Let's See What You Did Wrong


“He’s gone,” Steve spits, feeling and looking vile, “didn’t turn up, cars nowhere to be seen. He sent me a message two hours ago saying he was on his way.”

- Let’s See What You Did Wrong

by Resacon1990, 2k words

Whoa I almost missed the rec this week and good thing, too, because hello fic based on one of my gifsets that I didn’t know about:

In which Tony is kidnapped by a rival mob.

The Master Rec List

@blocdybatgirl continued from x:

         ‘i know you take me for a FOOL, ms. isley, but i’m not the one who decided to marry one of these brutes.’ she knew acting so BOLD and choosing to whisper such things in front of an entire crowd  who wished it was them who’s lap she was currently STRADDLING was definitely dangerous, especially when many of them didn’t like what was theirs being taken right in front of them. even if she herself was ‘theirs’ even if she was just considered a SILLY little minx of a girl with nice curves.

          the deep RED fabric of her dress was pushed up to show the subtle strength and muscles of her thighs as she pressed further against the woman’s LAP, earning an interested reaction from the men surrounding them and a few whoops and hollers. her LIPS lowered to her neck, running a few kisses and nips before she’d made it up to pamela’s ear, nibbling just a TOUCH before moving to whisper again.

         ‘do i look afraid to you? these men try to give me everything i WISH in hopes i’ll give them the time of day but they don’t stand a chance when i can have you.’

Pamela’s head tilts, just so, hiding the length of her lashes behind perfectly finger-waved red hair. It’s just for a moment though because the young dancer’s eyes are magnetic. So blue and so clear. Enchanting, truly. It’s been so long since she’s seen anything at all in her life so… unspoiled by filth. Unspoiled but not… clean. 

Smudged and dirtied in – ( green eyes drop down to observe the unconscious rock of the hips across her lap )– the right ways. There’s no room for someone clean and innocent in Pamela’s life. But she’s so tired of the rotten ones.

Teeth touch her ear, one of her weakest spots, and Pamela’s thighs clench. It’s not often a dancer – or anyone, really – has the nerve to approach her at all. Let alone climb in her lap and grind while a room full of men, including her husband, watch.

“What makes you think,” Pamela starts, alto low and smooth. “Pretty girl, that I’m yours for the having?”

Her hands remain neatly on the armrests of her chair. Like a proper lady.