#he almost strangled someone TO DEATH for threatening mob | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thran-duils · 3 years

Text

And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (P.4)

Title: And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Tony Stark. Too many fringe gangs were making ties and your father noticed. He reached out to the Stark mob for an alliance, offering up a piece of his territory at first. When Stark told him he had enough land, your father offered up the next best thing: you. He knew Stark needed a wife and what better way to solidify a relationship between the two mafia families? You were not naïve, you knew the life and you were trained with guns and negotiations. Your father had made sure of that. The two of you had seen each other on multiple occasions at mafia get togethers and knew of each other. Stark accepted the transaction but little did he know he was going to get a little hellion handed over to him that would not kiss the ground he walked on. He would grow to love it too. Words: 3,561 Warnings (more WILL be added, I am sure): Eventual smut, power dynamics, sexism, smut, public sex, fingering, dom/sub powerplay, kidnapping, violence, death, knife kink, gun kink, angst with a happy ending

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

You and Tony had stared at each other – you down at him and him up at you. It had felt good, fucking him. You had surpassed the real intimacy of a relationship – something the two of you had never had – straight to physical. It was how you normally did things, but it had just taken longer this time than a one-night stand.

But this was different. This was your husband.

You had a deeper connection now. You were startled out of your desire for this to be continuous.

And suddenly by your own doing, the two of you were apart, you standing yourself and him sitting, and you brushed at your hair, uncomfortable before turning for your clothes just to try to escape this unfamiliar territory. Normally, you would say something witty, grab your clothes, and leave. But there was no leaving him. You slept in the same bed. Even if that bed itself had not been christened by the two of you yet.

Tony was off the couch and came up to grasp your arms, stopping you and you looked up at him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The words fell around you. And your breath was short, working yourself up again. Tony saw it too and his thumbs caressed your arms, peering in closer. It was not threatening the way he was acting – comforting more than anything.

“I’m here… I’m here to be with you,” he started slowly, stumbling though. He was a man after all in the mafia, raised with the toxic masculinity that came with it. He was trying to navigate his feelings and be soft with you as well. “I want you to feel safe with me. In all aspects.”

It was intimate. And it was reassuring to know that he was making the effort to move even deeper with it. It was exciting. But you still wanted to be guarded.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you answered. Your eyes shot down and then you said, thinking on your feet, “We are both just naked in this room… standing in front of each other. I want my clothes. In case someone walks in.”

Tony’s eyes shot down and he gave a strangled laugh. “Right.” He let you go.

You gave a half smile before you ducked down and grabbed your bra, doing it up. Tony followed suit, beginning to dress himself back up. And then you grabbed your dress. You pulled it over your head and turned around promptly, “Zip me?”

The complete opposite of what you had asked merely ten minutes ago.

Tony cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

He zipped it up and his hands rested around the base of your neck. You were only suspended for a few moments before you turned around to face him again, your faces close. His slacks were back on, belt done, but his dress shirt half buttoned up, that drew your eyes for a split second.

“This is awkward,” he acknowledged sheepishly.

“Yeah,” you agreed and then cleared your own throat. “Um, let’s exit separately. That would seem normal to everyone else. Don’t want to shock them and all.”

He was amused, giving a little laugh, “Right. Don’t forget your thong though.”

“And there you go being the ass that I know,” you retorted, going to grab it and shimmying into it as he gave another laugh.

<><><>

You saw Bucky and Rhodey watching you come back out, curiosity painted on their faces. They had seen how angry Tony had been taking you back into the room and now that you were coming out alone, that was sure to draw their attention. Shit. Tony should have walked out first. You looked away quickly walking past their table and going back to where your friends were sitting before they could stop you.

Moving through the center of the group, you sat back down, adjusting your dress but did not miss the white-hot stares you were receiving from your circle of friends. You met their gazes and leveled them before giving an expectant shrug.

“Where did you go?” one of them asked.

“Nowhere,” you answered simply. You picked up one of your bottles on the table and began pouring shots. “Let’s drink.”

Another friend answered with a giggle, “She went somewhere with her husband.”

You glowered, stalling in pouring the shots, and asked, “So?”

“Did you finally give it up then? Because you’re being defensive. Oh, look, here he comes.”

Following their gaze, you saw Tony walking out now. He was being as normal as you, no sign of a smirk on his face. But then he did give it away. His gaze did flick over to you and the two of you locked eyes for a moment before he looked away again.

“You totally did,” your same friend crowed.

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to kick you out of the VIP section!” you threatened her.

“Touchy, touchy! Fine, I’ll drop it. It’s done. And so is your honeymoon officially!”

“Ass,” you snapped as you passed the shots out.

<><><>

Tony sat down at the booth and straightened out his suit jacket. “Where are the shots?”

“Well, we took them without you because you were gone for so long,” Natasha said with a twinkle in her eye.

“There’s plenty of alcohol in this bar. I should know. Where’s our bar—”

Someone showed up at the table, dress in the staff uniform and asked, “What’ll it be, Mr. Stark?”

“A round for the table. Bourbon.”

Natasha and Bucky protested. “No, vodka, please.”

“Fine, bourbon and vodka. Just bring two bottles, everyone has their glasses already. Blanton’s and Grey Goose.”

The server nodded, “Of course, Mr. Stark.”

As soon as they walked off, Tony looked around the table again. And they all averted their eyes. Sighing annoyed, he asked – even though he had a good idea already what was going on – , “What is it?”

Clint took the dive for everyone else and tried to say as nonchalantly as possible, “You look… not pissed off.”

“And?” he asked with a sharp edge to his voice. “Do I always look pissed off?”

“Yes,” came the chorus around the table and he frowned, displeased.

Unable to help himself, Bucky chortled, “You fucked,” as Rhodey cracked a wide smile at his statement.

“Be respectful,” Tony snapped at them.

Bucky closed his mouth, biting his cheeks as Tony took a long swig of his drink.

“Respectful? You’re the one that’s been complaining she sleeps turned away from you!” Rhodey said, still laughing lightly. “I was frankly getting tired of hearing about it. This is good news for everyone.”

“You’re welcome then,” Tony muttered to everyone’s continued amusement as the server came back with their bottles. He thanked them and took the bottles, beginning to pour everyone their own respective shots.

“To the King and Queen then,” Natasha proposed, holding up her shot glass.

<><><>

A few weeks later, there was commotion at the front door, and you put your book down before sliding out of the recliner you were in. You could hear Tony; he was angry, ranting. You came into the entrance hall cautiously and found him storming up the stairs. He stopped and was shouting still back at Steve, something about making sure that the car was destroyed and far from the city.

He noticed you were standing there suddenly and that is when you got a full view of his face. He was scraped up.

“Christ, what happened?” you asked him worriedly, coming closer to the bottom of the stairs between him and Steve. Steve took the hint and told Tony he would make sure it happened and turned on his heel to leave.

To you, Tony said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” He began to turn to go up the stairs further.

You followed quickly, “You don’t look fine. Here, let me help.” He started to protest but you were already there, going past him. You stole another glance and saw there were scraps by his eyebrow and upper cheek, bleeding still. “There’s a kit in the guest bathroom. That’s closest. Come on.”

Tony followed you and you told him to sit on the toilet. He did as you said, looking hesitant. You dipped to grab underneath the sink and pulled out the first aid kit. Working quickly, you got the hydrogen peroxide as well and used the cotton balls to wipe at his face. He hissed and you apologized gently, dabbing with care.

“What happened?” you asked again as you wiped at the cuts.

“It doesn’t—”

“Tony.”

He ground his teeth for a few seconds before saying, “I almost got run over.”

You stilled and pulled away to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“One of Weston’s guys.” You knew Weston. He ran an outfit outside the city, smaller but it was influential for keeping the borders secure.

“Weston?” you asked in disbelief. As far as you knew, he did not have any issue with Tony.

“I don’t know. We were working at a site and all of a sudden I heard someone coming in quick and Thor shoved me out of the way.” Your heart clenched and he saw. “He’ll be fine. He got nicked and it sent him spiraling. If it had been one of us, we would have had broken bones. He’s shaken up and bloodied, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s good,” you said dropping the cotton balls into the trash and moving towards the bandaids and antibiotic ointment. “But, did Weston send him?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said honestly. “I don’t think so. The guy is someone who had an issue with me personally. Seems his brother got killed or something in a recent raid. Wanda and Rhodey were interrogating the guy after Steve forced me to come back here in case there were other people gunning for me.”

“That was smart of him,” you said tapping the ointment onto the cuts. “I’m glad he brought you back.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asked with a small smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, I would like you to always come back alive if you could manage that for me,” you retorted, opening up a bandaid. You bandaged up the worst of it and added for good measure, “And if you could be more cognizant of your surroundings that would be a good place to start to make sure that happens….”

Turning away from him, you heard him give a light chuckle at your quip. You felt the air shift behind you, and you closed the kit, pushing it back further on the counter.

You made to ignore how close he was and walked towards the door, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and stilling your movement. His other hand grasped the door, and he threw it closed before turning you around and holding you against it. Staring up at him, you stayed still, waiting for him to make his move.

“I’ll take that into consideration, just for you. I’ll keep my head on a swivel. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a good plan.”

Tony’s lips curled into a smile before he leaned in and you followed his movement, coming in to kiss him softly. He hummed in approval, his hands ghosting up your sides. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you wrapped your arms tight to paw at his ass through his pants. He liked that by the noise he released, and you sucked in at his bottom lip. Pinning your wrists above your head, his lips dragging roughly over yours. You bit at him now in a mock threat, and he chuckled before capturing you in a passionate kiss. Your pelvis ground towards him and your tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling. The two of you were locked in a passionate dance.

Tony groaned, pulling away as you brushed his length through his slacks with your thigh. He turned you around in a fluid motion, keeping your wrists pinned and pressed himself against your back. Your neck was sucked and peppered with eager kisses, him dry humping you. You dragged your teeth across your bottom lip, a wanton whine escaping.

He let go of your wrists and made quick work of pulling your sun dress up and freeing himself from his pants. Working with him, you spread your legs and arched your back, anticipation crawling over your skin. Pulling your underwear aside, he drove up into you, holding tight at your hips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasped as he picked up speed.

Anyone walking by outside the room would be greeted with loud, pleasured moans and the sound of skin slapping skin with how hard Tony was driving into you. You hardly cared; it was your damn house after all.

The two of you found a slow rhythm to relieve the intensity, a needed break. You rolled your hips, riding him with precision. His hands flexed, one coming up to cup your breast, kneading at it through your dress. He leaned forward enough to suck at your earlobe, whispering filth into your ear before he gave a rough nip.

You pushed back roughly and hissed, “I’m so close. Please.”

Tony’s hand fell from your tit and found its way between your panties and wet pussy. His fingers worked at your clit, and you groaned loudly, begging for him to not stop and he promised you he was going to fuck you good. He was working fast again, his breath coming quick and hot.

“I…I…” you stuttered moments before you clenched, your heat enveloping him tighter.

“Oh, god, that’s it, baby,” Tony praised in a low groan, his fingers faltering on your clit. But he thrusted quicker for a few seconds before he was pulsating. His hand fell to your thigh, fingers digging in as he stilled, emptying completely.

His head rested on your shoulder, the two of you breathing heavy. He found his breath again and laid a soft kiss at your neck.

“Well, that helped my stress,” he breathed.

Leaning back, you turned your head to be able to see him well enough to give him a kiss. Against his lips, you smiled, “Glad I could be of some assistance.”

<><><>

Erick was walking beside you, checking his phone. He suddenly stopped, holding out his arm to stop you as well. “We should go to another store.”

You furrowed your brow and said, “What? Why? I’m done. And they said they would be at the café now for lunch.”

“They’re going to be late.”

Shooting a look across the street, you spotted Bucky inside and slid your eyes back to Erick, looking completely unimpressed. “Nice try. Bucky is already inside.”

Erick swore underneath his breath and you frowned, sensing you were being kept out of the loop about something. You had been surprised when Bucky and Natasha had asked to ride along with you and Erick when they learned where you were going to be going shopping but had told them to come along. They had made it clear they were going somewhere else but would meet back for lunch.

You began walking again and Erick said more firmly, “Y/N, we should find another store to go into.”

Pressing the crosswalk button, you crossed your own arms, your bags bumping up against your middle. You always insisted on carrying some of the bags. Erick was your bodyguard, not your servant.

“Y/N.”

“I heard you. And I’m choosing to ignore you.”

Erick sighed loudly as the light came on to cross and you did so, hearing him follow you despite his protesting. Bucky spotted you through the window and his eyes shot back to Erick, giving him a disappointed glare. It only served to encourage you to move a bit quicker. Upon entering the café, you saw Bucky staring directly at you and Natasha looking at you over her shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be shopping,” Bucky said as you approached the table.

“I’m done. I thought we were having lunch,” you told him, sitting down beside him, placing your bags on the ground. “What’s the hold up?” Natasha was tight lipped as was Bucky as Erick sat down next to Natasha. You exhaled deeply and said in a quieter voice, even though you were alone in the corner, “You can trust me. You know you can. You’re doing a drop off, aren’t you?” Bucky cocked his head and you picked up his coffee and took a sip. “I know Salazar likes to do business in that building. You must need some new toys.”

Natasha and Bucky exchanged a look and for once, you noticed Erick actually looked amused at the fact you had forced yourself into the situation. He knew you were not stupid and he was probably feeling a little sense of pride that they were noticing that as well.

Adjusting in his seat, Bucky admitted in low tones, “Yes. And someone who isn’t gonna be happy about it has people set up inside watching to see who goes in and out.”

“I can do it.”

“It’s dangerous, Y/N,” Erick told you immediately before the other two could respond. His amusement was gone.

Seriously, you asked, “For me? They’re not even to think twice about me walking in. Sure, I’m married to Tony and my dad is a boss. But people really don’t pay attention to me except thinking about getting me on my back.”

Natasha ground her teeth at that, uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said, shrugging. “They’ll think I’m just going in to look at the back jewelry room. All I care about is shopping anyways, right?” Natasha cocked an eyebrow and you said with a smirk, “Yes. I do know about that too, and I’ve been inside. Problem is I’ll have to actually go up to the room and that guy — Tucker — is a sleazebag.”

“You think I’m gonna let you go alone?” Erick asked.

You patted his arm, “Look at you being chivalrous.”

“Tony would have my balls if I let you around Tucker without me.”

“Wait, we did not even agree to this,” Natasha cut in, holding up her hand.

“Give it to me,” you told her, holding out your hand. “I can carry it in my purse. Go upstairs, get something small from Tucker or act like I was not impressed with the selection, and then come back down a back way to drop it into the chute before circling back and coming back out the front entrance.”

You flexed your fingers after they did not react quick enough. “I have concealed carry if anything goes wrong. And you know Erick is a great protector.”

“I have to ask Tony—” Bucky started to say.

“Bullshit,” you told Bucky. “This needs to get done. I’m assuming it’s time sensitive. And you had an unexpected snag and you have the solution sitting right beside you. Not acting on it is going to make you miss your goddamn window. I have gotten my hands dirty before and involved with this type of shit. It’s nothing new.”

Natasha nodded at Bucky stiffly and he sighed, reaching into his jacket, pulling out a thick bag and handing it to you. You felt it was money and put it into your purse swiftly. It was concealed by the fact it was hidden in a grocery store bag, not see through. Picking the menu up, you quickly scanned it.

“Erick and I both like breakfast sandwiches, his with ham and mine with bacon,” you told them putting the menu back down on the table. “I want an orange juice too. You?”

“Water,” Erick answered before following your movement to stand up.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Hopefully before the food gets here. Mind my bags, please,” you told the pair before striding off and not waiting for their answer.

Tucker was a sweet talker as always, commenting on how nice your jumpsuit looked. His hands trailed along your own and you pulled away naturally, not forcing it. When you politely brushed off his advances, he congratulated you on your recent marriage since he had not seen you since it happened. You bantered back and forth with him about how he was always able to find out the latest gossip. He told you that it was big news that Tony had gotten married; if you did not know it, you were not keeping your ear to the ground at all.

To your surprise, he had something in stock you really wanted. And it was for Tony. A nice new ring and you took it happily. Hopefully if Tony caught wind of this – which he certainly would, you doubted Bucky or Natasha would lie to him – this would soften the blow.

On the way down, you did exactly what you said were you going to do and you dropped the bag off in the chute and came back around. Walking right past the people that you knew were watching for whoever it was that Natasha and Bucky were worried about. They only glanced at you and looked away when they saw the small signature bag of Tucker’s business.

Sliding back into your chair, you placed the bag on the table and said, “It’s done. Also, do you think Tony will like that?”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl @namjoonwatcheshentai @kaylamcd2000 @damntonystarkandhissmile @aditimukul

Fic tags: @patheticallysentimental @suchababie @downeyreads @teenageregression

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fic #mob tony stark #mob!tony stark #my shit

63 notes · View notes

thingr1 · 4 years

Text

oh well, i guess we’re gonna pretend

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Torture (non-graphic, mostly implied)

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Summary: Robin!Tim gets caught and help comes from an unlikely source.

Cross posted: FFN and AO3. (A/N found on both sites)

For: @lurkinglurkerwholurks for the prompt: A character flipping into hardcore MINE mode over another when the latter is in danger or threatened (bonus points if the two characters are currently on the outs but nevertheless go totally Ride Or Die)

~o~

This was bad.

This was the kind of bad that Tim had managed to avoid so far since taking up the role of Robin. He’d only hit the streets officially for the first time three months ago, post-many months of intense physical and mental training. This was exactly the second time Batman and he were apart for longer than a couple of hours at a time.

It was almost funny, actually, how fast Tim managed to screw everything up. After all, he took on Robin in order to stop Batman from spiraling into a hole he would likely never escape from alone after the death of his partner. The death of his son.

As far as Tim was concerned, he had one job: Don’t die. He would also be the first to admit that that was harder than he’d thought it would be.

He’d made a mistake. He’d gotten caught. He’d been—was being beaten. And he wasn’t sure if Batman even realized he was gone. They’d separated earlier in the night, exactly according to plan. Tim on recon on one end of town, Batman on the other, chasing two different leads on the location of a major arms deal that was supposed to go down the next night. They would then continue on their normal patrol routes, Tim flying truly solo for the first time, and meet back in the Cave afterwards. It was a first flight. A test of trust on the Bat’s end and independence on Tim’s.

Problem was, the empty warehouse Tim was supposed to investigate hadn’t been empty when he’d arrived. Either someone tipped the mooks off that the Dynamic Duo was onto them and they’d moved up the date, or Batman’s information had been faulty. Tim was leaning towards the former. However, before he could comm the Bat and warn him of the change, someone had clubbed him from behind.

Tim wasn’t supposed to check in for…maybe another hour? Two? He wasn’t sure. Time seemed to be dragging by unnaturally slow, and there wasn’t exactly a clock he could check himself on. He’d passed out a few times, too, which didn’t really lend itself to accurate time keeping.

His only frame of reference?

The bruise count. Turned out, baseball bats hurt when they were swung into flesh and bone rather than rawhide. His ribs could attest to that. The more time passed, the more aches and pains he accrued.

The other hint that he’d overstayed his welcome: He could no longer feel his hands. They were strung up somewhere above his head, metal cuffs digging into exposed wrists and holding him up so his bare toes barely grazed the ground. Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel those either. Which was…concerning.

But on the plus side, if he couldn’t feel them, they couldn’t hurt. Unlike his rib cage, twinging and protesting at his current position and every subsequent movement. Actually, his cheek hurt now, too. Which…ow. Ow.

Tim’s head snapped to the side with the force of the next blow, and he groaned as that set his whole body rocking, reigniting the pain signals through to his brain.

“—listening, brat?”

Tim blinked his eyes open—when had they closed?—squinting under the pale yellow glare of the stereotypical bare bulb abandoned warehouse lighting and into the leering face of his captor.

Miles Bandini’s gold tooth glinted a tad too bright in the dim light. A greasy combover made his forehead appear entirely too large, and a domineering sneer that could put Two-Face to shame completed the mob boss look.

The best part was, there really wasn’t anything special about this guy. He wasn’t a psychopath, didn’t have a PhD in some random field, and hadn’t assigned a colorful, inappropriate persona to theme his wrongdoings. He was just another crime lord who’d taken a shine to Gotham and the ease of criminal activity therein.

And Tim, like an idiot, ran straight into his trap.

Noticing Tim’s attention, Bandini’s sneer somehow deepened. “I guess you’re still alive, then. For now.”

Tim remained silent, mustering what energy he had left to raise his head and glare.

This seemed to amuse the crook. He patted Tim’s cheek, right on the bruise one of his goons had left behind. “Wonder where your big friend is, hmm? It’s a shame he’s left you alone for so long.”

The henchmen chortled behind him.

“Look, Robin,” Bandini drawled. “You seem like a nice kid. So I’m going to give you one last chance to walk out of this building alive. Answer two questions for me, would you? Just two, and you get to see the sunrise.” He leaned forward, hook nose only centimeters from Tim’s. “Where is the Batman? And how much does he know about us?”

Tim licked his cracked, bloody lips. Tongue working in an effort to muster up what moisture he had left. He opened his mouth.

Bandini leaned forward eagerly.

Tim spat in his face.

The man recoiled with a cry, hand flying up to where a mixture of Tim’s blood and spit now coated his cheek. Beady black eyes met his, a murderous expression twisting the man’s features.

Tim barely had time to think “uh oh” before the crook pitched a roundhouse into his stomach. Something in his chest shifted.

Pain exploded as every broken bone, every abused muscle, every organ screamed in protest, even as his voice choked out nothing more than a strangled unf.

Tim couldn’t breathe. Tim couldn’t breathe. What air he managed to pull through his mouth came in short gasps and wheezes, not remaining long enough or deep enough in his lungs to perform the appropriate gas exchange. Spots danced before his vision, fuzzy black creeping in on the edges.

Bandini was yelling, the words distant and muffled as if through fabric, gesticulating wildly with something suspiciously shiny, silver, and gun-shaped at Tim.

With a detached sort of panic, Tim realized he was going to die. Either from his injuries, or from the bullet the crime lord was prepped to gift him, didn’t matter.

Only a year into the job and he’d already failed his main objective.

Something cold and achingly familiar pressed into his forehead. The barrel of a gun.

Tears prickled in Tim’s eyes. I’m so sorry, Bruce.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Tim flinched. The gun barrel slid away from his forehead.

Wait…Tim shouldn’t have been able to flinch. He was…not dead? For sure, everything hurt too much for him to be dead.

A low, ominous chuckle burst through the ensuing silence, echoing through the warehouse and sending a shiver down Tim’s spine. The sound of something heavy landing on concrete slammed into his eardrums.

Welp. Only one way to find out. Reluctantly, Tim pried his eyes open, blinking in an attempt to bring the world back into focus.

The first thing he noticed was Miles Bandini collapsed on the ground at his feet, blood pooling around him from the hole in his chest. The second thing was the bright red helmeted figure standing in the center of the room, back towards Tim.

“Well, well, well,” the Red Hood drawled. “What do we have here?”

Whatever shock Bandini’s mooks seemed to be in began to wear off, half pulling their weapons, the other half taking an uncertain step back.

“Get him!” a voice—ah, the second in command accountant in the tweed jacket—screamed.

Quick as lightning, the Red Hood swung in Tim’s direction, gun hefted in one hand, knife in the other, and Tim flinched. If he wasn’t dead before, he was definitely screwed now. Hood pitched the knife in his direction. But instead of slicing into Tim’s chest, it collided with the cable holding him up, cutting through the metallic fiber like butter.

Tim hit the ground with an oof, what little air he had managed to suck in abandoning him in one pained puff.

Ow ow owowowowow.

Fire lanced up his arms and shoulders as they were released from the strain of holding his weight, joining the steady inferno of what had to be at least two or three broken ribs in his chest. His vision whited out as agony encompassed every inch of him, making him uncomfortably aware of every little hurt he’d received since being strung up.

Okay, Tim. Breathe. Breathing was good. Breathing was life.

It really shouldn’t have been this difficult to pull in air.

Around him, gunshots rang off the walls and old shelving as round after round was shot off at the lone figure devastating their ranks. Despite everything, Tim’s inner fanboy lit up. This was as cool as it was dangerous—for the crooks and Tim alike.

It had been years since he’d last seen Jason fight. Rather, fight in a way that didn’t involve Tim actively defending himself. Jason was all muscle, visible beneath even the thick leather jacket, and yet he had the deadly precision of an expert marksman and the grace of a martial artist. He used all of those things to his advantage as he tore through the mob, laying waste to everyone within his rather large range. After all, how many people could claim to have been trained by Batman and the League of Assassins? These amateurs didn’t stand a chance.

Tim just wished he had his camera.

And then, as quickly as the bloody battle started, it ended. The Red Hood loomed in front of him, hovering almost protectively, gun pressed against the forehead of the last perp standing.

“The only one who gets to take a potshot at my replacement,” Hood hissed, “is me.”

Tim shivered. From Hood’s tone, or the blood loss, he wasn’t sure.

Then Hood leveled a kick into the man’s rib cage, an audible crack sounding through the warehouse as the man fell to the ground with a howl.

“Tell your friends,” Hood said lightly. Then, when the man gaped up at him: “Unless you’d rather join them…?” He gestured at the limp forms of the bullet-riddled, definitely dead crooks scattered around them.

The guy was gone next time Tim opened his eyes. Huh. That was fast.

A brief thrill of panic shivered up his spine as Hood’s blank lenses suddenly leveled down at him. Tim silently cursed himself. He should’ve used the distraction to escape, should have unpicked the cuffs and scooted out of here before Jason turned on him. Problem was, he didn’t think he could move even if he tried.

Jason cocked his head—almost considering. He sighed, the sound echoing strangely through the filter and voice modulator. “Guess if you bled out now, there would be no point, hm?”

Tim stared. Not quite comprehending as the former Robin crouched beside him, rolling him over onto his back. Which actually helped the breathing issue, but….

“I’m going to move you, Pretender,” Jason warned. “This building’s rigged to blow, and that perp’s got the trigger. Try to stay loose.”

One arm tucked under Tim’s neck, the other under his legs, and wow, okay, apparently they broke his tibia.

Tim blacked out.

He came to blinking up at the stars through a fire escape in an alley he recognized to be near the docks. His body instantly protested his very existence, screaming as though he’d been dropped into a compactor and then thrashed in a woodchipper. Dimly, he became aware of a shadowy figure over him, of gloved hands tightening a pressure bandage around his thigh.

It all came back in a rush—his capture, the fight, Red Hood—and Tim instinctively scrambled back from the man looming over him, heart pounding out of his chest. He regretted the movement instantly as it jarred his broken body, his wrist apparently some degree of broken as it caved under his weight so he flopped gracelessly back against the pavement.

“Oi, hold still,” Jason snapped, “you’re making yourself worse.”

Tim froze at the command, staring wide-eyed at the crook who had himself beaten Tim to a bloody pulp only a few months ago.

This image didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense. There had to be some ulterior motive to saving him, perhaps some mind game to mess with Bruce. What else would motivate Hood to help him out of the blue?

Resolve flared, hot and fast. Tim wouldn’t allow himself to be used against the Bat again.

But Jason just continued twirling the fabric around Tim’s leg until he was apparently satisfied, snipping off the end and tying it off. He snagged another pressure bandage and began work on Tim’s shoulder. Not speaking. Not even looking at him.

Slowly, Tim allowed himself to relax, mind spinning in confusion.

“W—Why?” Tim wheezed. Wishing he could muster something a little more intimidating than the dry, barely audible croak that squeezed out of his throat.

Jason continued wrapping the bandages, quiet for long enough Tim figured he hadn’t heard him.

But then, “No one deserves to die without having a chance at fighting back.” Quiet. Angry. And…if Tim didn’t know better, a hint of the growl Batman always got when he was feeling particularly protective.

Jason tied off the last bandage with a couple quick motions and stood. He unslung Tim’s utility belt from over his shoulder, pressing the emergency tracker embedded in the side. How did he know where—?

“Bats should be here soon,” Jason said, voice flat, which didn’t match the gentle pat he gave Tim’s uninjured leg. “Don’t wait up.”

The older teen stood, his combat boots retreating down the alleyway the last thing Tim saw before his eyes closed against his will.

“Oh, and Replacement?” Tim heard, almost as if through a tunnel. “Don’t expect a repeat performance. This doesn’t change anything.”

Despite his swollen cheeks, Tim grinned against the pavement. Of course not, he thought. Inexplicably giddy. Why would it?

Tim passed out to the sound of a grapple fun firing off into the distance and the rumble of a familiar engine echoing into the alleyway.

#my fic #batfic #r1fics #RascalJoy #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #batfamchristmasstocking2019 #Torture #Implied/Referenced Torture #it's not too bad but there is description of blood and injury #Blood and Injury #Tim!Robin #timeline what timeline #bcs2019

19 notes · View notes

cupcakemolotov · 7 years

Text

Queen of Hearts

Happy Birthday @howeverlongs! I am sorry this is late, Paula. Hopefully you like it. Thank you so much for all of the pretty graphics that you give us!

The smoke in the bar was cloying. Caroline wrinkled her nose as she moved through the crowd, the happy tune played on the piano nearly overpowering the murmur of the crowd. For all that there were smiles, too many people kept glancing at the door for Caroline to be comfortable. She could guess what was causing the disturbance tonight. Glancing cautiously through her lashes at the table in the back, she swiped her tongue across her lips as she gave herself a brief glance to admire the man who sat with such elegant casualness. Klaus Mikaelson. Smart, terribly handsome with dimples she’d seen crease his cheeks just before he'd threatened someone’s life, Klaus Mikaelson had the devil’s own luck and his ruthlessness. Caroline had seen enemies dismiss him, partly due to his foreign accent and partly because of his looks, and she’d heard of how they’d been fished from the lake. But it wasn’t fear that had her skirting the crowd to avoid him. Klaus wasn’t just ruthless when it came to business. Adjusting her tray, shirt swishing around her knees, she sighed mentally as Gloria caught her eye. She’d done a full circle, dropped of drinks and dodged the occasional hand, and Klaus had been waiting for almost ten minutes. He wouldn’t wait much longer.

Walking to the bar, she accepted the bottle and glasses, and braced herself mentally for the conversation that was coming. Tonight was her first night working since her birthday. Klaus had left her alone when she wasn’t at the bar, but his expression when she’d scurried away from him with kiss wet lips and mussed hair, had promised that time was coming to an end. She wouldn’t be a coward and hide from him. He glanced up as her heels hit the stairs, smile slow and wicked. She was relieved that he wasn’t alone, but the pale face of Stefan Salvatore told her whatever their discussion, it wasn’t going well. For him. She’d heard there had been a falling out, Rebekah Mikaelson seen in the company of a different dark haired guy. “Bourbon?” She drawled as she set down the tumblers. It was an unnecessary question, as Klaus drank little else. In the years since she’d known him, she’d never seen him stray from his usual, although the quality of what they could offer varied. “Caroline, sweetheart,” Klaus murmured, the rough slid of his voice washing across her skin like a touch. He offered her the butt he held between his fingers. “How’s the mood tonight?” “Tense,” she said lightly, accepting his offer, taking a slow drag. Her lipstick lingered as she handed it back. Klaus didn’t seem to care, pressing it between his lips with dark eyes. “Should a girl be nervous?” “You? No.” Klaus said lightly after an exhale of smoke. He ground out the stub with such a smile. “Others perhaps aren’t so lucky.” Caroline didn’t look at Stefan. Nodding her head, she picked up her tray, and Klaus caught her wrist. Once, she’d have shaken off his touch with a flinch, but that had been years ago. Now her pulse picked up, goosebumps spreading across her skin as his thumb stroked softly. “You owe me a conversation.” Eyes narrowed, she tugged lightly. Klaus released her, and only then did she glance at the accusing glare Stefan was watching her with. “You look like you��ve got business.” “So I do.” She walked away, and this time he didn’t stop her.

Last night, there had been a raid. From the rumors she’d overheard, the coppers had hit Lockwood’s outfit in an attempt to crack down on the distribution of alcohol. Several of those bulls were enjoying the rotgut at the bar even now. Many were taking it as proof of Klaus Mikaelson’s growing domination in Chicago. He seemed to always be two steps ahead of his enemies, but it wasn’t his growing empire of weapons and alcohol that made him dangerous. That he managed to convey all on his own. Slipping back to the counter, Caroline collected the next round of drinks. For all that tonight was fraught with a wire of tension, it was busy. She and the other skirts that Gloria employed were constantly moving. As the alcohol flowed so did the tips. And now that Klaus had made his little statement, fewer hands attempted to wonder. Most nights, his little statements of claim pissed her off. For two years they’d gone back and forth, Klaus a stubborn presence in her life. She couldn’t even to pinpoint when her defenses had weakened.

Feet aching, skin flushed from exertion and the way Klaus had watched her all night, she dropped her tray off and tilted her chin towards the storage room most of the girls took their breaks. Gloria gave her a brief nod, and Caroline slipped downstairs to take a breather. She needed to cool down, but more importantly, she needed to think. The stone walls were as familiar to her as the wooden floors of Gloria’s. Tonight it smelled a little like smoke, and Caroline winced as she thought of the talking too someone would get. A misplaced spark, and a fire would be disastrous. Some girls were still silly enough to risk it once Gloria banned taking their breaks outside. Going outside meant running a risk of being seen by cops or some uptight parishioner, or worse, being mistaken as a prostitute. Caroline had been on the streets at sixteen, and knew what some woman had to do to survive. But for all that those parishioners claimed to be part of God’s work, they could be violent if they thought they were being denied. She settled onto the single stool that had been left downstairs for their use, and sighed. Closing her eyes as she wiggles her aching toes, she smoothed down the sequins and of her skirt, taking a moment to check the pinned curls of her updo. She should never have given herself that taste. She’d known Klaus was dangerous when she’d met him. Caroline had lived in danger her entire life, her drunkard father and his associates had rarely concerned themselves with William Forbes’ daughter. She’d grown up in the shadow of the mob, and she’d never managed to walk away from it entirely. But her father had been a type of danger she could run from. Klaus was more more insidious. He was physically stronger, but it was how he affected her emotional that worried her. At sixteen, she’d scraped and hidden away just enough pocket money to escape her father. Hungry and desperate for work, Caroline would never forget that Gloria had taken a chance on her when she’d walked in and begged for work. She’d spent six months organizing stock, until Gloria had deemed that she’d put enough meat on her bones to work the floor. It was how she’d met Klaus. And she wasn’t sure how to handle the kind of emotions he wanted from her. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in just something pretty on his arm. In fact, once she had hit eighteen, she’d never seen him with a gal at the bar, although there were many rumors of the dames who shared his bed. Sighing heavily, she let her mind wander to that first meeting as the sweat on her skin slowly cooled. Her first job for Gloria had entailed coming in just before dusk to do a stock check and reorganize anything that had been misplaced the previous night. Caroline had liked the work, had taken to Gloria’s system readily enough. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she’d waited just twenty minutes longer to go upstairs, if Klaus would have shown interest in her. She’d been so skinny then, under fed and wary. But Caroline had taken pride in her work, and had put effort into organizing bottles correctly and quickly. She’d been distracted by a loud bang one night just as she’d finished up, had hesitated only for a moment before carefully walking up the stairs. She hadn’t been expecting the sight in front of her when she’d cracked the door open. “Caroline,” Gloria said harshly as Caroline stared at the man slumped over the bar. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing was his brains, leaking into the wooden bar. “I told you to stay downstairs.” Caroline very carefully didn’t look at either Gloria or the man she only just see a shadow of in her peripheral vision. There was blood splattered near her feet and it took effort to hold her gorge. Taking a deep breath, her voice still trembled when she spoke. “Until I’d finished. You told me to stay until I’d finished.” The unexpected huskiness of male laugh lifted the small hairs on the back of her neck. “Another one of your strays, Gloria?” "A child.” There was a hiss of a match, and then the smell of tobacco. Caroline looked away from the cooling body, hands pressed flat to her thighs to keep them from trembling. A low, accented voice murmured into the silence. “Leave us.” Gloria hesitated at her side, before heading down into the storage room. For a brief, frantic second she thought about joining her, but that a dead end. She wouldn’t die in the dark. Caroline closed her eyes for a brief moment, before she finally turned to face the man who’d apparently murdered so casually. She was startled by how young he appeared, the rough scruff on his cheeks doing little to hide the youth of him. But his eyes were hard, and she’d seen the like before. The particular brand of coldness that spoke of killing intent. He took another drag of the cigaret, and watched her for several long moments. “You’re timing is quite unfortunate, sweetheart. Another few minutes, and I’d have been gone.” Caroline held her tongue, not sensing a question. A hint of a smile played over his lips, and he nodded to the body. “You’re first?” “No.” She had spent just enough time on the streets to see death, but she was also William Forbes daughter. She’d watched men die since she was a child, knew the way eyes looked as life faded. Her father preferred to strangle his victims, it was the gore she was unfamiliar with. A glint, behind the blue of his eyes, a flash of curiosity as he took in her clothes, the waif thin frame. “Then you understand something must be done.” Caroline lifted her chin. “Will you kill me then?” A thoughtful glance, before he ground out his cigaret. “That depends love. The scales are currently unbalanced, as it were. I’m sure you’ll make a all kinds of promises, should I ask it of you. Keeping them, now there is a trick.” Her heart was a jackhammer in her ears, but her tone managed not to shake as she spoke. “And what do you want from me then?” He stood, surprisingly lean, for all that he felt so much bigger. She’d have thought he was taller. This was a man many men would underestimate, and she knew many of them would die. Walking over, he pushed the body off the bar, so that it collapsed with a thud of muscle and bone. She tried not to think of it. The slap of limp his hands as they hit the floor. "A price,” he said serenely. “I don’t trust, love, you understand? A skirt without price is either a liar or a fraud. So tell me, what will you ask for to keep your silence?” Caroline bit her lip, as he continued to watch her with unblinking eyes. “Why? Killing me would be easier.” “Gloria and I have a bit of bargain,” he said carelessly. “I make an attempt not to kill her workers and she doesn’t complain about the occasional spot of murder. I haven’t heard her swearing, as she redoes your work, so you must be somewhat competent. You’ll find, sweetheart, that working for Gloria means working for me.” She swallowed hard, as she realized the tightrope she stood on. Caroline had known that Gloria had to have mob ties, to serve guests during the prohibition. There were too many vices here, to have been independent. Perhaps this man would let her go and she could run, but where would she go? Her mother’s family in Virginia had lost contact with her years earlier and she refused to crawl home. So she’d given him a price. Exactly five dollars more than the going rate for information on the street. She’d watched the amusement grow on his face, the glitter of approval as he’d started to peel away bills from the roll in his hand. She’d protested when he’d laid down more than she’d offered, and his dimples had startled her. “It’s not a bribe, Caroline, if it’s such a small number. Consider it a favor. You’ll owe me, and you’ll keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. It’d be a shame, to fish you from the river.” Caroline hadn’t taken a full breath until a Klaus had and left. She could still remember the way she’d trembled in the silent bar, the disbelief that he’d let her live. That night, she’d jumped at every shadow, and had woken up shaking from nightmares she couldn’t remember. But she’d gone back the next day, and the next. And every time Klaus had appeared, she’d been tense and wary. But that had been years ago. “Hiding from me, sweetheart?” Caroline’s gaze snapped up as she hastily stood. Klaus had lost his coat, the slicked back curls glinting in the faint light. Her mouth ran dry as his gaze lowered to her lips, and she struggled against the blush that heated her cheeks. He saw it, if the wicked tilt of his lips meant anything. "What are you doing down here?” She demanded, scowl darkening her face. "Gloria has rules.” He laughed lowly. “It’s hardly my first trip to her cellars, Caroline. And you’ll find the place has emptied in the last half hour.” She swore, moving several steps towards the narrow stairs. Klaus didn’t budge. “I need to head back upstairs.” “You’ve got the rest of the night off,” Klaus said. “Since you refuse to come back to my place, this is the best we can do for privacy, for now.” Her lips parted in surprise, and she licked dry lips as he watched her. “I’d have thought Stefan would be of more interest.” “Stefan still has a use or two, although that usefulness will last him a shorter duration than he knows,” Klaus dismissed. “Rippers are easy enough to come by, when you know where to look. And I prefer mine with fewer conflicted morals.” She winced, walked away from him with quick, pacing footsteps. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” “Should I not?” His footsteps followed her, and she glared over her shoulder. “You did kiss me.” Caroline curled her fingers into her palms. He’d tasted of whiskey and tobacco, and while she’d had her share of dalliances over the years, nothing had felt so good. She’d thought of it constantly, fantasized about how things might have progressed had they not been interrupted. Klaus must have read some of it on her face, because his lips curved. Caroline shivered, because she knew how that satisfied smile tasted against her mouth. He stepped closer, hand lifting to trace the curve of her mouth. Caroline almost wished that each brush of callouses against her lip left her trembling from fear, and not a slow growing arousal. For two years, she’d avoided this heat in his gaze and the proprietary way he watched her. She’d pretended not to notice the way he snarled at anyone who showed her too much attention, and that he attempted to make up for it by tipping well. Gloria had given her only one warning, when Caroline had turned eighteen.

“Klaus Mikaelson is as charming as the devil, Caroline. Be sure he doesn’t swallow you whole.” As his fingers slid down her chin to trace the line of her throat, tongue wetting his lips, her thighs clenched tightly together. Sucking in a breath, she caught his hand. “Klaus.” "Caroline.” She dug into lightly with her nails, and his gaze returned to hers. “You’re not an easy man to be with.” "You want me.” The assurance in his voice was irritating. Her mouth opened, closed, and he smiled with lazy intensity. "Tell me, if I slipped my fingers beneath your skirts, Caroline, how wet would I find you?” She was blushing then, words sputtering off her lips. "That’s not important.” Klaus laughed softly, his free hand running down her side, following the curves hidden by the fit of her dress. “I find it of great import. How often do you think of me, these nights I spend devouring you with my eyes? Do you walk among the crowds and entertain your patrons, hot and slick for me?” Caroline determinedly ignored the way she couldn’t quite stop herself from swaying into him at his words. His eyes roamed her face greedily, taking in the flush of her skin and the dark of her eyes. When she spoke, her words were firm and husky. “If I agree to this, to you, you wouldn’t let me go.” "Are you sure that’s what you’d want?” He asked. She released his hand and stepped back, the stone wall behind her cool against her spine. Klaus followed her, the heat of of him hard against her front as he traced delicate patterns against her collarbones. "You know what I am. You know what I’m capable of. And you haven’t run. You’ve had the opportunity. The leverage. But for four years you’ve held my secrets.” She licked her lips, swallowed as he watched the motion. “Perhaps I was afraid. Your men are often enough beneath my window.” “Fear doesn’t turn a woman’s cheeks hot with arousal, Caroline. And while I don’t mind a bite of it in my bed, true terror has not sat on your face when you looked at me for years.” He bent his head, kissed the bare patch of skin beneath her collarbone slowly. Licked it, with one hot stroke of his tongue. She gasped, jolting against him, and he hummed lowly. "That didn’t sound like fear.”

“Klaus.” It was supposed to be a husky reprimand, but it came out low and breathy. His smile burned her skin, but he lifted his head. "As for my men, I protect what’s mine, love.” She rolled her eyes. “But I haven’t been yours.” His hand lifted to cup her jaw. “No? After this last year, the ordeal with your father, is that what you’re truly believe?” She tucked her lip between her teeth. Perhaps that had been her first true falter, in her denial. The day she’d seen William Forbes in the crowd, and panicked. The smart move would have been to run, to race home to gather would she could, and leave the state. Thanks to Klaus and his generous tipping, she had a decent stash. Instead, she’d swiped another bottle of whiskey, and strode straight for the back booth, heart pounding. Klaus had taken one look at her face and scattered those who sat with him. She’d slipped across from him while he lit a cigarette and offered it to her with steady fingers. He’d asked her what was wrong. Even knowing that what confiding in him could mean, she’d explained in terse sentences between unsteady drags of tobacco. He’d waited until she’d finished, and merely promised to take care of it. Her fingers had trembled so badly as she’d watched him, that he’d offered her the dish to put out the butt. For a long moment she’d struggled with what to say, in the end and simply thanked him and left. As far as she knew, they’d never found William. His body wasn’t one of the many dumped in pieces, and she didn’t know if anyone would look for him. But whatever Klaus had done, he’d done it without asking for anything in return. “It’s not that simple.” “I disagree,” Klaus said. “Do you remember the first time you saw me?” “Standing over a body.” His dimples cut deep, and his thumb brushed her cheek. “Such a defiant little street waif, with such wary eyes. You were an amusing distraction after that; uncertain if you should bite back or retreat. Then on your eighteenth birthday, you sang.” “I like singing.” “I know,” he said easily. “One day, you’ll give me a private show, naked in my bed while I try to distract you with my mouth.” Her breath hitched. “Your voice,” he continued. “Goes straight to my cock. But it’s stopped being about merely having you for years. I want you, but I want all of you.” “I like my independence,” Caroline said lowly. “Having my own money.” “My men would be highly disappointed if they could no longer take turns sitting at the bar,” Klaus said with a shrug. “Although I doubt they’ll miss the time spent beneath your window in winter. You’ll come home with me. Each night. And I’ll find it within me to not murder every man who looks at you and thinks of sex.” Her lips parted to complain about his high handed demand, but they never made it past her lips. Klaus dipped his head, mouth open and demanding against hers, and she drowned in the taste of him. Her fingers tangled carelessly into his perfect hair, tongue drinking in the whiskey and smoke of him. He pressed her against the wall, hand fisting in her skirt to lift it higher, so he could press into the cradle of her legs. She whined as he pulled his mouth away, lips flushed and wet. “Tell me you want this.” His fingers snuck along her thigh, brushing perilously close to the wet heat that would give her away. She sucked in a breath, chest heaving. She slid one hand out of his hair, trailed it along the short scruff of his beard. “I want this.” A curve of his mouth, satisfied and triumphant. “Good.” Caroline’s mouth dropped open when his knuckles parted her folds, sliding along the slickest part of her. Her fingers fumbled in his hair, hand pressing against his neck as she tried to breath. Another slow caress, and then one finger slipped slowly inside her. Her breasts strained against their bindings, and his gaze lowered, something hungry in his gaze. “How I wish this was my bed, where I could unwrap you.” She shuddered, clenching down as he added a second finger. Nails digging into his skin, her hips rolled against his hand. “I haven’t. Agreed, to go home with you.” “Not yet,” he rumbled, thumb sliding up to circle her clit. She jerked against him, struggling to hold his gaze as he devastated her senses. “I’m willing to persuade you.” She was panting, sweat damp at her temples and her spine. Klaus’ gaze was unblinking as he watched her chase her orgasm, lips parted as she stiffened against him, body shaking through her high. Her spine melted against the wall, and he slipped his fingers free of her, only to bring them to his mouth. Her fingers dropped to his belt, scrabbling for a moment as she tried to unhook it. His hand lowered to help with his fastenings, and he moved her away when she tried to touch him. “Klaus.” “If you want to touch me, you’ll do it in our bed,” he said firmly as he reached down and hooked one of her thighs over his forearm. Her lashes fluttered as his cock teased her swollen clit. “Mean,” she rasped, as he made no further move to slid inside her. “I love your legs,” he said, fingers running damply along her thigh. “I want them around my waist. Over my shoulders.“ Her eyes widened, and he pressed into her smoothly, the stretch of his cock inside her perfect. Their mingled moans were loud, and she clamped down as he pulled out to repeat the thrust. The angle was amazing, the feel of him better, and her head dug into the wall behind her as she writhed. "So lovely,” he growled as his fingers snuck between them. His fingers were shaky as they circled her clit and then pinched down, and she jolted, her orgasm a rush in her veins. A few rough thrusts and he joined her, body tense against hers. She stared up at home as they slowly came down, nails digging into his scalp as he pulled free. Her thighs were slick with their combined release, and she watched with greedy eyes as he tucked himself back into his pants. Klaus brushed his lips across hers and then he lowered her leg, and smoothed her skirts. “Come home with me.” “For tonight.” His smile was wicked. “Shall we argue tomorrow then? I’m game, love, but can you stay so circumspect if my mouth is on your pussy?” Caroline glared. “Are you trying to get me fired?” “Of course not,” he drawled, kissing her palm. “But I’m not adverse to playing dirty.” “I’ll think about it.”

#my fic #klaroline drabble #klaroline smut #snfw #klaroline fanfiction #howeverlong

330 notes · View notes