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authoressofdarkness · 10 months

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Fill: Mafia AU for @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo 2023

Mind the tags y'all! Pretty typical mafia AU bs below but I just want everyone to be safe. Read on AO3.

Peter can’t see anything when he wakes up.

Of course he can’t; what do you expect when you get hit over the head and abducted? He should know better. It’s not the first time someone has tried to use him against Ben, although it would be the first time they’ve gotten this far. Ben doesn’t mess around with his and May’s safety.

This time is different, though, and not just because of the fact they’d successfully abducted him and taken him to God only knows where. He can’t put his finger on why until a voice speaks from somewhere that sounds alarmingly distant, but the concussion he likely has is the least of his worries when he hears it.

“Oh, look. Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Peter tenses. It’s Tony Stark. He’s in deep fucking trouble.

It certainly explains how they got past the security that’s been not-so-secretly tailing him since the last incident, and also the fact that his arms are tied so tightly that they’ve gone numb. These are professionals. The mafia. Ben has been looking into Tony’s case for years, but Tony has never seemed to care before. Why now?

“Aw, look at that. He’s well educated, this one. You knew who I was as soon as I spoke. Your body says it all.” A hand brushes down his jawline, and he jolts a little. “You can talk. If I didn’t want you to, I’d have gagged you,” he continues nonchalantly.

Maybe it’s the fog or the dull throbbing he feels in his head, but it takes a minute for that to register and for him to realize that no, he isn’t gagged. He licks his lips, considering what to say.

“If you’re hoping I’ll beg, you’re wrong,” he says at last. “Ben will come for me like always.”

“You think so?” Tony sounds amused. It throws him off more than he wants to admit, but he presses on.

“I know so.” Even if he sounds more unsteady than he did a minute ago.

“That’s cute, sweetheart. Such confidence. But I have to say, I think Ben’s a little busy at the moment, doll. You might be stuck with me for a while.”

It’s the cool confidence in those words more than anything that makes him nervous. Tony has done something, and whatever it is, he’s sure it worked.

Peter’s heartbeat picks up. “What did you do to him?” he blurts before he can think better of it.

“Nothing, silly boy. Then he can’t do what I want him to. Just left him a little warning of what might happen to you if he doesn't clean up.” A finger brushes his cheek again.

The shiver goes down his spine before he can help it. Both at the touch, and at the threat. It’s obviously a thinly veiled threat. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells him, trying for strong and confident, but that’s not how it comes out. More uncertain and wobbly.

Tony just chuckles. “You shouldn’t be. Not for that, anyway. If I have to kill you, I’ll just be supervising. My men are much more creative with making it painful and drawn out than I am.” He pauses, and the gentle touch on his jawline turns to a firm grip on his jaw. “Now, in between... that’s what you should be afraid of, because that’s all me, sweetheart.”

Peter gulps involuntarily. Okay, that’s scarier than he cares to admit. Tony has quite the reputation himself, and it takes a physical effort not to run through every story he’s ever heard. And there’s a lot; good, bad, scary, and of course downright hot.

He pushes the thoughts away. “Got special plans for me, do you?” He’s going for sarcastic, but then it also falls short.

Tony chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

The threat in the words is, again, barely bothered to be concealed. It’s dangerous and scary and yet somehow thrilling in the implication.

Peter flushes when he starts to indeed think of some ideas, and Tony’s chuckle only makes him turn a deeper shade of red. Then he releases his chin and steps away. Peter almost mourns the absence of his heat.

“Take him to a room and lock him up. I have to make some calls before anything else. Besides, I gave his uncle a day to respond before I show him how serious I am.”

They throw him in a room, cutting the rope on his arms and leaving him there.

Eventually the feeling comes back to his arms, even if it takes several minutes of shaking on the floor from the intense pins and needles sensation running through them. Then he pulls off the blindfold.

He’s just in a bedroom, he sees, when his eyes finally return to normal. It’s a surprisingly normal room — not an obvious cell, although there are no windows.

He climbs unsteadily into bed. There’s not much else to do. Even if he really thought he could make it out of this impenetrable house — which he honestly doesn’t — he’s fairly sure he’s concussed. His head is pounding so hard that standing is uncomfortable. If he’s going to try to escape, now isn’t the time to waste that opportunity.

Despite the conflict raging in every inch of his body, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he can sense immediately that he’s in a different place. Not only because of the difference he can feel in the sheets — rougher, obviously meant to be disposed of, not to be comfortable — but because of exactly how much difference he can feel. He’s been stripped down to his boxers. Fuck.

Once again, the first thing he hears is Tony Stark's voice.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, sweetheart.”

Peter ignores him, testing his bonds. His ankles are bound and spread wide. His arms, oddly enough, are not. He pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls off the blindfold, looking around and spotting Tony for the first time.

He’s shorter than he realized, he thinks, but still gives off the tall, dark, intimidating appearance. He radiates a charisma and sense of control that makes Peter’s hair stand on end because he knows it’s not the good kind. Yet it’s still damn attractive.

And alarming, because every other time he’s seen Tony Stark, while from a distance or on surveillance, he’s been impeccably dressed, the pure channel of that control. Now he’s dressed casually, in ripped blue jeans and a ratty band tee shirt that looks like it’s seen more years than Peter has lived.

The choice isn’t lost on him. The disposable room they are in, hella less expensive clothes than what Tony normally wears... It's obvious what’s happening next. His stomach clenches with fear that he swallows down. Panicking won’t help.

Tony must read the immediate panic on his face, because his expression softens, just a fraction. “Relax. We still have time. That’s why I let you wake up first.”

Let him wake up. They'd drugged him.

“How long was I out?” He needs to know.

Tony presses his lips together as if considering how much to tell him. “A while,” he says at last. “Long enough for your uncle to think he was going to get away with something.”

Peter swallows hard. He’d known that Ben wouldn’t give into whatever demands Tony had sent him, not right away, but the words still send a spike of fear through his gut. “What are you going to do to me?”

Tony shrugs, standing up. He grabs something off the table he’s been sitting at, and Peter realizes it’s a tray of... food?

“Right now, I’m going to make you eat, because you’re going to need it. Then we’ll get started.” He sets the tray on his lap.

Peter tenses, both at the closeness and his words. “Is it drugged again?”

“After, it might be,” Tony tells him, with a flippant honesty that takes him by surprise. “But no, not this time. I need you awake to film.”

“Film what?” Peter presses. He doesn’t want to know, but he needs to.

Tony takes a step away from him and heaves a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. Despite the severity of his words, the elder man's demeanor is a lot more casual than before. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’m not going to mutilate you. Not if I don’t have to. Hurting kids is hardly fun, you know. I’m not a psychopath, believe it or not.”

Peter frowns, not sure if he should believe that, nor why Tony would tell him that. He just nods and starts eating. Tony probably isn’t going to tell him anymore right now, and he's not sure he would like it even if he did.

He eats as much as he thinks he can stomach, then stops, pushing the tray away. Tony gets up immediately from where he'd settled in a metal chair in the corner to retrieve it.

Peter waits until he’s close, then lays a hand on his arm when he reaches for the tray. He feels Tony stiffen, but he’s not immediately batted off. “What?”

“Please tell me what you’re going to do to me.” He’s not going to beg, he’s better than that, but he will ask. It’s obvious how badly it’s getting to him, but when he looks up at Tony, the mobster doesn’t look amused like he did earlier. Just tired, maybe a little wary.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Peter hesitates. No. But he feels like he needs to know.

Tony just shakes his head. The hesitation is answer enough for him. “Then don’t ask.” He takes the tray and leaves.

Tony doesn’t return for a half hour or so. By the time he does, Peter has tried every thing to get out of his bonds unsuccessfully. He can’t even reach them, nor does he know what he’d do if he could. These are real cuffs, sized to him. Not ropes or a cheap pair of handcuffs.

If Tony was alerted to any of his attempts, he doesn’t seem to care. He walks right over and pushes against his shoulder. “Lay down.”

Peter makes a feeble attempt at resisting. “Why?”

“You know why. Lay. Down.” The words leave no room for argument. Then Tony adds, softer, “If I have to force you, this will be worse than it has to be.”

That much Peter knows is true, and he knows struggling will be futile, at least this time. So he lays down. Whatever he can do to make this as easy to get through as possible...

Tony cuffs his arms in and pulls the blindfold back over his eyes. Peter hears his footsteps move away, and the faint sounds of him messing with something from far away before he mutters, “Alright. Showtime.”

The seconds tick away as Tony returns to the bed, and Peter immediately tenses. He’s seen enough and heard enough about Tony to know how much this is going to hurt. He can sense the change in the man’s demeanor without him even opening his mouth. The casual clothes don't make him any less terrifying when he slips back into his more terrifying persona. Any warmth seems to seep out of the room.

Despite Peter's expectations, pain isn’t what comes next. A hand touches his chest, humming a little as it travels down, and then he feels the edge of his boxers being lifted. In the second it takes him to register exactly what’s going on, they’ve been cut straight down each leg.

Peter swallows hard. Fuck. He honestly doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the immense amount of pain he’d been expecting.

Tony chuckles, and it’s a cold, emotionless sound, so unlike how he’d spoken to him a few minutes ago.

“Such a pretty boy. You’d have made someone very happy someday. It’s a shame I have to do this. But you can thank your uncle for that.”

A hand runs down his chest again, fingers drawing slowly from his collarbone down to his nipple, rubbing a tight circle around it.

A gasp leaves Peter's mouth before he can help it. He can almost hear the way Tony smirks at the sound. “Easy, darling. We’ve barely started.”

Peter cinches his eyes shut, glad for the blindfold to hide it. Tony’s hand travels lower, nails gently scraping down his stomach, light enough to tickle but also leave barely-there marks. He squirms under the touch, eliciting another chuckle from the mobster.

"There there. I’ll get there eventually, sweetheart. Although I don’t know if you’ll like it when I do.” The fingers trailing between his hips pause in their descent. “Anything you’d like to say to your uncle before we get started?”

Peter licks his lips. “You’re not getting anything from me, Mr. Stark. Go to hell.”

Tony chuckles. “Fair enough.” He presses something hard and leathery into Peter’s mouth, and the younger man bites it automatically, wishing he didn’t feel grateful for it. At least he doesn’t have to worry about what he says now.

The mobster climbs on the bed and settles between his legs. His hands run up Peter's bare thighs, the motion soft but his palms rough and calloused against his skin. He’s surprisingly gentle, thumbs rubbing little circles against his hip bones as if to try to soothe him for just a second before one presses down, the other moving to wrap around his cock.

And fuck, he’s hard and he definitely should not be. By all definitions, he was hurt and abducted, and there’s no denying that this is rape. Or at least Tony intends it to be, but for some reason Peter isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t like it.

Okay, to say he’d always been fascinated by the mob boss would be an understatement. It was hard not to be, with Ben having spent so many years telling him about him, pouring over case files and trying his damndest to implicate him in something, somehow. And maybe Peter had started to join him with the intention to help. Up until now, he's convinced himself that was all his interest was about.

Now his own body was ousting him.

Ben wouldn’t see anything besides what Tony was doing to him. But both of them could feel it even before Tony starts stroking him with one of those calloused hands, and a nearly pornographic moan tears from his throat, barely muffled at all by the gag.

Tony strokes him agonizingly slowly, making him feel things that he absolutely shouldn’t. To Peter's credit, he really tries to keep from giving into the feeling, and it actually takes several minutes before his body really begins to betray him. When the pleasure starts to build and he feels the hand that splays over his stomach as if wanting to feel when his abdomen started to seize, he suddenly realizes what’s happening.

Tony is teasing him. He has no intention of letting him come. And this is Ben’s punishment, watching him be edged on camera.

So why the fuck does it feel so good? Why isn’t he terrified out of his mind?

He should be terrified. But instead, the only fear he feels right now is fear of Tony stopping. All he can focus on is the feeling of the hand on his dick and the nails tickling his stomach, muscles clenching, the pressure building until he’s so close, desperately trying to fight the hand that presses firmly down over his stomach when he starts trying to chase the pleasure himself and then-

He lets out a choked cry when Tony pulls away, despite knowing it was coming. Fuck, it was only one and he’s so hard it hurts.

Tony chuckles dryly, though this time he doesn’t sound very amused. “Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then louder, for the camera, "We’re only getting started."

Peter groans, unable to help himself. He tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes tight under the blindfold. It can’t get worse than this, can it? But he knows it can.

It gets a lot worse, apparently, because Tony apparently has no intention of keeping things informal. Maybe he’s just not too worried since he doesn’t intend to let Peter come, but Peter still doesn’t expect it when he feels something warm and wet wrap around the tip of his cock.

Tony Stark is sucking his dick. His first blowjob, and he won’t even get to come.

Tony’s mouth slides down his cock, and Peter groans again, writhing under him. The mob boss’s hands press into his hips firmly, keeping him flat against the bed as he hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

It just feels so good and so bad at the same time. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He writhes and moans and tries to arch, and the man above him makes sure he gets absolutely nowhere.

He hardly realizes how overwhelmed he really is until Tony pulls away and a choked sob tears itself from his throat. Tony makes a low, almost intrigued hum at the sound.

“There, there, precious. Don’t cry.”

He jumps a little when he feels those rough fingers brush his cheek, and realizes suddenly the blindfold is wet. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Just one more, this time,” Tony promises, voice low and throaty. “Then you can tell uncle all about it and we’ll call it a day.”

Peter's groan is his only attempt at a response. Tony runs his hands down his chest again, teasing his nipple for a few sparse seconds, just enough to make him whine a little, before moving all the way back to his hips.

“If you breathe, it’s easier,” Tony reminds, sounding almost pitying. “You should hope your uncle doesn’t go too long. Too much of this and you’ll be used to it. I could turn you into such a pretty little slut.”

Peter whimpers, tilting his head back. He wishes his cock didn’t throb at the words, the idea of it, but it does.

Tony chuckles quietly, apparently feeling it as he starts stroking him again. “You like that, baby boy? Does that turn you on? The idea of being mine? Being a slut for me?”

Peter groans, trying to squirm again. “Please,” he tries to say, but the gag doesn’t allow him to.

Tony gets the gist, though. “Please what, darling? Want me to keep you? Want me to do this to you all the time?” His voice is dark, dangerous, and accompanied by a gentle squeeze on his cock.

Peter moans, unable to help himself. Fuck, it’s hot and scary and intriguing and he should be so fucking scared, but then the elder man’s hot mouth is sucking at his balls and any thoughts of the threat melt away immediately, replaced by the feel of his impending orgasm, the blood rushing in his ears, and the sound of his own choked moans.

Tony pulls away again, leaving him straining against his bonds and moaning. Peter isn't even sure how long it takes him to settle down, but when he does, Tony leans over again, pulling whatever he’d shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag out of his mouth.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Anything you want to say to the camera?”

Peter sucks in a greedy, unhindered breath. It takes a moment to register what Tony’s asking, but he manages to pant out, “Go to hell.” Only this time he doesn’t know who he’s directing it towards.

Tony just sighs dramatically, getting up and shutting off the camera. A moment later, he returns to the bed. It creaks as he crawls on the other side and settles beside Peter.

The blindfold slips up onto his forehead, and Peter blinks a few times. The world goes in and out of focus for a minute as his eyes readjust.

Tony is beside him. He presses something against his lips, and Peter opens automatically. He probably shouldn’t, especially considering what just happened, but he does.

As it turns out, it’s just a straw. Peter greedily sucks down a few drinks until his senses return enough, he turns his head away. “I don’t want you to drug me again,” he mumbles. If it is drugged, it's far too late now, but...

“It’s just water. Not drugged. Drink,” Tony orders.

Peter complies. He doesn’t know that he entirely trusts that, but he’s dying of thirst. He drinks the rest of the glass in a few swallows.

The automatic movement and the cold water calm him, as it’s probably supposed to. Tony releases the cuffs while he’s preoccupied, and takes Peter by surprise when he keeps a hold of his wrists and begins to rub the circulation back into them. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Does it matter?” Peter drops his eyes to Tony's hands, unable to look him in the eyes.

Tony releases one wrist to grab his chin, tapping his head up. The elder man's eyes are dark and serious. “Yes. It does.”

Peter closes his eyes. “It hurts,” he admits.

He hears Tony sigh. “Hurts less than what the guys thought I should do.” What he would have done to an adult, he didn’t have to say.

Peter understands it anyway. “I know,” he mutters. Is it odd that he feels grateful, in that respect? Probably not as odd as him being unable to decide whether he had actually liked any of it.

“If it means anything, I apologize. And if you want me to... I won’t make you suffer another day.”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers. “What?” He knows he should think logically about it, that Tony can’t possibly actually mean that he would kill him, not with Ben’s job still hanging in the balance, but panic overrules his better senses for a moment.

Tony realizes instantly, gripping his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean I’d kill you. Christ. I was offering to let you come.”

Peter stares at him for a second. The hand on his shoulder feels unnaturally heavy. He slowly leans away, unsure. “You’re messing with me.”

Tony catches his chin, making him meet his eyes. “No. There’s no point. I’m not going to say I won’t have to tease you again if I have to do another, because I very well may. But I won’t make you sit like this all night.”

Peter wets his lips. His mouth still feels impossibly dry. “I... would appreciate that,” he whispers, lowering his eyes again. The offer is more than kind, all things considered. He can't fathom why Tony would actually do it, and he's still on the fence as to whether to believe him, despite the little seed of hope it gives him.

Something in Tony's face softens, just a little, at the quiet admission. “Ask me, then. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I assume we’re still talking about sexually.”

The elder man smiles, but it’s dry and humorless. He anticipates what Peter is thinking without missing a beat. “I’ll let you go when Ben does what he’s supposed to. That’s it. Unless you have a reasonable request in the meantime...”

“Clothes, maybe?”

Tony tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe I can give you something. After. If you still want to come.”

Peter presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, all things considered. Maybe it only is because it’s a fantasy taken to a whole different level than what he ever could have anticipated. But it’s hard not to flush when he murmurs, “Yes, please, sir.”

At least it seems to affect Tony, too. He inhales a sharp breath. “It’s a shame. You would be such a pretty, trainable little slut too,” the mobster murmurs, and Peter jumps a little when he trails a finger down the line of his jaw. “I know I was teasing you earlier, but... you are very turned on. You really did enjoy that, didn't you?”

Peter turns even deeper scarlet at the question, if that’s even possible. “No. Yes. I mean– I don’t know." He may as well admit that much. Tony has already seen right through him.

Tony hums as if considering this. He pulls Peter's hands away from his face, his grip firm but not harsh. Peter's eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at him again. “But you want to come?”

“Please.” It’s okay to beg now that the camera is off, right?

Tony’s face flickers with bemusement, but if he’s thinking the same thing, he doesn’t say it. “How?”

“I get a choice?” Peter asks, wary.

Tony just shrugs. “Considering what I just put you through and likely will do again? Why not.”

Peter nods once, licking his lips. There’s an immediate answer that comes to his head, of course, but does he want to ask for it? Is he even capable of asking for it? He honestly doesn’t know if he can get the words out.

And should he? What if the camera really isn’t turned off? What if Tony is messing with him to hurt him more? But then, why would he? He has total control already. There’s not much point. Breaking Peter too much won’t do anything for him if he intends to let him go, after all. Ben could easily take back whatever it is Tony is making him say or do for him if he damages Peter too much.

Tony’s quiet chuckle is what jolts him out of his thoughts. “If that’s what you want, all you had to do is say so, sweetheart,” he says, and Peter’s blush colors his cheeks anew as he realizes he’d drifted off in thought staring at Tony’s mouth.

Well. At least he doesn’t have to ask now. Tony flashes him what can only be described as a wicked grin and moves to settle between his legs.

Tony runs his hands over Peter’s thighs again. The motion is light and gentle, this time, and Peter rests his head back, taking a breath.

But Tony isn’t going to just do this and let him forget exactly who it is between his legs and why. He presses a kiss to Peter’s hipbone, catching him off guard. “Was this your first?”

Peter watches him with cautious eyes, still unsure. “Yes.” If Tony's words during the video were anything to go by, he doubts it will surprise him.

Tony doesn't seem surprised, but he is quiet for a long moment. “Let me make it up to you, then. I just need something from you, first."

There it is. The catch he’d been expecting. He’s already cursing himself for being so gullible, wondering if he can really hold out another day for Ben when this one has already been a mixture of every fantasy he's ever had and also literal hell, and then-

“A kiss.”

That’s the last thing Peter was expecting to hear. "What?"

“You heard me. I want you to bring your pretty self over here and kiss me. Or let me kiss you. I’ll take either.”

“Why?” Peter can’t help asking. If he was confused before, he's even more so now. Tony must know that he doesn't have much to give him in return, sure, but a kiss was not the kind of extortion that he'd been expecting.

“Because I don’t want to take the choice away from you to do it, and I might have to later if you don’t. Besides, if I’m going to ruin you, I may as well do it completely.” Tony smirks, nails trailing, ticklishly light, down his stomach and onto his thighs.

Peter's muscles clench under the touch, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. It’s not as if it isn’t true. Tony just doesn’t know exactly how much he’s already ruined him, and the reality is that he's barely done anything compared to what Peter knows he's capable of. Hell, that just might be the problem.

“By that logic, are you going to fuck me, too?” The words come out before he can really think through what he’s asking.

Tony straightens a little, taken aback by the question for a moment before his expression smooths out again. “I… No. It would take a lot for me to get to that point,” he tells him, though the words come slowly, as if he is weighing their truth while he says them. “A wide variety of torture would come first, especially in your case. The assignment I gave your uncle isn’t that big of an ask. I’m not anticipating that happening.”

Peter lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed by the words. “Right.” He hesitates to ask, given Tony has already given him more than he was expecting, but… the elder man has hinted at it too many times for him to not feel the need to ask. “What are you anticipating, then?”

Tony's expression darkens. The bite of his nails suddenly seems to be a bit firmer on his skin, toeing the previously unnoticed line between teasing and pinching.

“More denials, probably. Ben will have responded to what happened by morning. I’m sure he’ll try to negotiate. I may or may not accept, depending on how what he says holds up to what my intelligence says.”

“What if he still refuses?”

“Don't worry about that right now." It's not a reassuring answer.

“But–"

“I said we’ll worry about it then,” Tony responds, cutting him off. His tone is sharp, and Peter is still struck with a sudden fear that maybe he’d pushed his kindness just a little too far, overstepping the boundaries that were never defined but had to be there. "I don't like to repeat myself Peter. If you're looking for promises, I can't make any. Situations like this can change with the snap of my fingers." The implication isn't missed on Peter, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when the other man continues.

"Now–" Tony grips his cock suddenly, making him jolt a little at the pleasant-painful touch. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

The words, combined with the touch, make his cock throb. It's a distraction tactic, but an effective one, throwing him completely off the topic. “Yes, please.” Peter's words are barely a whimper.

“Then shut up before I fill your babbling mouth with mine,” Tony mutters, but before Peter can respond or even apologize, Tony's lips are wrapping around the head of his cock again and everything he might have been going to say is lost.

Tony’s mouth is hot and wet and frankly more amazing than he imagined, even after the half-assed first blowjob. His tongue slides against the underside of Peter’s length, pressing gently in all the right places to make him cry out and convulse under him. The addition of being able to see him do it is almost enough to make Peter blow his load immediately, but he tried to hold off. This is not an opportunity that he wants to waste, after all. If this isn't enough to satisfy him… well, he's going to be hurting for it tomorrow, that's for certain.

Between his newness and his hyper arousal, it still doesn't take very long for Tony to make him come. Tony’s mouth moves from his cock to attend to his balls, one hand still stroking him repeatedly, and even with his eyes squeezed closed, that’s all it takes for him to come with a strangled yell, spilling all over Tony's hand and his own stomach.

He’s vaguely aware of Tony dropping his cock, the feeling of the mob boss’s calloused hands smoothing from his hips down to his knees, straightening his cramping legs from where he'd been pulling on the ankle bonds unwittingly. Then he’s leaning forward, and Peter exhales the little air he has left in a soft moan as Tony’s hot tongue smooths against his skin, licking the expanse of his stomach clean.

Their eyes meet again for a second, and Tony licks his lips.

“It really is a shame I have to give you back." The mobster's voice is deliciously throaty, an unwelcome reminder of what they've just done. His eyes are nearly glowing with what Peter can only describe as malicious intent. "You’re such a delicious little thing. I’ve been needing a new slut for a while now, and you’re just my type.”

Peter's stomach clenches at the words, more than a small dose of fear and something he doesn't want to name twisting inside his gut, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s growing half hard again between them.

“But Ben would really have to fuck up for me to do that,” Tony continues, almost thoughtfully, as he gets to his feet and moves to fix Peter’s bonds. Peter lets him, almost in a daze from this surreal experience. Or maybe dissociated is the better word.

"Who knows. Maybe God will smile upon us, hm?” And with that, Tony flashes him a wicked grin and leaves him alone in the room.

~~~

It’s the next day before he sees Tony himself again.

Someone comes in and shoves a tray of food in his lap, untying one of his hands so that he can eat, and then disappears again.

Despite the crazy way this has gone suggesting otherwise, this isn’t the first bad situation he’s been in. It’s never been this severe, of course, but he’s certainly been tied up before, and Ben has made sure he can get out of most bonds, given proper time. It's all too easy, once he's left unattended, for him to get his other wrist and then his ankles free.

Well, maybe not all too easy. His food is cold by the time he gets completely free, and the room is barren and cold and the only exit is locked from the outside, but... well, he doesn’t have to spend the night in that uncomfortable position. No one else comes in, and whether they know he’s free from his bonds or not, he doesn’t know, but they leave him alone.

Until the next day. The door to his weirdly big cell bursts open suddenly, startling him awake, and Tony Stark stalks in, gun in hand and eyes glowing with ire.

Peter is on his feet almost before Tony orders him to get up, and he barely makes it a step back—his self-preservation instincts kicking in far too late—before Tony has reached him, grabbing his arm and dragging him out with a grip that verges on dislocating his shoulder if he pulls against it. He's still completely naked from the night before.

Now that the door is open, Peter can hear the commotion outside. Fighting. Yelling. Gunshots. And they’re heading right for it.

“Mr. Stark-“ he starts, uncertainly, but a look from Tony silences him. This is not the same man that was patiently taking care of him last night. That is long gone now.

Peter isn't sure which version of Tony Stark was the facade, but he's smart enough to know that now isn't the time to try to find out. His mouth snaps closed as soon as Tony looks at him.

“Shut up and do exactly as I tell you, or someone who doesn’t have to is going to die."

Peter doesn't need any more convincing.

He lets himself be dragged into a deserted meeting room– not far from the gun fight that's happening elsewhere in the house, judging by the echoes that are still bouncing around the hall, but in a space it hasn't reached yet. Tony shoves him onto his knees on the floor, settling in a chair.

“What are we-“ Peter tries, earning another cold side eye from the mobster.

“Waiting.” Tony sheaths the one gun he was holding in his belt and grabs another seemingly from nowhere, rubbing the barrel with his shirt for a moment before appearing satisfied. “Any more questions?”

Peter shakes his head mutely, leaning his head against the front of the chair and waiting.

The first time the door opens, it’s just two of Tony’s men. Peter startles so much that he almost jumps to his feet, but Tony's hand clamps on the back of his head, keeping him down. It’s obvious based on the way they’re dressed and the weapons they carry — and the lack of them being pointed at Tony — that they work for him, and that they knew he was in here.

“How many are alive?” is the first thing Tony asks.

“Most of them. There’s always a stray bullet or two, but I don’t think any of them are definitely dead. Not if we vacate in the next fifteen minutes, anyway.”

“Well, he better get his ass in here soon, then,” Tony says, mildly, as if the lives of the men outside are of no consequence to him. Of course they aren't. What were you expecting, Peter?

Peter swallows down his rising questions. He wants to ask who they’re talking about, what’s going on, but he knows it won’t be taken well if he does. He has a feeling even if the mild version of Tony Stark he was treated to yesterday actually exists, he would never show it in front of his men. He has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what's about to happen, anyway.

The men take up their places, and while he doesn’t exactly relax, Peter lowers his head again. He was told to wait, so that's what he does, steadying himself as best he can with deep, meticulously counted breaths.

Tony's grip relaxes on his head, but the hand stays in his hair, toying with his curls. Though it's almost calming, it also feels downright possessive.

The next time the door opens, he never gets to lift his head. Tony’s hand, which had drifted down, stroking long lines along the back of Peter's neck, fists into the fine hair at the base of it, keeping his head firmly down. Peter can see the gun on Tony's knee in his peripheral. That alone is enough to keep him from moving.

“I was beginning to think they’d killed you, despite my orders,” Tony says, fingers drumming almost lazily on the barrel of the weapon right across from Peter's head.

“You knew we were coming.” Ben’s voice pierces something in his chest. He’d suspected, of course, but hearing and knowing were two different things. “How?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out. Although I have to say, it was ridiculously predictable, especially for an officer of your caliber.” A backhanded compliment, Peter recognizes, but one that does nothing to diffuse the situation, nor does he think Tony intended it to.

“So." Tony's tone is too casual for their situation as he carries on. "Your men are nearly all injured, most of them probably close to dead, or at least equal in uselessness. You’re here. What you’re looking for is right here.” He tugs Peter's hair, yanking his head back hard enough to make him hiss. A tap on Peter's cheek with the barrel of the gun is enough to keep his eyes on him instead of drifting, like they'd started to, towards Ben. He finds Tony's dark eyes are alight with amusement and something much more dangerous. “Unfortunately I’m not very inclined to give him back to you now.”

“Let him go, Stark,” Ben snaps, and he knows from experience the way Ben looks right now, even with his gaze locked on Tony's; the way the muscle in his jaw is jumping with anger, body tense, a coil ready to spring from his place across the room. “It’s over.”

Tony laughs. It's nothing like the teasing laughs at Peter's expense last night. No, this sound makes every hair on his body stand up. “Is it? Really? If it’s over for anyone, it’s you, Parker. We had a deal. You broke it. This is what you get. Speaking of,” he adds suddenly, looking down at Peter again with those too-dark eyes, “We also had a deal, that I so kindly let you off of last night because you were too wrecked to hold to it. I think now would be a good time for you to own up to it.” The barrel of the gun he’s brandishing idly brushes his cheek again. “Don’t you think?”

Peter gulps, mind immediately set to racing. Fuck. What deal did they make? Had he said something last night in all his horny haste? Or maybe there was a conversation that had happened while he was drugged and he didn’t remember it?

Tony grins a little at his confusion. Ben tries to step forward, an argument ready to leave his open mouth, but Peter seems a dark haired man behind Tony step forward and cock a gun at him, freezing him in place.

“A kiss, Bambi,” Tony reminds, voice quiet and yet still carrying that dangerous edge. “You owe me a kiss.”

Oh. That. He can’t believe Tony let him forget, but then... did he really forget? If Tony remembered and knew about this, was he just waiting for this moment to collect? Or was he really just now remembering?

It didn’t matter. The comment on the way here about people dying made sense now, as it was obviously meant to. If he didn’t cooperate, Ben would die. Simple as that.

He starts to raise himself up, only to be pushed back to his knees by Tony.

“Oh, I changed my mind, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, an absolutely feral grin turning up his lips. “You’re going to kiss me, yes. But not on the lips.”

The innuendo sends a thrill down his spine, a mix of terror and nerves and something that could have been excitement or something else he was better off not naming-

“Move,” Tony orders, his voice cutting into Peter’s thoughts.

“Haven’t you already hurt him enough?” Ben snaps, and Peter risks a glance over to see him being held back by one of Tony’s men, nearly frantic in trying to get to him. “Leave him alone. I told you, it’s over. Even if you somehow make it out of here, they’ve got you for felony kidnapping charges at the least. You’ll be hunted-“

“What else is new,” Tony mutters, dismissive. He uses his grip on Peter's hair to make the boy drag his mouth along the inside of his thigh, clear up and over the bulge in his pants, then holds his head there. “Make a decent effort, Bambi, or next time it will be the gun,” he whispers for only Peter to hear.

Peter can barely nod against the grip on his hair. He feels like everyone in the room is watching as he slowly opens his mouth, tongue moving from the button of his pants all the way down the line of the zipper. He nips at the zipper piece, tugging it as hard as he dared with his teeth and looking up at Tony.

Tony just smirks back at him, eyes wicked and almost consumed by black pupils. Without taking his eyes off Peter, he says, “You might be right, Parker. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about. It’s not just over for me.” He lets go of Peter’s hair and shoves him back. “Up. Let's go.”

“No!” Peter looks toward the cry to see both men holding Ben back. “Peter! Stark, you can’t-“

Ben never gets to finish. One of the men takes out a gun, and before Peter even has time to panic, whips him across the face with the butt of it. Ben drops to the floor like a stone.

Tony turns to Peter with that feral grin, hooking an arm around his waist and pulling him in, kissing him for real. His tongue traces over Peter’s lips, which part automatically, then dips into his mouth, tasting and claiming.

He kisses him until Peter is panting and weak at the knees, and Tony’s arm is about the only thing keeping him on his feet. Then he finally pulls away, grinning, and tugs him toward the door. “Let's go, Bambi.”

~~~

Peter doesn’t get a chance to resist.

Tony has a firm grip around his waist and is tugging him out of the room before he’s even had a chance to recover his breath. He manages to get one last good look at Ben — breathing, he’s sure of that much, at least — and then he’s being dragged out.

Out of the room, out the back door, and into a car. Tony shoves him in the backseat and slides in beside him. Almost before the door has completely closed, the mobster has taken his wrists and cuffed them behind his back. He barely has time to wonder where in the world the cuffs came from before Tony has slid off his tie and is wrapping that around his eyes.

“What-“ He tries, but Tony cuts him off.

“Until we get to the jet, you can’t see anything. Secrets to be kept and all that. And no, don’t bother bombarding me with questions, because I either don’t have or won’t give you the answers right now.”

Peter frowns. Considering everything that just happened, he’s fairly sure asking a few questions should be justified. “Why do I have to be bound, at least?” It comes out much shakier than he intended.

Tony chuckles, pulling him against his seat. The sound isn't as hair raising as it was a few minutes before, but its still tinged with a manic, dangerous sort of joy. “Oh. Those are partially because you’re a flight risk, and partially just for fun.”

“For fun?” Peter repeats. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the flight risk comment. It seems stupid to. Even if he was inclined to try anything right now — which he isn’t; he needs way more information to try anything than what he has — he’s...naked and cuffed up in the back seat of a mobster’s car, with no idea what state he’s even in. What would he even do if he made it out?

“Yes. Fun. As cute as I’m sure you would be writhing around and hanging on me would be, I much prefer it when you’re still for me.” The mobster’s hand lands on his thigh, making him jump. “You being restrained and squirming for me has to be the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while. I think I’ll quite enjoy having you as a pet.” A hand wraps around his still exposed cock.

Peter stiffens, feeling his body start to respond to the touch almost instantly.

“Mr. Stark...”

What can only be the elder man’s mouth touches his shoulder, hot and wet, pressing kisses along and up it until he reaches his pulse point, sucking at it. Peter tamps down on a groan.

“Can’t wait to mark you all up,” Tony purrs. “As soon as we get to the safe house... fuck, baby, I can’t wait to make you scream.”

It’s hard to think with the elder man’s hand stroking his cock slowly and deliberately, the hot words and his mouth moving along his body. He tilts his head, baring his throat to him almost automatically, unable to help himself.

On one hand, the idea terrifies him. Being permanently separated from Ben and May, being Tony’s permanent... plaything. But on the other hand, Tony’s hands and mouth are warm and sending electricity along his body, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it won’t be so bad. Especially if there's any of the Tony that had visited him last night buried under this terrifying exterior.

“You’re hard as a rock, pretty boy,” Tony whispers against his skin. “Did you like being dragged around naked for everyone to see? Being forced to kneel, to use your mouth just for me, right in front of your uncle? When we get on the jet, you’re going to do it for real while I have my meeting. Suck me off nice and sloppy and loud, the whole time we’re there, in front of everyone. What do you think of that?”

That sends a shiver coursing through his body. The degradation and the absolute ownership in every word and touch is straight out of his deepest fears and his darkest desires.

“What if I say no?” His voice is weak and hoarse, even to his own ears. As the words leave his mouth, his hips squirm against the elder man’s touches.

“What if you say no?” Tony chuckles again, right by his ear. “Who told you that you get to say no, baby boy? You could try. And I suppose I could rape you until you couldn’t walk or talk and you’re so broken you don’t resist anymore. Or, if you really irritate me or I really don’t feel like fighting with you, I could sell you to someone who really doesn’t give a shit what you say. Or let the men use you for torture or target practice. Your uncle would be plenty horrified at that, I’m sure. Or...” Something cold and metallic touches his thigh, then trails up his body, pressing just insistently enough against his lips that he opens his mouth before he could think better of it. And he does think better of it, but not before he hears the safety click off and realizes that he just let Tony Stark slide the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“I could just kill you,” Tony finishes, his lips brushing hotly against Peter’s ear. “Whenever or wherever I feel like. I could kill you right here, but-“ he’s still stroking the boy’s cock, and Peter’s hips twitch and buck against him now. “It’d be a shame when you’re just so close to changing your mind, isn’t it?”

Peter had frozen against him sometime after he’d heard the safety click off, and even the dull pleasure of the man stroking his cock can’t quite overrule the spike of fear and clarity that hit him when he realizes Tony’s handgun is nudging the back of his throat.

Tony nuzzles his throat, turning the gun to create gentle friction inside his mouth. “I’m going to let you think about it until we get to the jet,” the mobster whispers against his ear. “Why don’t you come sit in Daddy’s lap now-“ the hand drops his cock and wraps around his waist, tugging his back firmly against Tony’s chest. "-and you can just hold my gun for me while you think about it, hm? But in the meantime, naughty little pets don’t get to come, so... may as well close your legs for now, sweetheart. I’ll have them wide open when we get there either way.”

The gun presses insistently at the back of his throat as Peter curls up in the man’s lap, head lolling back against his shoulder. The words may as well have been burned into him. None of this is about Peter; it’s about hurting Ben. Revenge. Tony wants what will burn Ben most, and he’s inclined to agree that escaping the country with him and knowing that he’s being kept as Tony’s personal plaything is probably what will upset Ben most. At this point, killing him would be a reprieve, and they all know it. Whether it’s one any of them want for him... well, he really doesn’t want to die, even if he knows it might be better for him.

So Peter stews over the words and doesn’t try to resist, knowing that in itself would be taken as a decision. And when Tony nuzzles his neck and orders him to suck, to practice for giving him head as if his life depends on it, because it just might, he does.

He sucks and licks at the barrel of the gun in his mouth, tongue circling the barrel and tickling the underside with the tip of it. He can taste the metal and gunpowder and idly wonders if that’s even safe for him to consume, but it’s too late now.

Tony continues toying with and turning the gun in his mouth until they arrive at their stop. By the time they do, drool has started running out of the corners of his mouth, and his jaw aches from both the tension and the position of having sat there the whole time.

Tony pulls the gun free of his mouth and holsters it without even wiping it off, and then scoops him up. Peter doesn't try to wipe his face but closes his mouth immediately, trying to work the stiffness out of his jaw before Tony makes him follow through on his threats.

The air is cold when they step outside. In all reality the temperature really isn’t all that bad, but, well, he’s still completely naked, so... it feels very cold.

Tony carries him for an indeterminate amount of time before he’s hit with a blast of warm air and, shortly thereafter, set on his knees. Soft murmuring around him alerts him to the presence of Tony’s men surrounding them, and the realization of exactly how public his degradation is sends a shudder through him.

He feels the light press of Tony’s knees against his shoulders and knows the mobster is getting comfortable above him. He sits there for several minutes, waiting, when he hears the click of the safety on the gun again. He jumps when the still-slick metal brushes his cheek.

“Time to make a choice, Bambi." Tony's voice is soft, the closest thing to gentle it's been all day. “You can rest here on your knees and keep quiet with my cock until daddy can get you somewhere and spread you out, or you can call your aunt and say goodbye and take a short trip outside with one of the men. Choose wisely.”

Peter gulps. He isn’t stupid; he knows exactly what the second option means.

He doesn’t want to die. He isn’t anywhere near desperate enough to say he does, not yet. And if he really becomes that desperate later... well, the men will all still be carrying guns later on, and there’s plenty of ways he could act out to end up getting killed, should he really decide he prefers that.

So he swallows, trying to wet his throat that already feels like sandpaper, and opens his mouth after only a moment of hesitation. He hears Tony chuckle quietly, feels the gun brush across his bottom lip as if considering it anyway before the mobster draws it away.

“Excellent choice,” Tony purrs, sliding the gun into his holster and gripping his hair. He lets himself be guided up on his knees, the cold press of Tony’s zipper against his cheek before he’s unzipping it and something hot and firm slides between his open lips.

“Someone get me earplugs for the boy. I don’t want him listening in while we talk business just yet.”

There’s some quiet muttering, and a moment later, something soft presses against one ear, then the other.

Silence prevails as his mouth is guided further onto Tony’s cock, and there’s literally nothing else for him to focus on besides the task set before him.

Peter closes his eyes under the blindfold and tries to make himself relax. It’s hard, impossible, even, to push the situation itself to the back of his mind, but at least it’s easier to pretend it’s just him and Tony again when he can’t see or hear anyone else. He can feel the mobster's hand still tangled in his hair, holding him there, firm and unyielding. Right now it’s still, simply keeping him there, not allowing him to pull off but not forcing him to do anything more than be.

That's where he stays for the next several hours, nothing but the endless dark and silence, and the hot, overwhelming presence of Tony Stark – the prospect of life with him, at least for the considerable near future, making everything feel so much heavier – lingering over him, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #sfsummerbingo23 #bingo fill #mafia au #mob boss tony stark #stockholm syndrome #tw: kidnapping #police officer ben parker #tw: dubcon #dubious consent

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starker-sorbet · 1 year

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Tony had planned this day meticulously. It was the annual meet up of the heads of New York's families, And it was to be the day all of them came under the Stark family's rule. He had carefully managed to place all the other's heirs and successors under his control. Either by way of bribery or force. All that was left was to take out those blocking their path to the top. It wouldn't be too hard a task as even the other head's guards were (mostly) now under Tony's sway and wouldn't respond to cries of alarm. But it could still be difficult as no one was to be allowed guards or weapons in the meeting room itself. Sure he knew the others had no doubt hidden weapons on their person, as would he, but those weren't the sort that could defend against a dedicated gunman. They were the sort to hold one off until the guards could enter. Guards either under Tony's power or ones who would be dealt with by them. That's why he chose Peter for the task. Every other boss at the meeting only saw a piece of arm candy, a wife at most, when they looked at Peter and so wouldn't note him as a threat. What they didn't see was his other role in the Stark family. Oh they were lovers that much was true but was Peter so much more. He was Tony's personal assassin. And the perfect person to do the actual killing. After all no one thinks to frisk the sugar baby for a gun do they. Their hubris and dismissal of Peter would be their downfall and Tony would reap countless rewards from it. Rewards he would share with his lover of course. He wouldn't be making their mistake not now or ever.

@tstarksbingospectacular fill : G3 - Mafia au bingo card below

#tstarksbingospectacular #starker #peter parker is over 18 here #mafia au #mafia boss tony #assassin peter #moodboard #my moodboard

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suspicious-owl-mcu · 9 months

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Inspired by the work of @authoressofdarkness and @vaguekiwi

Brushstrokes and Bloodstains

🔥You. Need. Read. This🔥

P.S. Russian translation is also available💜

#starker #ironspider #tony stark #peter parker #mafia boss tony #mafia au #soulmate au #artist peter #moodboard #fanfic

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askmafiabobvelseb · 7 months

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*Jonah has spotted the infant*

"Ew... What is that, a rat?"

(She's a lil dumb sometimes, forgetting her own species-)

"He's staying with us until his mom can pay us back."

#bob velseb au #mafia au #spooky month #spooky month au #art #ask the mafia boss #ask mafia bob velseb #bob vesleb #mafia bob velseb #bob velseb spooky month #don't you dare say peter parker istf.#lilyflame0036 jonah #lilyflame0036 #lilyflame0036 oc

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khalixascorner · 2 years

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Another lovely commission by @sausageg for my fic A Debt Paid In Soul. The fic is NFF so proceed with caution if you choose to read it.

Link to work here

#Starker #hybrid au #khalixa writes #tony stark/peter parker #mafia au #mafia boss tony #serval Peter #Black Tiger Tony #Alpha tony #omega Peter #omegaverse

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kur0t0-s1m · 1 year

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I like the idea of bonded/mated omega Peter generally being sweet as pie and friendly to most people until someone decides to talk shit about the pups and all bets are off.

If its he's bonded/mated to Mob boss Tony or SIM Tony all it takes is one word to Tony (or Bucky if he's Peter's personal bodyguard) to make sure that the offender never thinks to speak poorly of his children again, he may handle it himself if it feels right, either my knocking the living daylights out of them or by reading them for filth, he'll make them regret opening their mouths to begin with

The first few times they're made examples of to make sure no one else makes the same mistake. Anything after that depends on what mood Tony or Peter are in, maybe their in a good mood and decide to have you beat up and thrown out, you're injured, but alive. Maybe they'll torture you for a while and have a bit of fun, you're pretty fucked up, but once again the fact they let you go alive is a blessing. If they have Bucky or another one of Tony's men deal you, then what you said was particularly egregious to Tony and/or Peter. You can consider yourself on pack watch since they don't plan on letting you out alive.

In cases where he's still fairly timid (even if he has no shame whatsoever in letting Tony use him whenever and wherever he pleases) he tries to ignore it, but eventually he breaks, and after Tony comforts him the offender is swiftly and brutally dealt with, even if Peter tried to plead their case despite their slight Tony makes sure that everyone knows what awaits them if they upset his mate. It's a well known secret that if you want to remain unharmed and alive that you watch what you say about the Boss's/Superior's family, unless you really feel like being taken off the census.

#starker #peter parker #sim!tony #tony stark #tony x peter #omegaverse #mafia tony stark #mob boss tony stark

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macadoodlewrites · 2 years

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The Devil Doesn’t Bargain - Prologue (Peter Parker Mob AU)

Summary: Peter Parker is well on his way to taking over his adoptive father’s business – but with new threats emerging, Peter and Tony Stark decide that a deal between rivals needs to be brokered. A marriage proposal between enemies brings Hallie straight into the arms of Peter, and it won’t take her long to realise that escape will not be easy.

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, dub-con behaviour, torture, smut, swearing

Ships: Peter Parker x OC

Main Masterlist

The Devil Doesn’t Bargain Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Being woken up by a banging on his door was not how Peter Parker wanted to start his Saturday morning; it wasn’t how he wanted to start any morning. Perhaps if the knocking had come from a woman - preferably naked - or someone holding a wad of cash for him, then he may have been less angry. But as he knew that the only people with access to the house were Ned Leeds, Harry Osborn or MJ Watson, he felt perfectly justified in yelling, “What the fuck do you want?”

It was Harry knocking. “Get your ass up, Tony wants you.”

“Well Tony can go fuck himself and come and see me if he wants me.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Pete,” Harry hollered back. “Just check your damn phone.”

Peter could hear Harry’s footsteps echoing in the hallway as he walked away, probably back to his own bedroom with MJ. If Tony had contacted Harry, it must be important - Tony was the leader of the Stark Mob, one of the most feared gangs in Northern America, and Peter was being groomed to take over the empire. He already had a name for himself as it was - a name that struck fear when mentioned - but he wanted Tony’s title.

Which meant for now, he answered Tony’s calls and messages when required.

Not that Peter didn’t respect Tony - quite the opposite. His parents and Uncle had died when he was ten, and since that day twelve years ago, Tony had inserted himself into his life as a surrogate father, and helped his Aunt May out with tuition, contacts, and practically raised him alongside her. May had been killed two years ago, and since then, Tony had adopted Peter only months before his twenty-first birthday, securing Peter’s place in his dynasty.

He turned over, reaching across his king-sized bed for his phone. Four missed calls from Tony, and even one from Pepper. There was a text above all of the calls.

Meet me at base. Now.

Within an hour, Peter was dressed in his usual attire - white dress shirt, black blazer, black trousers, an extremely overpriced watch, and cufflinks with his initials etched into them - and walking into the Stark base. No one bothered him as he went by, he was only given the occasional nod from some of the higher-ups. He didn’t return them. This was business, and his image as the cold, unapproachable, son of the boss was something that he had carefully crafted and wanted to keep.

Tony’s office was to the back of the base, and Peter knocked as a courtesy before walking in. Tony was sat behind his large black granite desk in his cream leather chair , a stack of files in front of him. There was a large glass of brandy in his hand, and his hair was mussed-up, as if he had been running a hand through it. He barely glanced up as Peter walked in.

“Sit.”

Peter walked towards the side table next to the cream leather sofa, poured himself a glass of brandy from the glass tumbler, and then took a seat in front of Tony’s desk.

“It’s nine in the morning, Tony. Little early to be drinking?”

Tony placed his own glass down on his desk and stared Peter down, his eyes tired behind his glasses. “I could say the same to you.”

Peter raised his glass in a mock-cheers. “Careful there, you almost sound like my father.”

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to one, kid,” replied Tony, but there was affection underlying his tone. “I have a job for you - a long term one. And you’ll need the boys and their skills to help you.” Peter, Harry and Ned were the perfect team, and Tony knew it.

“Alright. Why the urgency?”

Peter watched as Tony downed the amber liquid in his glass and took in his appearance. Asides from his tired eyes and rumpled hair, his shirt was creased, the top button undone, and his tie was loose. This was not Tony Stark, leader of the most successful mob in Northern America, the commanding billionaire that the public feared. No, this was the rare Tony that only his family - including Peter - saw.

“My house was broken into last night,” Tony said, and stood up to get himself another drink. Years of keeping control of his emotions was the only thing that stopped Peter from dropping his drink. “They nearly made it to mine and Pepper’s bedroom. Both Pepper and Morgan are fine, and in one of our other houses. I fired fifteen men this morning for incompetency and have had to check over every one of our cameras and security systems. We caught the men who broke in and they’re currently in interrogation.” Peter couldn’t help but snort. Interrogation meant that the intruders were dead men walking.

“How did they find your address? It’s not on any of our records,” Peter replied, leaning forwards. “The same as mine.”

“It looks like we may have a mole,” Tony explained, his glass nearly full. “But that’s not what concerns me. It’s the who.”

“And who were they?”

“Whittingham men. That was all of the information that we could find on them. They swallowed pills as soon as they were captured, so I have no idea if they were there to harm Pepper, kidnap my daughter, or kill me, but it won’t happen again.”

Gears were turning in Peter’s head. There weren’t many families that would dare put themselves in the same category as the Starks, but the Whittingham’s were one of them. Dominic Whittingham, the leader of their organisation had been locked in a rivalry with Tony for the better part of a decade. They were influential and powerful - clearly more powerful than Peter had estimated as they’d somehow broken into Tony’s house.

“What’s the job?” Peter asked.

For the first time since entering the office, Tony smiled. He sipped from his drink and placed himself back at the desk, then slid three files over to Peter.

He opened them. One was the file on Dominic Whittingham - Peter had read through it many times. Know thy enemy, and all that. Dominic was known for his wealth, his charitable contributions to society, and presented himself as a good man. To anyone on the flip side, in the depths of illegal activity as Peter and Tony were, Dominic was as crooked as they came.

The next was on Aiden Whittingham, the heir to the family legacy. He was essentially Peter’s twin, on the other side of the game, the one groomed to take over eventually. Peter had also read through this file many times.

And the final one was on the daughter. Halston Whittingham.

He knew this file well. It was much smaller than her father’s and brother’s. As far as anyone was aware, she had no dealings in the family business, no hand in any illegal activity. She was a socialite, she attended events for charities, cut ribbons at ceremonies, appeared in magazine covers for her style and family name, and had a reputation as innocent as her father’s was blackened.

Peter had also done his own separate research on her before, pitched ideas to Tony...

“Tony,” Peter started, staring down at the picture attached to the file. A pretty blonde, smiling widely into the camera. “Why am I looking at her file? What is the job?”

Tony leaned forwards; hands clasped as he leaned on his desk. “It involves Miss Whittingham, Peter...”

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#peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #dark!peter parker #mob!peter parker #mafia!peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #dark!spiderman #marvel imagine #tony stark imagine #tom holland imagine #mafia boss au #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker x oc

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pepperonyfic · 1 year

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The Secrets We Keep

Author: Us_Alive Rating: Not Rated Word Count: above 20K Genre(s): Romance, Drama Film-specific: no Tropes: AU, Mafia AU, Peter Parker, Dad! Tony, Mom! Pepper, Pregnancy, Morgan Stark

Summary: “Who are all these people?” Pepper looked at the crowd forming around them.

Tony flashed his million-dollar smile that always made Pepper melt. “Don’t worry about them Pep, it’s just business.”

So, Pepper let it go. She shouldn’t have.

Pepper's life was perfect. Tony was the perfect husband, gentleman and he made her feel like the luckiest woman alive. It was everything she dreamed of.

But she soon finds out Tony's biggest secret. So she hides her biggest secret by running away. Problem is, Tony is not about to let her go.

Part 1 of The Ironfather

READ HERE: AO3

#a: us_alive #au #mafia au #mafia boss #Mom!Pepper #Dad!Tony #pregnancy #peter parker #morgan stark #kidnapped tony #kidnapped peter #g: romance #established relationship #g: angst #g: drama #w: above 20K

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winterspiderpurrs · 9 months

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Prompt:

Peter is Mob Boss Tony's favorite [ stripper/waiter/hotel receptionist/coffee/deli/newspaper delivery whatever person] so sure he offers to help Peter out if he needs him. Which we all know means you are gonna owe him a favor.

But as Peter is locked in the bathroom at his boyfriends apartment, nursing a bruised eye, busted lip and a sprained wrist.

He finally calls him to help him escape the bathroom. Maybe even have the threats toward Peter being over heard on the phone when he calls.

And cause I like dramatics.... wouldn't it it be funny that Peter's boyfriends name was Howard. And it gives Tony flash backs of his abusive dad???? Just maybe he will help out for free...

#writing prompt #someone please write this #tony stark x peter parker #starker prompt #peter parker x tony stark #starker #mob au #mob tony stark #mob boss tony stark #mafia!tony #mafia au #winterspiderpurrs

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theginkosakata · 2 years

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Starker Week Latina 2022

Dia 4: "Tú corazón esta latiendo rápido" / Mafia!AU

#starkerweeklatina2022 #starkerweek2022 #starker!moodboard #mafia!au #mob boss!tony #italian!tony #college student!peter #IronSpider #Tony x Peter #Tony Stark/Peter Parker #mafia boss!tony #mafia au #ginko posts

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monster-cock69 · 2 years

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so i was listening to russian roulette by Rihanna and i was thinking about a mob au where peter has to make his first kill in order to prove himself to boss tony

#starker #mob au #peter parker #tony stark #avengers #marvel #spiderman #iron man #prompt #someone please write this #mob boss tony #mafia au

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shona22 · 2 years

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Favourite crime

Mob boss! Tony x Escort Peter

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ao3 for better experience

Tw: mentions of physical and s*xual abuse very briefly! Heads up.

He spotted a sleek black car, a maserati, waiting for him just on the right of his building. Peter sucked in air, he briefly wondered if the car would switch gears and pick him up from his curb but when that didn’t happen Peter made his way across the street. The glasses were tinted. He knocked, politely.

“Get in.” A man said, his voice rough as it reached Peter and the backdoors automatically opened. He slid in, making sure not to stumble like a newborn fawn–which, granted, a lot of his clients had preferences for but he didn’t have any data on Mr. Stark and even with his fallible, but extensive, googling, Peter felt like his hands were tied behind. Sure, the man had a few leaked tapes but it was too grainy and insubstantial for Peter to even consider as a viable control. Which means Peter has to look at bodily cues and pick up the gimmicks.

Thankfully, not his first rodeo.

The engine of the car started smoother than the leather seat Peter perched himself upon. The driver wasn’t facing him but he could see a burly man, maybe even softer around the edges–physically, he had his eyes trained on the road studiously, as if Peter didn’t exist in the backseats.

“So,” Peter tried, hands steepled tightly between his thighs. “Where are we going exactly?”

“Upstate.” The driver replied curtly.

Upstate. Okay, Peter could do that. That’s not terribly far and statistically speaking, rather than not just jumping onto unfounded fears, sex workers rarely went missing in Upstate, New York. Although, perhaps, it has to do with the fact that his co-workers did not, could not, willingly visit the area or make it their usual habitat–so, maybe, statistics won’t save Peter.

“Is…Are we going to the Stark Tower?”

No answer.

Peter crossed his arms, hugging his belly to pacify the turbulence inside, waging war upon war but it couldn’t be helped. Big buildings streaked across the tinted glass, variants of colors, and people, leisurely walking past without a second glance. A family of four had settled down in an outdoorsy restaurant, with vines crawling up the sides of a woodwork table. A girl who looked Peter’s age smiled balefully at the warm food, her eyes downcast and a young boy happily kicked his legs, stamping big leafy vegetables with a silver fork. Their parents talked amicably.

They were just on the other side of the door but to Peter, it all felt very distant–as if he were watching a blotched Saturday night special on his smartphone. As coldness gripped his chest, Peter turned his gaze back onto his lap.

“5 mins ETA.” The driver quipped but this time his voice had lost the edge and his eyes flicked back towards Peter through the mirror. Peter nodded in acknowledgement, taking in a shuddering breath.

It was the Stark Tower.

The maserati took a thinner road, the one not entirely illuminated by the over-head brighter-than-life lights of the tower, and parked straight over an elevated, long land. The land itself was acres long, cleanly heaped with black pitched road sandwiched between stripes of fresh greenery. A bit ahead were pale colored cobblestone pavement taking one directly towards the big revolving backdoors of the tower. Peter assumes this is where the housing quarters were and the front part of the building were packed with offices for, uh, more legal Stark industries businesses.

"So…" Peter hedged, pushing the door open.

"Head straight up, after the 10th floor you have to change elevators. It'll take you up to the penthouse. Staff will guide you."

"Thanks, uh, Mister. Uh. Yeah," Peter rushed out of the cars, ears burning. God, can his Parker genes stop embarrassing him for once? Especially in front of... a probable henchman of one of the most dangerous men alive?

"It's fine, kid." The man said and Peter picked a trace of humor there. He gulped as the car took off shortly, letting himself gaze longingly as the distance increased between them. The weather was not inhospitable this evening, but nothingless an almost hallucinatory coldness lent its hand through Peter's spine and the boy jerked back from his stupor.

The first elevator was unmanned and as stated, only had options for 10 floors and an underground driveway, including the ground floor. The doors of the elevators opened with a smooth click and the same discombobulated voice, with a tinge of Irish mannerism roared over the intercoms.

“Welcome, Peter Parker.”

Peter jolted back and looked up at the ceiling, wondering from which direction the person was watching. The ground floor had large, tiled walls that effused a certain sophisticated taste–frankly, to Peter it looked like a chess board. The edges of the wall and tiles were painted with a rich golden color and a deep red insignia was placed above the huge silver doors of the elevators.

The Stark-Carbonell family insignia.

The deep, wine red bled into the protruded and entangled S and C, which were dappled in gold. The spotted surface made it look like a well utilized bulletproof mantle. A small, almost invisible to naked eyes, set of equally golden wings were carved below the letter.

Peter blinked. A delicate nerve twitched inside his head, bringing forth a score of washed down memories. He shook his head, trying to make sense of the images he was flung with suddenly but even after striving so hard, and for so long the unnatural sense of nostalgia didn’t make sense.

“Mr. Parker?” the voice enquired. “Boss is waiting for you.”

“Right.” Peter jerked his chin upward, hoping the suspiciously incorporeal entity would get it. “I am on my w-way. I apologize.”

The elevator doors opened again with the same noise, which means Peter hadn’t noticed they had closed before. He stepped inside the plush looking box and let the soft thrum of the pulley lull him into a calm tenor, enough to not get killed at first sight.

The penthouse spanned the last five floors and Peter was succinctly taken to the top-most.

His first step outside the elevators felt muted against the carpeted floor and Peter had half a thought of taking his shoes off–but soon, a man attaried in black came into his views, and he was definitely wearing shoes.

“Peter Parker?” The man asked. His voice was soft but his stance clearly emitted a sense of coldness. Peter raised his gaze and found a pair of muddy green eyes on a beautifully dangerous face.

“Uh, Yes? I mean, I am Peter Parker.”

The man’s lips twitched briefly before he turned around all the way, “Follow me, please.”

They stopped in front of another door–which, god, this place had so many?--and the man grabbed him by his arms. Due to instinct, Peter tried to wrench himself away but the man’s grip was distinctly more powerful, more…metallic–yet one thing the boy noticed was that the grip wasn’t necessarily bruising. It didn’t charr Peter’s flesh, just bunched up his shirt as if the hold was more hollow, but firm.

An eclectic whizz surrounded them briefly, raising gooseflesh on Peter’s skin but the whizzing stopped in a beat, just as a red ray of light glided across the heavy paneled door.

“CLEAN.”

The man took a step back, letting go of Peter’s arms and the boy followed suit. The paneled door cracked open without sound, so slowly that Peter expected smogs of liquid nitrogen would start dispensing any moment just for the drama.

The man left him inside–what Peter could assume from the looks of–the main condominium.

Ah, that was relatively…less security than Peter thought Mr. Stark would have.

Peter walked forward inside the dwelling, which was neither humble nor hedonistic. However it was much more luxurious and palatial than any other penthouse suits Peter was ever summoned to due to the floor to ceiling glasses that overlooked the city. It’s triple glazed and so iridescent that one might mistake it for a screen at the movie theater. Peter unconsciously placed his hand on the glass, watching as small drops of condensation formed through the heat of his palm against it. The city below is a mere mish-mash of light and streaks of colors, ant-like people going their way without a care that Peter was up there, watching them. The horizon feels more futuristic than Peter imagined, with skyscrapers taller than the Stark tower just sitting like hounds at its side and dozens, and millions of fluorescent lights setting the tall buildings ablaze. He wouldn’t be surprised if a car flew past right about now.

“I have heard the view is something of a wonder, eh, Mr. Parker?”

Peter turned around sharply.

The room had an extensive, beautifully crafted leather couch in the smack dab middle of the area. It had a somber but lavish appearance, a maroon-ish cloth was draped half way across the seats with a couple of white cushions thrown around. On the edge of the couch sat Mr. Stark in all his domineering glory.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter starts, “Sir…”

The man lifted his hand and Peter spotted a glass filled with faded amber liquid, which he brought up to give a tiny sip. “Drink?”

“N-no, thank you.” Peter answered, pulling his gaze away from the man’s lips as a small tongue darted out to lick a droplet. “I mean, I don’t drink on duty.”

Mr. Stark snorts, but it’s not cruel. The boy risked a glance, letting himself subtly ogle at the sitting man. He was wearing taut gray trousers which intimately hugged the older man’s thigh and crotch, giving it a delicious definition. Above, he donned a stylized maroon shirt, not so different from the cloth on the sofa, unbuttoned upto the second which let Peter hungrily seek his long and thick throat.

“,,,and what would you say to that?”

“Um,” Peter blinked back into reality, a dark flush covered his ears. “Can you please say that again?”

Mr. Stark pointed at the other end of the sofa and Peter took the cue to sit down, pushing his thighs together to take as little space as possible. “So…Hammer is your regular, I presume?”

Peter jerked his head to look at the man, panic rising at full tilt and making him go breathless. “Mr. Stark, I can’t…I cannot divulge such information, sir,”

Mr. Stark raised one thick eyebrow, his mouth askew, “Nothing about Madame Frost either, eh?”

“No, sir,” Peter heaved out a breath, “I cannot–”

“10 grand everytime you speak the truth, how about that?”

Peter stopped in his tracks, eyes going rounder. “What?”

Mr. Stark clicked his tongue, “I thought you were intelligent Peter, what do you think I am offering you?”

“You are…” Peter’s words were choked. 10 grand per truth, but truth about what exactly? He had signed more than hundreds of NDA, all with the same information written page after page: this is a legally binding contract that establishes a confidential relationship. The party or parties signing the agreement agree that sensitive information they may obtain will not be made available to any others, which if the signee breaches, he/she may face…

Peter earned a little above 8 grand every month– shoved inside cardboard boxes and shoe racks and sometimes the kitchen cabinet. It’s would be selling short the troubles sex workers go through daily to keep their money if Peter were to start now, but in such situation it’s needless to say Peter has no savings at all. 10k every answer meant Peter gets to go home without caring about groceries for the next month, hiding with the lights off as another shark-eyed money lender kicks on his door with threats of the worst kinds. It means Peter can actually start to save up for a GED and–

Quentin had his body draped across Peter’s and he’s broader, stronger, much older. His eyes glinted in the dark, nondescript alley while his grip against Peter’s throat felt like a chain of needles, and all the boy could do was–

“I am sorry. Mr. Stark,” Peter felt his voice wobble. The words came out in the correct sequence however, so he continued. “I am not legally allowed to…to tell you anything about my other clients.”

“Mmh,” Mr. Stark hummed, taking a larger sip of the whiskey. His left hand rubbed his own thigh and Peter didn’t dare to look. “I was hoping it would be easier, Peter.”

Peter looked up from under his lashes, “W-what would be, sir?”

“That I don’t have to hurt you. You're really pretty, you know?” Mr. Stark said, a derisive nod was made towards the boy. He deposited the now empty glass on the coffee table, leaning forward enough that Peter could see something shiny and metallic against the man’s left side–which was blind spot for the boy until now. “Tell me, Parker, do you have family? Friends?”

Feeling his own breath coming in a shorter, much colder burst, Peter clenched his hands against his knees. The leather of the couch was a perfect anchor, the texture slightly aggravated so he could lean into it and try to focus on the surroundings. It was not a time for panic attacks. “No, sir, I..I…I don’t have anyone.”

“Good,” Tony clapped his hands together, a grin creeped up on his face. “Just wondering about damage control, guess I don’t have to.”

A harsh, frigid finger seized Peter’s rabbit heart. His legs started shaking.

“So, say, Pete.” Mr. Stark had stood up. He softly clicked the blunt head of the gun against Peter’s chin, pushing it upwards. “You have quite a few options here. I am a generous man like that, so... carefully choose one.”

Peter sweated, hair clumped against his forehead. He felt like he couldn’t move his arms, his fingers were numb and so was his body.

Options. He had options.

One, he agrees to Mr. Stark’s generous offer, which would lead Quentin to not so generously shackle him down in an old, moldy basement. But obviously, he would not let Peter perish. Quentin had promised Peter; he would pulverize the boy’s will to live but he won’t let him die.

Two, let Mr. Stark end his life, here and now. No more grinding his teeth as he let old men and women cop a feel, pushing him down onto beds their spouses slept. No more letting Quentin get the best of him. No more money lenders to fend off. No more Peter Parker.

He really did have an option, didn’t he.

Peter pushed his chin harder into the muzzle, letting his eyes speak as he stared at the older man. Even now, with eyebrows drawn together and mouth pinched on the side of disappointment, Mr. Stark looked heavenly. Their position might not be, in any sense, normal but Peter did feel his cheeks getting warmer under the older man's blistering gaze.

“Daddy?”

And just like that, the moment breaks.

Peter whirred around, eyes focusing on a tiny girl. She was rubbing her eyes furiously, yawning like a newborn fawn. She wore a blue pajama set with patterns like spaceships all over them. It looked comfortable. Unintentionally, Peter couldn’t help mentally suqeeing at how adorable the child was.

“Morguna.” Mr. Stark’s voice dropped an octave, soft. “What's up baby, nightmares?”

The child walked over unsteadily, astonishingly comfortable in the presence of a pale faced stranger. "Are you scaring People again?"

The expression on Mr. Stark's face...it was...Peter couldn't put a finger on it. It felt totally barren of his previous titillating emotions, the one that had made the man look dangerous, like a prey animal, a panther maybe. Now, he just looked... fond.

The little girl wrapped his arms around Me.Stark's waist, burying her face into his sides. "Morgan, you shouldn't be here, darling."

"I know," She murmured, "It's just. It's...you know."

A warm sigh left Mr. Stark's plump lips. He ran his fingers through the kid's brown hair, the affection in the movement almost choking Peter. What was happening?

"Peter," Mr. Stark addressed him. "Cats out of the bag then."

"W-what? I don't understand…"

"I wasn't going to kill you, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. This isn't the first time a client had called him so, and it shouldn't affect Peter as badly-- considering just moments ago he believed he was about to die. But the cadence in the older man's voice, a trace of… adoration, made Peter flush with warm emotion.

"No? But you...I can't-"

Mr. Stark picked up the little girl-- Morgan-- with practiced ease, who appeared to have dozed off now with her face tightly smushed against her father's chest. He took the seat adjacent to Peter, still caressing the head full of chestnut hair-- not so unlike her father. "I was messing with you. It’s not even loaded, see?" With that, the older man dropped the gun on the space inbetween .

"I," Peter started but didn't touch the gun, he took in a deep heap of oxygen but before he could truly gather himself, he said. "Who the fuck messes around like that? Jesus," then a beat later, when he finally came back to himself: “Sorry, that was. I didn’t mean it that way, Mr. Stark–”

Mr. Stark chuckled lowly, there were smile lines gracing his face. It took Peter's breath away at how effortlessly handsome he was. "Totally my fault, but seriously, you want to die that bad, kid?"

Peter shifted in his seat, eyes falling back into his lap. "Not really."

"I kind of gathered." Mr. Stark's eyes studied him and it made Peter flush further. "You are…virtuous. Which is great for the arrangement I want to propose, really. No complaints from this side."

"An arrangement?"

"Well, firstly, I'm buying you off of Quentin."

"You're what?"

Mr. Stark blinked at this gaping face, "I'm buying you that cretin, Parker. He's affecting our business image."

Peter took in the information with a grain of salt. "How is that related to me? I…I mean I didn't do anything…?"

"Quentin worked under our contract," Mr. Stark explained. "New York is my area but that stronzo breached our contract, I wouldn’t have dipped my own hand in this shit show if this complete nincompoop wasn’t affecting Stark industry side. And I need you to provide me with the information, Parker. His records are clean slate, like a newborn. No way I can kick him out without those substantial details."

"I can't…I will…he.." Peter floundered for words. He felt himself swallowing back a sob. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I can't."

Suddenly a hand reached and took hold of Peter's chin gently. It was hot, the skin where it had touched Peter felt like electricity. "Peter,"

Peter looked up.

"What's stopping you?"

"You don't know him, Mr. Stark." Peter begged and didn't even feel embarrassed that he was choking up, eyes already wet.

"That's why I want you to help me uncover his tracks. Put him in his place." Mr. Stark was quiet for a bit. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Mr. Stark?"

"You'll be under constant surveillance, under my men's protection. He won't be able to touch a single hair on that pretty head of yours." Mr. Stark's words were heavy but it touched Peter like a waft of fresh air. The older man's face was inscrutable under the ambient lighting of the room but his eyes had gone darker.

Mr. Stark leaned back, breaking eye contact to smooth his hand across Morgan's hair again. If Peter didn't know better, he would say the man appeared almost bashful.

Why me? Peter wanted to ask, but he ended up swallowing that thought. Instead: “What about me…? I mean, if Quentin went out of business, what would I do? I don’t have any backup, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark flicked his gaze back up, “What do you want to do?”

Peter blinked, averted his gaze to stare at the interesting patterns on the carpets. He wondered if this was a test–or the man was messing with him again. Slowly, Peter took the plunge and answered, “I do not have the privilege to want anything, Mr. Stark but…being able to survive without putting myself on display would be. Good.”

The man nodded slowly, “Nothing else on your bucket list? Think hard, I know there’s a brain in there. ”

“I don’t know. I want to get my GED, go to college…be a scientist, of sorts.” Peter let out a laughter that was more wet than he intended to lay out, “Like I said, it’s nothing special but…not something people like me can want.”

“It does matter,” Mr. Stark's voice touched Peter warmly and a minute shiver wrecked across his body. He hoped the man didn’t notice. “We will get that done then. Get you to college, get you a degree and then…”

Peter whipped his head to stare at the man, incredulous, “Then?”

“Then you can join Stark industries R&D department. Or some other company, get that head of yours some space to grow.” Mr. Stark stopped. “But seriously, I hope you join Stark industries.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter felt his heart quiver, “Why are you doing this?”

“Consider it as compensation for the work you’ll be doing for us.” The man dropped his gaze, again. “God knows you’re due a pay raise, kid.”

Kid.

“I am not a kid, though.”

“You were one, when you started this.”

Peter sucked in a breath.

“Am I wrong?” Mr. Stark asked, his eyes still downcast.

Peter doesn’t dignify it with a verbal answer and hoped his silence in the matter was enough.

“What do you say?” Mr. Stark questioned. There was something in his voice that Peter couldn’t pinpoint–because desperation seems so out of character for someone like Mr.Stark to express.

Peter looked straight at the man, letting his shoulder slump back. “I’ll…I would like to think about it.”

A small smile appeared on the older man’s face, making it hard for Peter to connect the man on the couch with downy hair with the disconcerting image of Anthony Edward Stark on thousands of newspaper articles, being compared to words like ruthless and vicious.

“Done,” Mr. Stark said, pressing a tender kiss on his daughter’s messy hair.

#tony stark #starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker fic #tony x peter #my fic updates #mob boss au #mob boss tony stark #escort! peter parker #mafia au

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

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new purchase

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Mob! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You just got a new expensive lingerie set and decided to tease your mafia boss boyfriend with some sexy pictures.

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: modern setting, mafia boss bucky, established relationship, nude photos, dom bucky, smut, vaginal sex, mirror sex, lingerie kink, hair-pulling, doggy style, butt slapping, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

Author's note: I'm back🥹 Tumblr blocked my account again, but thank God support replied and everything is fine now. put community labels if you don't want to end up like me lol. I'm returning to re-upload everything. thank you for the support💞💞

As soon as the message from you popped up on Bucky’s screen, he was no longer involved in the conversation with his people, who were reporting on the situation that got a few men killed.

No, now his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone. To the photo that you sent him, to be exact. You were standing in front of the mirror in the new blue lingerie set that Bucky definitely hadn't seen before.

“miss you, baby.”

Bucky took a deep breath, studying every little thing in the photo—from your half-hidden smile to the soft skin of your legs and stomach—and noticing the way your boobs were perfectly sitting in that almost see-through bra. Fuck, to be right now on top of you instead of sitting here was a dream. You knew what effect you had on him and that Bucky loved your expensive lingerie, but he couldn't just leave now, right? Controlling Brooklyn was not easy, especially when some brave idiots tried to threaten him.

“please, Jamie…”

Another text message with an attached picture appeared in front of him, and his pants immediately became much tighter. Now it was from another angle. You were on the bed on your hands and knees, your spine perfectly arched to show your round ass in just a little piece of fabric that shouldn’t even be considered underwear.

Flashbacks from all the times Bucky was holding your hips while thrusting into you from behind filled his head and he almost wanted to moan out loud. No, it was impossible to listen to whatever Peter was saying, especially when it was the first time you sent such photos.

“You better stay in this position, baby. I'm coming.” He typed quickly before suddenly getting up from his fancy leather chair, making the whole room go quiet.

“D-did I say something wrong, boss?” Peter’s face became white. Bucky probably looked really angry right now, but only because he couldn't touch you and bury himself in your heat at that exact moment.

“I didn't listen, Parker. I need to go; finish here without me. Steve, you're responsible.” Bucky took his jacket and stormed out of the room without another word.

***

You were walking around the bedroom in nervousness, as if it were your first time waiting for Bucky from work. But now something was different, though. You knew that he was busy, and you hated disturbing him, but after looking in the mirror at yourself for too long, you got so confident and bold that you decided to text him with photos, which you had never done before.

Your best friend Nat took you out shopping, but even though Bucky always gave you his card and told you to buy whatever you wanted, you never actually did it. Until you saw that unbelievably beautiful blue set. Bucky went crazy every time you had new pieces, but they weren’t as expensive as this one because you always bought them with your own money. Your friend basically shoved you into the changing room and convinced you that it cost every single penny, so you gave up and used Bucky’s black card.

The loud noise of the slammed door came from the first floor, and you knew that your boyfriend had come home. Fuck, it has been only 15 minutes since he messaged you, and he was already there.

You sat at the edge of the king-size bed, facing the door. And in just a few seconds, heavily breathing and slightly annoyed, Bucky stood in the door frame. If you hadn’t been dating him for almost a year now, you would’ve thought that he was angry, but the way he licked his lips and the look in his eyes while he was scanning your almost naked body told you otherwise.

“You’re such a fucking tease, babydoll. I had an important meeting, and you just had to send me those photos, huh?” Bucky grinned at you, taking off his expensive jacket and rolling up the sleeves of the white shirt. He took small steps toward you, but you were too focused on his tattooed and veiny forearms to notice it.

You blinked only when a soft but firm hand pressed under your chin, making you look Bucky in the eyes. The realization of how ridiculously wet you were hit you hard, and Bucky probably saw the way your cheeks blushed because his lips curled in a one-sided smirk.

“You’re looking like the sexiest thing on the planet, but you’re blushing. God, you’re amazing, baby.” His eyes slid down your body, covered in a thin lace, and you swore that his eyes darkened within a second.

“I just thought that I became wet by just looking at your hands.” Bucky growled at your words. He took both of your hands into his, silently asking you to stand up from the bed. "Sorry for bothering you at work, I just... I don’t know.”

“I don’t care about work as long as I can see my amazing girlfriend looking so incredible. Is this new? I know every single piece of clothing that you own; I’ve never seen this before.”

“Nat convinced me to buy this... from your card. I hope you don’t mind." Bucky chuckled at your words.

“I told you a million times to buy whatever you wanted. My money is your money, ‘key? Now spin for me.” He lifted your hand above your head, helping you to spin around and show him every little detail of your new purchase.

The bra, which perfectly lifted your boobs, so they seemed nice and round. Matching lacy blue thongs and a garter belt that was attached to the tights sat on your waist, showing every curve of your hips. There was nothing left for imagination. You looked so soft, delicious, and sexy, but those cute little flowers all over the fabric made Bucky want to destroy you.

“So pretty, goddammit. I need you right now.” He firmly grabbed one side of your face, connecting your lips in a hot and messy kiss, while the other hand trailed its way from your neck down to your soaking wet panties. “Still can’t believe that you’re mine. The most beautiful woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.” Bucky growled into your lips, refusing to let you go. “Is that all for me? Are you so wet because of your naighty little photos or from my hands? Tell me.” Two fingers run up and down your covered folds, making you moan into Bucky’s mouth from the stimulation.

“Both… Jamie, please. I need you.” You tried to grind your hips on his hand, but Bucky gripped your thigh and lowered his mouth onto your hot neck.

“‘M not gonna let you get off on my hand, not today. You teased me with those sexy pictures, so I think it would be fair if I just fucked you senseless. That’s what you asked me to do anyway, right?” You just eagerly nodded, hoping that Bucky would do anything. The heat in the lower half of your stomach was almost painful, and you felt awfully empty inside, squeezing around nothing with every kiss Bucky had left on your sensitive skin. “Should I bend you over the bed? Or maybe on the floor in front of the mirror so I could see how good you feel when I fuck you?” He asked mostly himself.

Bucky pulled away from you, admiring fresh red marks on your collarbones and neck and already knowing that you'd blame him in the morning before work. His lips were swollen and his hair was a mess, but you still bit your lip at how sexy and pretty he was. Lately, you didn’t spend much time together because of his job, and now you wanted to spend every second admiring and touching him.

“I don’t care, Buck. I just want you, I miss you.” Your hands flew to the collar of his shirt, opening every button until his tanned chest was on full display.

“Get on your knees and hands, doll.” Bucky mumbled, and you knew that he had lost all of his patience.

You lowered yourself on an expensive white rug and teasinly moved your ass from side to side, looking at Bucky through the mirror. His eyes stuck on your body, and he licked his lips once again. You saw the way his pants were barely holding the hardness behind them, and your mouth instantly started watering from that thought.

“Are you going to fuck me or keep starring at my ass?”

He smirked at your words and fell onto his knees behind you, slightly pushing his covered hips into yours and making you both moan.

“Oh, I am going to fuck you? Don’t worry about that, doll.” The sudden slap on your ass cheek made you loudly gasp; your mouth stayed slightly open as Bucky was massaging your burning cheek with one hand and unbuckling his pants with the other.

You felt the silky-soft skin of his cock between your legs when Bucky ran his length on your wet panties. “It’s too pretty, I don’t wanna take it off of you. ‘M just gonna push them to the side.” He took your underwear out of his way, lining the leaking tip with your wet entrance.

You couldn’t stay steel, so Bucky had to grab your hair, raise your head, and perfectly arch your back. You whined at the slight pain from his grip, but it soon turned into a loud mixture of a moan and Bucky’s name when he pushed inside of you.

It never failed to amaze both of you how perfect you were for each other. The sex was incredible every single time. Your body instantly adgasted for his size; your wet and soft folds gripped his cock firmly, as if your body didn’t want him ever to leave. Bucky honestly didn’t even remember the sex before you; at that time he thought it was nice, but since the first night with you, everything has become blurred, and he couldn't look at any other woman in a sexual way anymore.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck, James!” You cried, squeezing him harder and gripping the soft material under your hands.

“Holy shit, doll. Your pretty pussy ‘s taking me so well; she’s so greedy for my cock.” Bucky slapped your ass again at the same time as he bottomed out in you. You tried to stay focused on the reflection in the mirror, but that teasing little push of Bucky’s hips right into your g-spot made your eyes roll back. "What? You can’t handle it, baby? But that's what you asked for. You thought that you could just send me these things and not get fucked like a naughty little girl?” He chuckled, immediately increasing the speed of his thrusts.

“I just wanted you, J-Jamie, fuck!” You cried at another slap on your ass. Red hand prints were already visible, and you knew that it would be hard to sit the next day. “I need to cum, please…”

“Already drunk with my cock?” Bucky chuckled, slightly squeezing your hair in his hand, until you opened your hooded eyes and looked at him in the mirror. “Look at you, always so perfect for me.” His blue eyes studied your reflection. Your still covered in bra tits bounced every time he pushed his cock inside of you, and Bucky felt like he became even harder because of the fact that he couldn’t see you fully naked.

It felt like he wanted to split you in half with the power of his movements. Your skin slapped into each other, and the wet sounds of your pussy were almost too loud and inappropriate for you, but Bucky didn’t care. He moved fast and hard, mumbling praise words under his breath, which you barely understood, being too close to cum.

“Bucky, ‘m gonna cum… Please, let me cum, ‘m so close.” You loudly moaned when your body started trembling and your hands were almost too weak to hold you up.

“Do it, doll. I’m right behind you. Cover my cock in your cum.” Your mouth fell open, and your eyes instantly closed when you finally came, clenching around him. Bucky looked closely as your face expression changed—it was his favorite thing.

He pushed into your tight cunt a few more times before freezing as his own orgasm came. You moaned at the feeling of his hot seed feeling you from the inside.

“Just like that, doll. You did so well.” Bucky soothed the skin of your thigh and reddish cheek, finally loosening the grip on your hair. Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, and you collapsed on the soft rug with a muffled puff.

Bucky slightly chuckled, slipping out of you, and flipped over your exhausted body so you could face him. You both were flushed and slightly sweaty. Bucky brushed your hair from your face and lowered himself to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders until he fell on top of you.

“I’ll call Nat so she can take you shopping tomorrow. Use my black card and get yourself everything that you like, because now I want to see you in every possible shade and variation of lingerie, doll.” Bucky mumbled near your ear while his hands traced the soft skin of your ribs and stomach.

“I don’t want to spend your money, James.” You laughed.

“Then I’ll give my card to Nat, so she can spend it on you. Because I won’t leave you alone anymore, doll. You drive me crazy looking like this.” He started kissing your neck, going lower to your chest. You just sighted, knowing damn well that there’s no point in arguing and that your amazing boyfriend would find a way to make you buy more lingerie. “Are you ready for round two? Because I really wanna put those pretty tits in my mouth.”

Whatever you wanted to say died on your tongue with the first touch of Bucky’s wet tongue, and your brain went completely blank.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you

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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 11 months

Text

The List (1)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Not Beta’d. I was going to conclude this with an actual ending, but it was getting long so I’ll let the readers decide how it ends. If enough people are interested, I might do a part 2. Comment if you want a part 2.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Rumors spread through the underground of New York like the plague. Four murders of New York's most elite in the past 72 hours. Floating around the city was a list of names, a hit list for anyone involved with the mafia. Bucky was no stranger to a threat on his life. Being a mob boss, he constantly walked a thin line, a trapeze artist always one slip away from falling into the hands of death. Bucky had the resources and power to not be taken out so easily. If his name was on the list, he’d be toward the end, but no one knew home long the list was or who was on it. His team had spent the past 3 days searching the city for any information on the list. He had to know who was on it.

“Mr. Barnes, sir,” Peter Parker stammered, catching his breath in the doorway. Peter was a prospect, a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. Bucky couldn't understand why such a gifted kid was so eager to join the mob. Regardless, Bucky couldn’t be happier to have such potential, but the kid picked the wrong time to join them. “We have a lead.”

Bucky’s head snapped up from his desk. He had been engrossed in his own research on his laptop that he had forgotten about his men’s quest. Peter’s spine went rigid under the mob boss’s intense stare. He had yet to get used to it. Peter was certain that was why Bucky’s right-hand man, Steve Rogers, had sent him to retrieve Bucky. Well, that or it was part of Sam Wilson’s attempt at a joke to haze the new guy. Either way, Peter had been a fan of Steve growing up. Steve usually was the face while Bucky worked in the shadows, which only made Bucky more intimidating to Peter. He respected Steve though which is why he found Bucky without hesitation.

“Follow me, sir.”

Standing abruptly, the chair Bucky had been sitting in crashed into the wall behind him with a loud bang. He smoothed his rough palms down the front of his pristine white shirt before straightening his black suit jacket. Without a word, he extended his hand behind Peter, encouraging him to lead the way.

Peter anxiously peered over his shoulder the entire way down the hall. He thought he might have been walking too fast, but Bucky’s pace never faltered. Bucky was hot on his heels, always one step behind him. Stopping unexpectedly outside of the boardroom, Bucky hissed nearly crashing into the teen. Before Bucky could reprimand him, Peter explained, “Before we go inside, Steve told me to give you a message.” Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit leaving Peter relieved his boss wasn’t going to chew him out. Still, his own dress shirt began to cling to him with the amount of sweat he was producing. Bucky may have relaxed a bit, but his posture was always disciplined, predatory, and intimidating.

“Spill it out,” Bucky huffed, his hands resting in the pockets of his slacks.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter nodded, “Right, um- He said don’t do anything stupid and that we need her.”

The jaw of the boss twitched before he stormed past a confused Peter. His hands pressed into each of the double doors using his full force to slam the doors wide open. All eyes snapped to Bucky as he strode into the room, confidence and determination oozing off of him. Peter ushered in behind him, awkwardly failing to close the doors several times before succeeding. A string of apologies escaped his lips as he stepped further into the room. The serious look Steve shot Peter had him clearing his throat and adjusting his dress coat.

Sam and Steve stood side by side on one end of the room, their arms crossed. They were cautious, guarded rightfully so. Any one of their lives could be on the line. For all they knew, everyone in the room was on the hit list. Spying the woman sitting at the middle of the conference table, Bucky stalked across from her. With his eyes trained on the floor, he dragged the chair away from the table but made no move to sit down as he stepped up to the table.

When his eyes met hers, he puffed out his chest. His arms remained at his sides, his hands burrowing in his pockets. Without so much as a greeting, Bucky began his interrogation, “Who created the hit list.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a frown etched on her crimson-painted lips. “Right down to business, huh Buck?” A smirk replaced her frown. “I should’ve known, you never were one for much foreplay.”

Bucky pressed his tongue to his cheek. He had expected this, her teasing. It was always a dance between them, one he wanted to avoid by cutting to the chase. She always knew how to rile him up, in more ways than one.

“Princess-”

‘No,” she stopped him with her hand raised, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Bucky snorted, leaning forward, “Isn’t that what you are now?”

“Who is she?” Peter attempted to whisper to Steve, but everyone heard him.

Taking pity on the clueless teen, Sam answered, “She’s Bucky’s ex-wife, Y/N.”

Ignoring the other men, Y/N flashed her diamond engagement ring at Bucky. The light reflected off of the ring making it impossible to miss even from where Steve, Sam, and Peter had been standing.

“That title is pending, followed by queen,” she sassed.

It started out as a term of endearment. Y/N always had a taste for the finer things in life, Bucky’s lifestyle satisfied that craving. He enjoyed spoiling his princess, but that was all she would be. A princess, someone no one would take seriously. It had been an ironic twist of fate that she had met an actual prince after her divorce from Bucky.

Examining the rock on her finger, her signature red nail had been replaced by a nude shade. She was no longer accepting his blood money; she had a good man and clean money now. His eyes traveled back to her face, zeroing in on her red-painted lip. Her hands may be clean now, but her lips were still tainted. The secrets she could talk about his business alone could ruin him which reminded him of why she was here in the first place.

“Who created the hit list, Y/N,” he tried once again to control the conversation.

Pursing her lips, she let him.

“I don’t know,” her gaze dropped to the table, “but I know who has it.”

Finally getting somewhere, Bucky reached back pulling the chair behind him. Once he was seated, he snapped his fingers. Not a moment later, a pen and paper were placed in front of him.

“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, pen in hand.

Y/N raised her head, the man twirled a pen between his fingers tempting her to sign a deal with the devil. Shaking the image from her head she placed her hand over his, ceasing his movements.

“It’s not that easy. He won't meet with just anyone.”

“He?” Steve asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Bucky isn’t just anyone,” Sam called out.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “He may very well be suspect number one. It would be bad for anyone to meet with Bucky alone.” Feeling Bucky’s hand turn beneath her own she went to pull away, but he grabbed her hand.

“What about a future queen?”

Eyeing him beneath her lashes, Y/N pulled her hand back to her chest. Noticing the hesitant look on her face, Bucky leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a fool to think she was here willingly. She wanted something; she needed something.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bucky asked, “What do you want?”

Thumbing the ring on her finger, she contemplated lying. She didn’t want to need Bucky, but she did. One look at Bucky and she knew he would see through any lie she would come up with, so she told the truth, “I need protection.” Suddenly she felt exposed with everyone's eyes on her. “If my name is on the list,” her voice shook. She wasn’t Bucky’s dirty little secret. People knew she was his wife, well ex-wife. She had ties to the mob and if her name was on the list or if her fiancé found out, the engagement would be called off.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke, “Get me access to the list and let me worry about the rest.”

Relief flooded Y/N. He could have turned her away. He could have blackmailed the information out of her, but he didn’t. Bucky was a rough man, but he was also kind. She had seen it first-hand for many years. Guilt ate away at her for her earlier actions. He knew she had been engaged but she didn’t need to rub it in his face. She wanted to hurt him but only because he had hurt her. A small part of her hoped he would protect her not because he was kind but because he still loved her.

Y/N was able to request a meeting with the man not even 24 hours later. His assistant had sent her an invitation, but it wasn’t for what she had been expecting. Instead, the man had invited her to a gala. He was a businessman after all, and her appearance would be good for business. At a time when she should be laying low, she was about to attend a high-press event.

It wasn’t long after Bucky was notified that he insisted he escort her. Y/N protested but he had argued that he couldn’t protect her if she was dead. That had convinced her, on one condition, they arrive separately. She was still engaged.

The event was beautiful but high glass windows had Y/N on edge. Anyone could see her. She tried to distract herself by searching for the host. There were so many bodies and no sign of the man who had invited her. In the middle of her search, a hand circled her wrist tugging her in the opposite direction. Y/N began clawing at the man’s wrist, an attempt to pry him off. When he stopped and spun around, she crashed into his chest. With her face in his chest, the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne hit her. She shoved his chest putting enough distance between the two.

“Bucky,” Y/N hissed, “you’re supposed to be laying low.”

Surveying the crowd, Bucky muttered, “I am. It’s you who is running all over the damn place.”

Y/N shook her head glaring at him. Not only did he smell good, but he looked good too. He had shaved since she had last seen him. He had traded in his white dress shirt for a black one, forgoing a bow or tie. The top button of his shirt was open, relieving his collarbone. Instead of drooling over her ex-husband she continued to glare at him. It was easier to hate him than to pine over him.

“If someone takes pictures of us together and my fiancé finds out-”

His cerulean eyes shot down to meet her eyes, “Where is he anyway? Shouldn’t you be asking him for protection? Surely, he has the resources.”

Y/N froze, her hands clutching the sides of her silk gown. “He doesn’t know,” she mumbled, then her voice grew. “He doesn’t know about the list, my past, or about you.” Bucky’s eyes softened. He had his doubts before, but he was certain now that she wasn’t happy. He wanted to gloat, to rub it in her fiancé’s face. He knew Y/N better than her fiancé did, and even better, she wanted to tell him. Bucky wanted to make a joke about how keeping secrets in a relationship was unhealthy, but he kept his mouth shut. Y/N sighed, running her hands down her dress to smooth out the wrinkles she had created. “He’s out of the country right now.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around herself. His gaze dropped to the floor, but Bucky’s remained on her.

He recognized a lonely soul when he saw one because he was one himself. His lifestyle left few people he could trust. He hadn’t always been lonely though, and neither had she. Bucky’s hand twitched to reach out and hug her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that with cameras around. He took in her appearance and couldn’t help the squeeze he felt in his heart.

“You look beautiful.”

A giggle escaped her lips, “Thanks, Buck. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He had meant to cheer her up, but her giggle was unexpected. He missed it, he missed her. Everyone he knew in the mob lifestyle had died in the mob. It was poetic in a live by the sword, die by the sword type of way. No one got out, but she did. With his status, he’d never get out and a selfish part of him wanted to pull her right back in.

“You got out, you got away from the life,” Bucky hummed, admiration in his voice, respect.

Y/N shook her head. “No, I just got away from you.”

It was his turn to laugh, “Now if that were true, I wouldn’t be standing here with you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. I am standing here with you, not you are standing here with me. He meant it. Even if she was here because of him, he was here for her, to protect her. He put her first.

“You of all people know once you’re in there’s only one way out.”

That was it for Bucky. He wasn’t pulling her back in. She never left. They might have been divorced but they had both meant it on their wedding day when they said, “Till death do us part.” Bucky’s calloused hand cupped her jaw just below her ear, pausing. She didn’t push him away. With both hands, she cradled his jaw pulling his face down to meet hers. Their lips brushed one another, slowly at first, testing the waters. Then his other hand slid up the length of her neck, sliding back to tangle his fingers in her hair. It was a dance they were all too familiar with.

The flash of a camera penetrated Y/N’s eyes beneath her closed lids and it was like pouring a bucket of cold water over her. Quickly, she pulled away shoving Bucky’s chest when his lips tried to follow her. She was fucked, royally.

“Y/N?”

Wiping her smudged lipstick, she ignored Bucky’s lingering gaze before turning to face the new voice. A woman in a blue silk dress approached the pair.

“Virginia?” Y/N asked.

The woman waved her hand in the air. “Please, call me Pepper. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Mr. Stark is ready to meet with you. Follow me.”

Without looking back, Y/N followed Pepper through the crowd. She knew Bucky would be right behind her. She would deal with him later. Right now, she needed the names on the list. Upon their arrival, Pepper exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her. On the other side of a glass desk was one of the wealthiest men in the world, Tony Stark.

“Did I interrupt something?” Tony asked eyes darting between Y/N and Bucky. “I swear there wasn’t so much tension before you two walked in.”

Y/N sent him a tight-lipped smile holding up her left hand. “I’m engaged.”

Tony shrugged, “What you do is none of my business. Besides, something like this would be published on the front page.” Y/N’s stomach dropped. “You know what they say, all press is good press.”

“Says the man with a new woman every week,” Bucky grumbled.

Tony smiled. “Precisely, I would know.”

“Mr. Stark-”

Tony loosened the bow tie around his neck. “Call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Y/N corrected, “so you know anything about a list?”

With a raised eyebrow Tony laughed, “If it’s a list you want, I suggest you talk to Pepper. She handles all of that stuff.”

“Not just any kind of list,” Y/N took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, “a hit list.” From this distance, Y/N couldn't miss the way Tony’s eyes shifted to Bucky.

“Are you looking to assassinate anybody?”

Bucky held up his hands, “I’m just looking to protect the people I care about.”

Y/N stood still, watching the intense stare-off between the two.

Eventually, Tony sighed, “I don’t want to be in the middle of any of this.” He tapped a few keys on the computer on his desk before turning the screen. “You better get out of here before your fiancé sends someone.”

“What?” Y/N gasped, blindly clutching Bucky’s forearm beside her. Both of their names were written in green on the list. Beneath them were some of Bucky’s most trusted men; their names written in white.

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Green means active. You’re both next on the list and judging by the number of cameras here, someone probably already knows you’re here.”

“You knew,” Bucky growled.

Tony barely flinched. “Your names weren’t active until recently. Other people’s lives are on the line. I can’t get to everyone in time.”

“Wait, why would my fiancé send someone, he’s not even in the country,” Y/N asked, trying to wrap her head around everything.

Tony frowned. “Your fiance is the one who put the hit list out. What better alibi for your significant other’s death than being out of the country at her time of death.”

Y/N would have collapsed if it wasn’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Why?” Y/N whispered wide-eyed.

Bucky wanted to drag her out of the building toward safety but was there even a safe place? People already knew their location.

Tony shrugged. “The New York mobs aren't the only mobs out there. They're all over the country, they're in other countries. There are some real higher-ups in the mafia in other countries. The mafia controls everything, it's one of the most powerful positions. Take out other mobs and you can control more area, more power.”

Y/N felt sick. When she said you never get out once you get in, she hadn’t realized how deep she was in life now. Turning to Bucky, he was already on his phone typing. “Bucky, we need to go.”

“No. I text Steve, he’s rounding everyone up. They’ll be here soon.”

Tony’s eyes widened, his eyebrows reaching his forehead. “You can’t be serious. There are cameras everywhere. This will be plastered on every news station.”

Bucky shrugged, lifting the back of Y/N’s hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a quiet promise to protect her. “All press is good press.”

Next Chapter

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