks, Tony is sure that only two of them are actually working on him, although they do not hold back and do enough damage on their own.
Some of Tony’s ribs crack with a dry sound. It is not so much the pain than the knowledge of what is happening to him that has whimpers escape his throat. When he instinctively reaches downward, the next blow lands in his face. The taste of copper and iron explodes on his tongue and blood clogs his nose, making him unable to breathe. A kick hits his ribcage and pushes the rest of the air out of his lungs.
After that, everything blurs, pain and the ringing in his ears and the proof that fate hates him. Hours might pass in which Tony is undone. The worst part is that, even caught in agony, Tony cannot stop wanting to know why.
Several long minutes after Tony is certain that he cannot take any more, he hears the leader say, “Enough.”
It is impossible to say whether anyone argues, and Tony does not even notice the exact moment the blows stop coming. All he can focus on beyond the impossible state of his body is his soulmate’s voice. Even like this, it causes an instinctive longing. If this were not one of the worst nights of his life, Tony might laugh.
“Are you feeling better now?” Tony hears he leader ask once his senses begin returning to him. There is a dry kind of humour in his tone that belongs anywhere but here, washing over Tony’s broken body.
“No,” comes the answer. Tony does not know that voice so it has to be the dark-haired man, the one with a grudge.
“We could cut off his arm,” the short man supplies with unholy glee. He barely sounds winded. “To make it fair.”
Terror has Tony flinching back from them. He tries to curl up around his arms, to protect them as best as he can, but stills when the pain is too much to bear. They cannot take his arms from him. He needs them so he can keep working. He has given so much of himself away already to satisfy the sharks constantly surrounding him, he cannot lose his arms too.
Distantly, the voice of the leaders filters through the rushing panic in Tony’s mind. “I said enough.”
The pathetic truth is, if Tony could, he would thank the gang leader for his mercy. He would push himself onto his knees and bow his head before him. He would –
“Let’s get rid of him.”
Steps are moving closer, but Tony stays where he is, pressed against the floor. When he blinks, his entire vision is stained red. If he is lying in a puddle if his own blood, it would explain the wetness on his cheek.
Hands reach for his arms and legs. He feels the sharp coldness of metal against his skin and then the ropes keeping him bound are cut. Tony’s relief at the sudden loss of pressure is short-lived, because then they are pulling at his limbs, stretching him to pick him up like a sack of flour.
No, Tony wants to scream. It comes out as nothing more than a muffled whimper as a new wave of agony rips through him. His head is dragged over the ground for several feet until the hoist him higher with an abrupt movement.
Tony is sure he loses his consciousness for several seconds because the next thing he feels is cold air against his skin, biting against bruises that are not yet fully formed. He is lying on the ground again, which is rougher now, like broken asphalt. Groaning, he tries to swallow but finds the rug still in his mouth.
It takes him an eternity to lift his hand to pull the gag out of his mouth, and then he still tastes more blood and ends up coughing when he tries to spit it out. After that, he greedily pushes fresh air into his lungs, no matter that this intensifies the pain in his ribs – or rather his pain everywhere. Tony feels like one giant wound, a plaything of fate, now abandoned by it.
His soulmate, he remembers then, and that pain is almost more acute than the physical one. Sentimentality has never had a place in their family but Tony has never stopped hoping he might find that one person who is best for him in all the world. Howard and Maria had not been soulmates but Jarvis and Ana had. Tony has always known whose life he would rather have.
Now, though, life has taken another cruel turn. Tony is not sure he can take it.
With a slow but impatient movement, he rips the brace from his left forearm, staring at the words he knows better than anything else in the world. Words that, tonight, have turned from grey to black, meaning that there is no mistake. He has met his soulmate and his soulmate has turned him into a wreck.
Let’s do this.
Tony has not needed this proof. The burning was enough. The feeling of a hook sinking into his intestines, pulling him apart, was enough. Perhaps Howard was right and Tony is really going to ruin everything he touches, and everything that touches him will ruin him more.
Defiance rises in his stomach, almost indistinguishable from fury. Staring at the words on his forearm, Tony yells, “Are you fucking kidding me?” It ends up as more of a whisper, but it tears at his throat as if he had screamed.
To his surprise, he hears footsteps closing in from behind him. Immediate fear takes hold of him even while he tries to crawl away. He does not come far, the pain makes it hard to properly coordinate his limbs.
The gang leader crouches down in front of him. Out of all of them, he is the one Tony wants to see the least. In fact, he would rather take another beating than face his shame head on.
“What did you just say?”
For the first time, he sounds angry. Inside the warehouse, he had been tense and resigned, but now it looks like he feels the first sliver of the disappointed rage that is nesting in Tony’s bones too, the sense of betrayal. Because this cannot be true, that the best thing in the world should be reduced to this.
A thousand different things sit on Tony’s tongue, ranging from curses over accusations to pleas. Instead, he blinks the blood out of his eyes and focuses on the man in front of him as best as he can.
“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me,” he repeats his words, spits them out as if they do not mean anything, as if they are not tearing him apart anew.
“That’s not possible,” the gang leader says.
Tony opens his mouth to laugh, but there is somehow still more blood trickling down the back of his throat, so he ends up having another coughing fit.
Possible is such a pedestrian word. It has never played much of a role in Tony’s life. Everything is impossible until it is done for the first time. That said, he wishes that this were a lie too.
Impatiently, the blonde pulls Tony’s arm towards him, staring intensely at the black words curling condemningly over bruised skin. It is hard to say in the dim light and with just one eye working as it should, but Tony thinks the man has gone white as a sheet.
Not saying anything, he holds his own arm next to Tony’s and rips up his sleeve, revealing words that Tony knew would be there.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Still silent, the gang leader raises his head slowly, then stares at Tony for several long minutes. They are at an impasse. There is no good or right way forward from this. They have navigated themselves into a dead end before they even met. Well, mafia guy has done all the leading. Tony has been dragged in screaming and was kicked into place.
With a sigh that sounds like he is no stranger to impossibly fucked up situations, the gang leader pulls his mask from his head, revealing a handsome if tired face. Right after noticing the strong jaw line, Tony shuts his eyes and turns his head away. There is nothing for him to see here. Tony does not want to know the face of this man. He remembers the heaviness of his cold eyes well enough.
“Did you know?”
Incredulity spreads through Tony at the question. Still, he clenches his jaw and keeps his mouth shut. Nothing good will come of engaging in a conversation with the other man. Their story is already over. All he wants to do now is to go home, take a hot bath to soothe his bruises, and forget any of this ever happened.
A hand settles around Tony’s chin. It is gentle but he instinctively flinches away from it. The gang leader does not let him escape though. Firmly, he pulls Tony’s head back around, then leaves his hand there for a moment longer to make sure Tony stays facing him.
“What?” Tony snaps. He hates himself for noticing how handsome the man is, how easily he can imagine him smiling. “How could I have known? You obviously know who I am, so it should not surprise you that I don’t make a habit of dealing with the mob.”
Lips curling up slightly in what can only be amusement, the man replies, “We’re not the mob.”
That is so not the point, and still Tony lets himself fall into the argument willingly. He is lying on the cold ground, bleeding, with broken ribs, but talking about technicalities is better than dealing with the fact that this man is supposed to be the one person he gets his happily ever after with.
“No?” Tony drawls, feeling the split in his upper lip throb. “Yet someone paid you money to beat me up and you happily agreed. Quite thoroughly too.”
Fury, Tony knows, helps with the pain. It gives him something to cling to.
The man has the audacity to look embarrassed. At the same time, his face clouds over with the same hardness he carried when he first joined his men.
“We were told you’re dealing with weapons under the table.”
Tony stares. Tonight is a night of utter strangeness. Curiously enough, he finds this bit of information more unbelievable than finding his soulmate.
Dealing under the table? That does not even make sense. Stark Industries has countless standing contracts. They are making enough money. There is absolutely no reason why Tony would sell his weapons illegally. He would not even know to whom. It is not as if he wants there to be even more fighting in the world. On the contrary. With less war, he would perhaps get his board of directors to approve some of his personal projects.
“Oh wow, good point,” Tony drawls, unable to help himself. Fury might help with the pain but not exactly with keeping his tongue in check. “Even if that were true, you really would have done some good work today. Clearly I’m cured from my evil ways now.”
There must have been more to it. They went for the USB drive with the coldness of trained professionals. The rest of it felt personal and not like part of the job. They did not even give him a reason, did not attempt to teach him a lesson. It was just raw rage unleashed on him.
“We’ve had some reservations where it comes to weapons,” the gang leader says without explaining anything.
Looking at his soulmate, Tony finds himself believing that someone must have told these people that he is dealing with weapons and that they took it at face value. They obviously have a problem with it, but they are clearly no pacifists. Threatening to cut someone’s arm off, too, goes far beyond reasonable indignation.
Still, he finds he does not actually want to know. The faster he gets out of here, the better. He has no desire to cure them of their misconception. Few people react kindly to that and he has had enough of their hospitality.
“Who paid you?” Tony asks, concentrating on the important things.
A big part of him wants to stay ignorant, to hide his head in the sand and continue on with his life. He needs to know, though. Accusing Tony of dealing under the table makes only sense if there is some evidence to back up the claim, and if there is evidence, Stark weapons might just really be out where they do not belong. Since Tony is not selling his weapons on the black market, someone else must be doing it. Tony can turn a blind eye to a lot of things but not to causing more death and destruction for profit.
“I can’t tell you that,” the gang leader says, although he has the decency to sound apologetic about it.
“Of course, you have to be the honourable kind of mob boss.” Tony sighs, feeling annoyed. All the while, he thinks he should be glad about that fact. Otherwise, the two men inside might have just beaten him to death or permanently maimed him. Tony knows which of these options he is more afraid of.
“We’re not the mob,” the blonde repeats, “and I’m no one’s boss.”
“Is that why your mob friends waited for your signal to split their knuckles on me?”
The blonde winces slightly, but Tony takes no satisfaction from it. The only reason he is still talking to the other man at all is because he is afraid of trying to move again. Now that he is lying very still, his body has turned into one throbbing wound, sharp spikes of warning shooting through him whenever he takes too deep a breath. Any kind of movement will throw him right back into agony.
“That’s not how we normally do things.”
How reassuring. Soulmates are supposed to protect each other, and even if they had not known, there should have been more reluctance about taking another man apart.
“I feel so fucking special right now,” Tony snaps and pointedly stares into the darkness above him.
The gang leader sighs and shifts his position so he sits down next to Tony. It would serve him well if his legs would hurt from crouching too long.
Tony would like to ask what he is even still doing here. They got the USB drive and a bit of personal revenge thrown in. They are done. The burning in their forearms will fade with time, so they can just go back to their own lives – which will hopefully never touch again. This once was enough.
“My name is Steve.”
The words fall into the silence between them like stones in a well. It feels like they are echoing several times inside Tony’s mind before they fully register. The gang leader – his soulmate – has a name now. Somehow, that makes it too real.
“Don’t tell me that,” Tony says shortly, wishing he could burn the knowledge from his brain. “I’ve already seen your face. You don’t have to give your guys more reasons to kill me.”
At the same time, he thinks the name fits. Despite his occupation, there is a kindness to his face, an all-American wholesomeness that matches the name. Tony still thinks he would have rather not found out. The more his soulmate turns into an actual person rather than a masked mob leader, the harder it will be to leave this behind.
Steve looks partly amused, partly guilty. “We’re not going to kill you.”
“Tell that to my body. Did you know that I have a heart condition?” Tony is rambling, he notices that too late. The exhaustion is creeping up on him.
“What?” Steve asks quickly as if he is actually concerned. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Another laugh is stuck in Tony’s throat. This situation gets more surreal by the minute.
“Stop this,” he croaks, batting away the hand that comes up unexpectedly, pressing against Tony’s sternum as if they have somehow passed into the level of intimacy where that is all right.
“What is wrong with your heart?” Steve asks, unimpressed by Tony’s attempts to push him away.
Momentarily, Tony is glad that whoever hired them did not know about his weak heart and the pacemaker sitting right under his skin. That might mean that it is not someone out of his inner circle – or they just thought the information irrelevant.
Distantly, he notices that Steve has now both of his hands on him, propping Tony up into a sitting position. Every fibre of his body protests at the sudden movement.
“What are you doing?” he demands, breathless from the pain.
“Getting you back inside,” Steve answers as if that is a reasonable thing to say. Inside is where Tony’s latest nightmare happened. Inside is where Steve’s friends are waiting, ready to cut off his arm after all.
“Like hell you will,” Tony mutters and puts all his energy into getting out of Steve’s hold.
It does not help much. He wants to struggle more, but the world is swimming in and out of sight before him as blackness creeps into his vision.
One of his blind hits actually meets flesh but Steve barely seems to notice. He does not react, in any case, other than readjusting his grip on Tony. Before he knows what is happening, Tony is lifted into the air, feet dangling, head pressed against Steve’s shoulder. The utter embarrassment of being carried bridal style by the very man who gave the order that has Tony currently unable to walk on his own is turning his cheeks hot.
“You’re hurt,” Steve explains as they are walking back towards the warehouse.
This time, Tony does not have it in him to even try to laugh. “I wonder how that happened,” he says, acid coating the words. “Let me go,” he then demands. His authority is dampened by both his physical state and the position he is in, but he tries his best. “Either you kill me now or you leave me alone. Choose one option.”
Abruptly, Steve comes to a halt. He does not let go of Tony, which has them standing awkwardly in the dim alleyway behind the warehouse, looking at each other with all the incomprehension of strangers unsure how to deal with each other. He seems actually contrite about Tony suggesting they would kill him. Finding his soulmate has certainly addled Tony’s wits too but not so much to entirely forget the past hours. If Steve is going to pretend nothing happened, they are going to have a problem with each other.
“But we’re –” Steve says but does not come any farther.
“Nothing,” Tony snaps with as much viciousness as he can muster. “We are obviously nothing.” Almost as if to punish himself, he adds, “I always thought that soulmate business was dubious. Guess I was right.”
He can deal with his disappointment later. With the crushing realization that Howard was right about so many things, that Tony will never be like Jarvis. There is no happy ending waiting for him here.
Still holding onto Tony, Steve looks down at him, face painfully earnest. “I didn’t know.”
Fury roars its ugly head in the pit of Tony’s stomach again. He wants to spit in Steve’s face, wants to scratch out his eyes. What does it matter if Steve has known? He is a gang leader, a thug. He took money to kidnap Tony, steal his private thoughts and projects, and then let his friends beat him up.
Tony sneers. “You say that as if it’s going to make anything better.”
It implies that, if Tony had not turned out Steve’s soulmate, it would have been all right what happened here tonight. Whether or not Tony is actually the one dealing with weapons. Steve is running a gang, they are kidnapping people up for money and possibly do worse. None of that is okay.
Slowly, Steve begins walking again. “Someone’s got it out for you,” he says calmly, ignoring Tony’s barb. “We can help.”
Unable to help himself, Tony snorts a laugh, even while he clenches his jaw to keep in the hysteria he feels rising inside himself.
“No, thanks,” he drawls, the disdain tasting bitter on his own tongue. “You’ve done quite enough. Also, wasn’t I just now still the bad guy? Just because your little tattoo is burning doesn’t mean I’m not selling weapons under the table.”
Looking down, he sees that Steve has covered up his arm again before he picked Tony up, probably unwilling to let his friends see the black words.
“You said you don’t,” Steve answers, sounding so earnest that Tony is not sure whether he should feel disgusted by it or in awe. “And you’re in no condition to lie.”
Just like that, Tony’s awe disperses as quickly as it has come. “Oh, darling,” he clicks his tongue, “if you believe that, don’t ever go into politics. People like us can lie even with our mouths sewn shut. It’s all we ever do.”
Steve frowns but does not stop walking. “You’re not a politician.”
It is a small mercy that Howard never had any patience for politics, or Tony would have been forced to deal with that too. Still, he smirks.
“I’m a businessman. That’s almost as bad.”
Despite the situation, despite who they are, Tony would have preferred to continue their argument to going back into the warehouse. Before he can add another barb or try to struggle out of Steve’s hold again, they are at the door – and Steve does not hesitate to go in.
As soon as the relative brightness inside is washing over them, Tony goes limp in Steve’s hold. No matter what is about to happen, he is not going to draw immediate attention to himself but will try to glean some more information from their surroundings.
What he sees are the three people from earlier, two men, one woman. They are still wearing their masks, although the stocky blonde has pushed it up far enough to eat something that looks suspiciously like soggy pizza. It smells like it too – which has Tony’s stomach roiling. Not only did someone think of picking up food before they went to beat someone up, their bloody work has also not diminished their appetite.
When Steve steps closer towards them, still carrying Tony with unexpected gentleness, they all look up. Their behaviour is not exactly deferential, but they do respect Steve, that much is obvious.
“What happened, Stevie?” the dark-haired man asks, taking a step closer. “Did the bastard die?”
There is unmistakeable glee in his voice. If his instincts had not let him go very still, Tony might have poked Steve and asked whether he would admit yet that taking him back inside was a bad idea. He is not sure what he has done to these people, but they are overly interested in his permanent demise.
“No,” Steve says. Tony feels the rumbling of his voice through the cheek his has still pressed against Steve’s shoulder. “He’s alive.”
That has the blond man perking up with interest. “Then what are you doing? Are we taking kill orders now?” He sounds a little bit too eager for Tony’s taste.
The woman, too, looks up, scrutinizing them more critically than either of the men. Tony is sure she knows that he is awake and listening to every word they say.
“We’re not going to kill anyone,” Steve says, making this sound like a normal conversation. “He didn’t do it.”
A stunned silence follows, in which Tony can feel their stares on him. Steve, however, does not let that push him off course. He lowers Tony down onto what feels like a metal table, perhaps a workbench. It is not comfortable but certainly a step up from the cracked concrete outside. He decides not to think too much about the way Steve runs his hands down Tony’s sides as if to make sure he is not going to fall off the table. Only when he is satisfied that Tony is secure, does he straighten his spine and faces his friends.
“And you know that how?” the blond asks, aggression crackling in his tone. “Did he look at you with his big innocent eyes and tell you? You know these assholes sing such pretty songs when they think you want to hear them.”
Tony dares to hope that it is a good sign that he waited for Steve to look at them before he voiced his argument. They step up closer, forming a half-circle in front of Steve. It does not look like they are going to go against Steve’s orders but Tony does not like to take any chances.
Swallowing down a groan, he pushes himself slowly into a sitting position. His movement has Steve whip around, eyeing him with concern. He neither stops nor tries to help him. Tony is unreasonably glad for that.
“One of his eyes is innocent,” Steve argues calmly, pointing at Tony’s face, which is now easily visible. “The other is already swollen shut, but I’m sure we’d find the same thing there.”
As if the mention of his eye triggers some reaction, Tony feels the pulsing pain covering most of his face. He also becomes acutely aware of the optical information he is missing while looking with just one eye.
“That’s still one eye too many he can still see with.”
While the blond man does most of the talking, Tony still feels the glare of the dark-haired one the most. Just as worrisome is the knife the woman is twirling almost absentmindedly. He does not doubt she could hit him with it before he ever noticed she is moving.
Steve’s position changes subtly. Where he was the very picture of nonchalance only moments before, he now shifts his position and his mere presence demands respect for his authority. Where he had just now been simply standing in front of Tony, he is now shielding him, declaring him off-limits with just the way he stands.
“Call Bruce,” Steve orders, causing a ripple to go through the room.
The twirling knife comes to a smooth halt in the woman’s hands, ready to be thrown. Next to her, the blond man is taking a step forward, arms half-raised to gesticulate wildly.
“We’re not going to patch the bastard up,” he yells, but could have been screaming against a wall for how little Steve reacts to it.
The most interesting is the dark-haired man, though. He somehow becomes even more still than before, his expression crumbling into something alive with betrayed fury. “Steve?” he asks, crossing his arms before him.
Only now does Tony see that the metallic glint he has seen earlier belongs to a prosthetic replacing most of the man’s left arm. That comment about cutting off Tony’s arm appears to be less random with every passing minute.
“He needs medical attention,” Steve says as if his friends have not been the one to put Tony into this position.
For several long moments, it feels like the tension is going to resolve not in their favour but in another bout of rampant violence. They are staring at each other, either communicating silently or simply waiting to see who caves first. Tony has never been good at being patient, though. Neither does he like to leave his fate up to anyone else.
“I can totally see that you’re no one’s boss around here,” Tony drawls. It takes him a few moments to realize that the words have come out of his own mouth. When all the attention shifts towards him, he can already taste blood again.
“Shut up, Stark,” the blond man hisses, taking another step forward until he is almost level with Steve, “or I’m going to kick out your teeth.”
For a fleeting moment, Tony thinks he would regret causing Steve’s men to turn against him. He does not owe Steve anything, but he is not going to deny the connection between them either. It might be frustrating to feel somewhat beholden to a man who has happily thrown him to the wolves just earlier this night, but fate is funny like that.
“That’s enough,” Steve speaks up. He does not exactly raise his voice, but it is still cutting through the tension easily, as if the pent-up wish for violence parts before his words.
The blond man glares for a second longer, then visibly steps down. The woman does not lower her knife, though, and the dark-haired man has not changed his stance at all.
“But he’s the one –” he trails off, his expression stricken, not the kind of helpless that comes from not knowing what to do but something angrier. He half-raises his prosthetic, holds it between them for a moment, then lets it fall back to his side.
Even without seeing Steve’s face, Tony notices that his entire being grows softer. “I know,” he says. These two words hold so much emotion that it has Tony’s throat constricting again. “But he says he didn’t do it and I believe him.” Before the storm of protest that is brewing in front of them can hit, Steve raises his arm. “He’s my soulmate.”
All eyes fall immediately on Steve’s arm before wandering over to where Tony is still sitting hunched over on the table. He feels like he should straighten, meet their judgement head on, but he is glad that he manages to remain somewhat upright at all.
“He’s –” the dark-haired man narrows his eyes. Before he can make his argument, the other man takes over.
“That’s awfully convenient, don’t you think?” There is still anger in his tone but it is more contained now, almost uncertain.
Steve keeps his eyes firmly on the man in the back. A whole lot more passes between them than the words that are being spoken.
“You want to have a look at my tattoo?” he asks, almost gently. “You know the words were still grey this morning.”
It reveals a lot about how close they are if Steve is so comfortable asking about his words in the open like this, has obviously shown them to at least the dark-haired man. The only people knowing about Tony’s are Jarvis and Rhodey.
Nobody says anything while the two men look at each other, waiting for the verdict. The hierarchy between them confuses Tony. He feels like an intruder, like he should cover his ears and close his eyes to give them some privacy, even though they are discussing his fate.
Then, the dark-haired man nods. His prosthetic hand, which had been clenched into a fist, uncurls slowly. With it, some of the tension lifts.
Unfortunately, the blond man decides that, now that this argument is over, he can start pushing his own again. “Just because you found your soulmate doesn’t mean we’re playing nice with criminals now.”
Despite himself, Tony has to snort, half in amusement, half in mounting frustration at them getting nowhere. He is hurting all over. All he wants is to go to bed, to get back to his old life. Navigating the board members and the press following him everywhere is still better than waiting to be judged by these people.
“Yes, because I’m clearly the criminal here.”
The blond turns on him, face a distorted grimace. “For the last time –”
“Clint.” Steve’s voice whips through the room and has them all standing straighter. Even Tony pushes his shoulders back, even though it makes breathing so much harder. Steve’s tone does not leave any more room for further arguments. “Call Bruce,” he then orders. “Nat, you find out exactly who hired us. And keep the USB drive safe. We won’t do anything more about this until we know what really happened.”
Distantly, Tony is aware that he should be worried about Steve throwing all their names out there where he can hear them. If this goes south, it reduces his chances of survival greatly. He is already not very happy to hear that his stay with Steve’s gang has apparently been extended for an unknown amount of time.
Clint stares balefully for a moment longer. “Fine,” he says with petulance, “but don’t expect me to hold his hands.”
Right in front of his eyes, Steve undergoes another transformation. From authoritative and unflinching, he grows smug and smirking. “Thank you,” he says with the kind of pleasantness that grates, “but I’ll do that myself.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony mutters, sharing a glance with Clint that could almost be conspiratorial if they were not both acutely aware of how very much they are not allies.
Turning around, Steve grins at Tony. “You already said that. But you’re welcome to continue. It makes my tattoo tingle.”
Briefly, Tony is tempted to ask Steve to repeat his words too, just to find out whether he is telling the truth. He holds himself back, though, thinking that they have more important things to deal with – and he does not suddenly think of Steve as a friend.
“Now,” Tony decides out loud, “would be a good time to wake up.”
He does not exactly think he is dreaming. He has the occasional weird dream, but he is too much in pain for this to not be real. Also, he is not in the habit of flirting with people who could order him dead with a single nod, asleep or not.
“You won’t say that tomorrow,” Steve says, returning to Tony’s side as if he wants to make true on what he said to Clint and hold Tony’s hands. “Everything will hurt more.”
Tony knows. This is not the first time he has gotten a beating. That does not mean he wants to be reminded of it.
“You’re not as encouraging as you hope,” he replies, realizing too late that he should not be joking. Soulmate or not, Tony is still in danger.
“We’ll get there,” Steve says cheerfully.
Before Tony can find something appropriate to answer, the woman – Nat – appears at their side. She has removed her mask and revealed a face that is all the more stunning for the control she has over it. No matter how practiced Tony is at reading people, he cannot say at all what she is thinking.
“Here,” she lets two pieces of rope fall onto the table next to Tony.
“What’s that?” Steve asks, eyeing her with some amusement. “He’s not exactly in any condition to run.”
Tony thinks of protesting but he is still needing a lot of energy simply to keep sitting. Also, it might not be the worst thing if Steve underestimates him a bit, even though Natasha does not seem to be as easily fooled.
“You know who he is and what he can do,” she explains simply, no discernible judgement in her tone. She is just recounting facts. “Even if he’s not the one selling under the table, he can still do unholy things with his hands. I’d rather not find out first-hand.”
She really is smart. Despite the newspaper stories about Tony’s accomplishments as a child, and his race through school and then MIT, people often think he is just a nice face and playboy who inherited his father’s company, making his only achievement that he has not yet managed to crash Stark Industries. People like to forget that he is the head of the R&D department, that his name is not for nothing on their products.
Tony cannot say whether she has done her research or is just that good at assessing people. In any case, Steve appears to believe her without doubt. He picks up the rope, throwing an apologetic glance at Tony.
“I’m not going to pull it too tight.”
Tony shrugs as if it does not matter to him and holds out his hands. It is demeaning, to be bound like a dog, offering up his own head for the slaughter. He does not have the energy to fight, though. And while he wants to leave, he also needs to find out what they know about who sold him out. He cannot go back to his old life ignoring what has happened here tonight.
The rope is tugged almost gently around his wrists, although Steve does not hesitate to make a proper knot. Once Natasha is satisfied with Steve’s work, she turns around and vanishes without another comment. When they are alone, Steve reaches out again, caressing Tony’s left forearm and the words sitting there innocently.
“I’ll get you an aspirin,” Steve promises. He still sounds like he expects everything to be all right.
Tony stares at him. Then his mouth opens without him knowing what he is going to say. “I wish I’d never met you.”
Inexplicably, it feels wrong to say that. Steve’s eyes turn sad for a moment, but he does not seem to believe it any more than Tony does. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of their meeting, this still feels like a beginning rather than a dead end.
“I know,” Steve replies quietly. “But I’m glad we did.” His lips curl up, making him look much more carefree than before.
“Don’t say it,” Tony warns but knows he will be ignored.
With a smirk, Steve says, “Let’s do this.”
With equal parts dismay and excitement, Tony realizes that Steve has been right. Saying the words again does make the tattoo tingle. Perhaps they will have to do some further study in whether or not that effect will fade over time.
The white cloth was stained with red by the time Steve finished wiping down his tools. They would be washed later but it was easier to remove the blood while it was still wet. The person they had questioned was currently being dumped into the Hudson at the very moment. There was no need for him anymore and Steve was sure that he would go blabbing if he allowed him to walk free. It wasn’t the best option but he had an empire to keep afloat and couldn’t afford to look soft in the eyes of anyone.
As he settled the knife down, there was a knock on the metal of the interrogation room door. “Yes?” Steve asked and he was greeted the sound of Bucky’s voice on the other side. “Come on.”
The door opened as Bucky stepped into the room but stayed by the doorway. He glanced around the room and noted the large amount of blood on the floor. Bucky sighed but he didn’t hold back a smile. “Didn’t go easy on this one, huh?”
Steve gave a shrug as he placed the stain rag onto the table. “He was surprisingly resilient. Then he started saying things that he shouldn’t have said and well, that can’t be tolerated.”
Bucky’s face turned grim and didn’t question it further. “Understood,” He said with a firm nod. “Anyway, since you’re done playing interrogator, someone is waiting for you in your office.”
The first smile in hours appeared on Steve’s face. “I’ll be right there.”
Bucky winked before turning out to walk out of the room, his heavy boots thudding down the hallway.
It didn’t take long to reach his office and Steve nodded at his men who passed him on the hallway. Each and everyone one of them referring to him as ‘boss’ to refrain from showing any disrespect. His office resided in the middle of the facility and it was a relatively small room but that was how he liked it. It was big enough for him but small enough to prevent anyone from hiding any surprises.
The door was slightly creaked when he reached and Steve had remembered he had closed and locked it before he left. But there wasn’t the sudden rush of adrenaline that coursed through him at the sign of danger. He didn’t immediately go into defence mode or reached for the gun that rested in the holster around his waist. In fact, he grinned as he stepped to open the door further and was greeted by a wonderfully familiar sight.
Tony was seated at his chair behind the desk and was busy tapping away on his phone. His legs hung off one of the arms of the chair and he looked so comfortable, almost like he was at home. He was dressed simply in a pair of black slacks and a white button up shirt. His hair was beautifully mussed which told Steve he didn’t bother to comb it into place after Steve ran his fingers through it this morning.
It was until Steve closed the door that Tony looked towards him. Then he smiled, a wide and toothy one, as he placed his phone down. Steve walked towards the desk and only stopped a few feet away.
“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, not usually open to Tony being here. There was too much danger and too much going on. He’d prefer for Tony to be away from here, where it was safe.
“I wanted to see you,” Tony replied, the answer simple. “Am I not allowed to see you?”
Steve didn’t reply as he rounded the desk until he was right in front of Tony. Those brown eyes peered up at him and Tony’s smile had turned into something softer. It made Steve feel incredibly warm and it was like coming home from the freezing cold that were these facility walls.
There was a scream of someone in the distance and the sound of gunfire but Tony didn’t flinch. He never flinched even when Steve told him who he really was and what he did. Tony never saw him as a monster and never treated him like one.
“Come here.” Tony murmured, reaching out with his hands and Steve was quick to comply. He bent down to capture Tony’s lips into a gentle kiss which soon turned quick and frantic. Tony arched deliciously into him and wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist when he was hauled up into Steve’s hold. Steve relished in the breathy moan that fell from Tony’s lips as he pressed and sucked bruises into the length of his neck. Steve shook when Tony cupped his cheeks with gentle hands and held onto him like a lifeline.
Summary: You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and violence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer?
Chapter warning: smuuuuuuuutttt!!!!
A/N: Slowly but surely, this story will get finished. The last chapter will probably uploaded when I’m 52 years old.
You were waiting in the women's bathroom. You’d be lying if you’d say you weren’t nervous. The thing you’re about to do is pretty risky and public. But you try to not think about that.
Your jacket feels even shorter than it felt an hour ago. Your nipples are already semi-hard, making the fabric of the BALMAIN jacket feel extra good on your breasts. That you’re not wearing any panties right now is a blessing, since they would’ve been soaked anyway.
Steve walks in and shuts the door behind him hastily, locking it swiftly. He looks at you with this big mischievous smile.
He isn’t giving you much time to talk, as his lips are already pushed on yours and his hands find their way to the end of the jacket he gave you. Your hands are already loosening his belt; you didn’t want to spend too much time here.
He squeezes your ass harshly, while he bites your lower lip. It’s amazing how turned on this man can get you in just a few seconds - even more than you were before.
You undo his zipper too and pull his pants down and then check how hard he is for you. Turns out he’s already pretty hard; you can only imagine his underwear is very uncomfortable for him right now.
“Want me to suck your cock?”, you ask sultry as you watch him with hungry eyes.
“Mm, yes babygirl”, he replies, releasing your ass immediately. It might be a bit fast, but you can’t waste any time in here. It won’t be long until other people would like to use the bathroom.
You get on your knees and make sure that your cleavage is showing through the deep cut of the jacket. When you pull his underwear down, his cock springs out. God, you can’t believe this guy is so hung. Is there something that isn’t perfect about his body?
That question will have to wait for another time when you feel his right hand on the back of your head, suggesting for you to start. You first give his cock a lick from his shaft to the tip, swirling your tongue once around it. He groans lightly as he watches you.
Slowly you take his cock into your mouth. Deeper and deeper with each trust you make, your lips firmly pressed on it. His fingers slightly grasp your hair. When you look up, you can see his lips in an ‘O’, his eyes drinking the sight of you taking his cock in.
Taste of his precum slowly takes over in your mouth, his cock getting harder and more sensitive the more your lips stroke it. A little unplanned moan leaves your lips, vibration adding only more pleasure for Steve. Again you look up to him, and you can see how his pupils have turned darker; some kind of animalistic rage that was about to come out of him.
The tip of his cock is now in the back of your mouth. You’re letting yourself get used to his cock before you’re taking it into your throat. However - Steve is too impatient to wait. A second hand joins on your head, a groan comes out of his mouth. With a bit of force, he grabs your head tightly and pushes his cock further in. The first gag reflex shows itself right away.
He pulls himself out to let you breath for a literal second, before he gets his cock back in. The controlled and reserved Steve from the restaurant is gone, the beasty and wild Steve took over. This might sound insane, but you’re getting so turned on by how he manhandles you.
“Very good girl”, he hissed as he shoved his cock in and out of your mouth. A glucking sound is now echoing through the bathroom and your eyes are getting watery, while you still try and look at Steve. It seems like an impossible job, though, and so you close your eyes instead.
He eases it a bit, giving your space to breath and to get yourself together again. Your nails were digged into his calves without you noticing, so you relaxed your fingers. He probably noticed how he went a little too hard for your body to handle.
When he releases your head again, you pull his cock out of your mouth immediately and catch your breath again fully.
“Are you okay, baby?”, he asks. You nod and get up op on your feet again.
“I like it how you use me”, you say with a coy smile, your hand again on his cock. One corner of his lips lift up, his eyes glister. You hope he gets the notion of you not minding him to throw you around.
“Then you’re in luck”, he says before he pushes you against the bathroom sink. “Because I’m about to use you like a little fucktoy.”
No one ever used that word on you. Hell, no one ever even said something close to it. It made you hot all over. It’s weird how you can turn from a confident woman to being all putty and submissive for him.
He turns you around, his cock now grazing against your ass. His hand grabs your chin from behind and you look at him in the mirror.
“Keep watching”, he smirks. You nod excitedly. Have you ever seen yourself been fucked in the mirror? Definitely not like this, with a man like this.
His fingers slide over your pussy. It’s so wet, you almost feel embarrassed at how turned on you are. Slight moans leave your mouth as you lean your head against his chest. Still, you’re watching him and he watches you. It feels weirdly intense, even though you’re in a woman's bathroom of some restaurant.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, such a dirty girl”, he whispers in your ear as he slides two fingers in you with ease. The moans become a bit harder, but he shushes you softly.
He pushes his fingers into you harshly once, before leaving your aching pussy and rubbing your clit for two seconds. Then he goes back to pushing his fingers into you with force, only to come back to your clit. This he keeps repeating, driving you crazy with lust. Something about this motion feels so incredibly good.
Without warning, he slips a third finger into the motion. A hiss leaves you as you close your eyes, enjoying the sensation this movement gives you.
A hand forms around your neck and squeezes it lightly, making you open your eyes again. “Keep watching for me.”
“Fuck me”, you whisper as you can feel yourself come closer to your orgasm.
“Beg me”, he answers.
You look at him in the mirror, pleading eyes but still too stubborn to beg. His eyebrows knit together and he pushes his fingers in your pussy harshly again. But now, they stay there. You can feel them lightly crooking, hitting that spot.
“I said, beg”, he roars, his voice low and stern.
“Please”, you whisper, but clear your throat quickly.
“Please fuck me”, you now say more clearly and pleadingly. “Fuck me hard, please.”
You look at him with big puppy eyes. “I want to feel your cock so badly, please fuck me.”
As long as he’s not fucking you, you’ll beg for him to do so. You’ll keep saying things; hopefully the right things to make him go crazy. Would he like it if you called him ‘daddy’? Hm, maybe that’s for another time.
“Please use me”, you now start, hoping the dirtier dirty talk will get him to fucking move, because all he’s been doing this entire time is smirking and cockily waiting for some more begging. “Fuck me however the fuck you want, I’m all yours. Just please, fuck me!”
“That’s more like it, babydoll”, he finally says. “As you wish.”
One hand pushes your back down, while the other slips between him and your. ass, guiding his cock to your dripping wet pussy. It slides in with ease. God, it feels great. Finally being filled up by him after waiting a long weekend. You’ve been using your vibrator, or maybe ‘abusing’ would be more fitting. Thinking about how his cock filled you up, wasn’t hard to orgasm to that fantasy.
But it feels even better than in your imagination. Last time you had sex, you were a bit intoxicated. But now you’re 100% sober and aware; and you also realise it feels bigger than you remembered it did. It stretches you, but not in a painful way, in a good way.
He starts pushing, both of his hands now on your back to keep you low. You struggle to keep watching in the mirror, but you keep your head high and watch yourself before you watch him. He looks at you with animalistic eyes, before his eyes turn to your ass and where the two of you meet. He’s pumping harder and harder, you can’t keep silent anymore. Moans are flying over your lips. It’s like a motivation for him, every thrust gets harder.
His shaft clashes to your ass. You put a hand on the mirror to keep yourself steady, your face now inches away from the glass. Even though you can’t look at him anymore, he doesn’t mind and you don’t either. It feels so fucking amazing, you don’t really care anymore on what you see or do, as long as this feeling sticks around.
“Fuck, babygirl, you feel so good”, he sighs. One hand grabs a hand full of hair and forces your head up again, the other hand smacks your ass one time before holding on to your hip. “I’m not going to last very long.”
“M-me neither”, you squirm. “Fucking me so good.”
“Yeah? You like it?”, he hisses. “Like having my cock in your pussy?”
“Yes, god, yes.” The hand you placed on the mirror went from flat to a fist, showing him how you’re really close to your orgasm. You can feel it coming. “Please, don’t stop.”
“You gonna come for me?”, he grunts. “You gonna come like a good girl?”
“Fuck, yes Daddy!”
Oh shit. That’s not what i wante-
A big roar comes from behind you. Both his hand set on your hips, fucking your relentlessly. It’s like you unleashed something. Mother-fucking-yes.
Your whole body starts to tingle, knees are getting weak. The orgasm washes over you and you welcome it. You want to watch Steve, but you can’t get your head high enough. Moans leave your mouth, but you’re not sure how charming they are; but hell, you don’t really fucking care right now.
“Shit, shit, shit, fuck”, you moan.
Steve grabs your hair once again. “I’m gonna come-”
“Please, give me your cum”, you plead to help him to his orgasm. Should you say ‘Daddy’ again? That might actually be a bit too much.
“I want your cum”, you beg as you gain a bit of your strength again and watch him in the mirror. It’s a bit foggy, but you can still see him. “Give me your fucking cum.”
Your words sent him over the edge. His pace falters as he leans forward. A little smirk is on your face. It never fails to fill yourself with pride if you make a guy come for you. It gives you this sense of power; especially with a man like Steve. His hips stutter as he fills your pussy with his cum.
His head lifts, almost like a sign that his orgasm is over. You smile at him through the mirror, he gives you a little smirk back. But he doesn’t leave. His cock is still in your pussy and he’s not making an attempt to get it out.
“I want you to be filled with my cum while we eat our dessert”, he says with a smug face.
“I thought I was dessert”, you comment quickly.
“Now don’t get bratty with me”, he says as he slaps your ass. He finally gets out of you.
You both clean up pretty quickly, the only fixing was your hair.
When you get back at the table, your face couldn’t turn more red when some waiter looks at you a bit confused. You just grabbed the menu in front of you, acting like you were way too busy reading whatever desserts they had to offer.
“Any dessert”, the waitress asks.
Steve looks at you with a most innocent face. “We’ll have some tiramisu, two spoons please.”
It tasted deliciously, but Steve kept eyeing you, which in turn makes your cheeks turn bright red. Whenever you saw a lady walking to the bathroom, all you could think was what you just did in there. It can’t be possible to not notice the smell or the foggy mirror - with a handmark on it.
“It was a lovely evening”, you tell him as you get your coats - wait, no, he gets his coat. You were wearing yours the entire time.
“Was?”, he says. “Did you think I was planning on bringing you home now? The evening is young, sweetheart.”
