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mosswillow · 3 years

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New Year. - Mob boss!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: 18+ adult content, Dark!!!, Noncon/dubcon, manipulation, smut.

Summary: A New Years themed dark Cinderella story.

A/N: this is another quickly written one shot that I threw together today to post. I may revisit this in the future and expand the story a bit but wanted it out today for obvious reasons.

Word count: 1.7k

“You have until midnight and not one second longer.”

You dart across the street recklessly, not caring if you’re hit by a car. Time is running out. You enter a dimly lit pawn shop and sprint to the counter, slamming down a ring. A shady looking man picks the ring up and examines it, grabbing a magnifying glass and holding it up to the light. He reminds you of a lizard, long and lean. He wears a green suit and his eyes are almost completely red, probably from drug use you decide.

“Where did you get this?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The man thrums his fingers on the counter and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “I’ll give you three hundred.”

“I need four.”

“Three fifty.”

You pick the ring up and turn your back, walking confidently away.

“Fine.” He calls out.

You stop and turn on your heel, holding the ring out for him.

“Make it quick, I have somewhere to be.”

One year ago - New years eve

You attend the annual new year's masquerade every year. The exclusive ball is filled to the brim with wealthy, well connected individuals, most of whom are alleged criminals. You always feel nervous going but go nonetheless. Your father took you several years ago shortly before he died and now you go in his memory, hoping to maybe feel just for the evening like he’s still with you. You put on your dress, a thrifted gown that you were lucky to find, and look at yourself in the mirror.

You look beautiful. It’s rare these days that you feel good about yourself but today nobody can bring your mood down. Today you’re Cinderella, dancing the night away before returning to your ordinary life after midnight comes.

You walk downstairs to find a note left for you. Your step mother and sisters have left without you which is to be expected. You’re thankful for the place to stay and never ask for anything more. They’re not your family and only tolerate you because of your father. Once you find a way out of New York you’ll leave and never look back. You make your way to the street, calling a cab. It’s a little splurge but you don’t want to risk ruining your dress on the subway and tonight is about living luxuriously.

The cab takes you to a decadent hotel and you walk in, marveling at the sheer size of it. Despite growing up in this world, it still feels overwhelming. Someone hands you a glass of champagne and you take a sip, savoring the taste. You make your way across the room, taking it all in when you bump into him, or more accurately he bumps into you.

“I’m so sorry miss, I didn’t see you there.”

Your eyes meet and there’s a spark, a feeling of intense attraction that you can’t ignore, and you know he feels it too. The noise and movement throughout the room fades and it’s just you and him.

“I’m Bucky,” He says, holding out his hand.

The world comes crashing down as you realize who he is, Bucky Barnes, the most notorious man in the US. He’s young, probably only a few years older than yourself but he holds himself like someone who’s lived a long and difficult life.

“It’s not a problem sir, I’m unharmed.” You smile politely.

He puts his hand up to your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheek before tearing off your mask.

“What’s your name?” He says, taking a step towards you.

“Beth.” you say the first name that pops into your head.

“Beth…”

“Smith, Beth Smith.”

Bucky smiles “Nice to meet you… Beth Smith.”

You nod and grab your mask away before escaping his company. You keep your distance the whole night despite Bucky’s multiple attempts to corner you and by midnight you’re ready to leave. You hear the countdown as you run from the building, looking over your shoulder nervously before getting in your cab.

Present.

You check your watch as you leave the pawn shop. You have twenty minutes, twenty minutes to make it to bucky’s penthouse or it’s all over. You barely got all the money you needed. You even asked your step mother to help. She refused, unsurprisingly. You were forced to sell everything you own, even the ring your mother once wore, your last keepsake of her.

Six months ago.

You write the order on a cup and hand it to your coworker before turning back to help the next customer. You’ve worked at the coffee shop for years now. You have a college degree but jobs are scarce in your field and you need the money. You’ve sent applications out across the entire country and hope to one day get hired somewhere and move off.

“What can I get for you?” you say before realizing who’s standing in front of you.

“I don’t like being lied to.” Bucky taps your nametag.

“I…”

“I’ve been watching for a few months, making sure you’re the one.”

He grabs the menu off the counter, looking through the different options.

“I want you,” He says nonchalauntly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“If you come with me you’ll live a life of luxury. You won’t have to work places like this.” He sets the menu back down and smoothes his hand over it.

“And what does this marriage entail?” You ask.

“Complete obedience and devotion. You’ll do everything I say, have my children and keep my bed warm. In return you’ll have more money than you know what to do with, more luxury than you could fathom in your pretty little head and my loyalty. You will be my love and my obsession. I will never leave you and never let you go.”

You look at him like he’s crazy, which he most definitely is.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m going to pass.”

Bucky slams his fist on the counter suddenly, making you jump.

“I always get what I want.”

You take a small step back.

“Not this time.”

Bucky stares at you for several moments before taking a deep breath and ordering a drink. You serve it to him and watch him walk out of the coffee shop.

Present.

You jump on the subway and make your way towards Bucy’s penthouse, running like a madwoman trying to make it on time. You look at your watch again and have one minute. Time is running out. You run full speed towards his building, ignoring the ache in your lungs and cramp in your leg.

Three months ago.

“Bucky, stop buying me stuff, I said no already and nothing’s going to change my mind.”

You throw a box of chocolate in Bucky’s face and he scowls at you. He reaches forward, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you forward, whispering into your ear.

“I tried to show you what you could have, how much I could give you. I guess I have to try something different.”

He lets go of you.

“I won’t bring any more gifts.”

“Thank you.” you say quietly.

Present.

The seconds tick away and you finally reach his door. You bang your hand over and over while checking the time again on your watch.

12:02am

One week ago

“Bucky, I know you’re the one who set this up. I didn’t do it, I’m being framed.”

You yell at him, not caring who hears. The police showing up to your apartment with guns and pulling you into the station for hours and hours has left you without any fucks to give. You were about to leave town. You have a ticket ready to leave and start your life over somewhere new. Now you have to turn down a dream job and stay in town due to an ongoing murder investigation of someone you’ve met only once in passing.

“I can cover it up for you… for a price of course.”

You start to turn around and he grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Here’s the deal. You bring me twenty thousand dollars before midnight new years eve. If you can bring me the money I’ll cover it up and leave you alone forever.”

You look down.

“And if I don’t get the money I go to prison?”

“No baby, you go to prison if you leave this room right now. If you bring me the money you’re free forever but if you don’t I own you. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”

Your body slackens as you realize you don’t have any choice. Your only chance is to get twenty thousand by next week.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, I’m a fair man. I could just kidnap you but I want you to come willingly.”

You sigh.

“I’ll bring the money as long as you promise not to interfere.”

“It’s a deal,” Bucky smiles.

He lets you go and walks over to a small couch, taking a seat.

“You have until midnight and not one second longer,” he says as you close the door to his office.

Present.

You fall to the floor and start crying. Bucky crouches in front of you and puts his finger under your chin, pulling it up so that you’re looking him in the eyes.

“You were so close.”

“Please Buck, it was two minutes.”

Bucky grabs your arm and pulls it up, dragging you into his home.

“A deal is a deal baby, I wouldn’t be where I am now without honoring deals.”

He takes a box from the coffee table and opens it up, showing you a huge diamond ring.

He fixes the ring on your hand, a perfect fit. You stare at the stone, a reminder that it’s all about Bucky. You don’t even like diamonds and you’re sure he knows that. He knows everything about you. From this point on you’re his. He takes your hand and kisses it before grabbing the back of your head and bringing you forward for a kiss. He slides his other hand down between your legs, pulling your skirt up and grabbing your pussy.

“I’ve waited so long for this.”

He pushes you down onto the couch and you take a deep breath before opening your legs, giving him access. He fucks you relentlessly, pushing you toward your own orgasm. Fireworks go off outside the window and you hear the celebrations as people welcome the new year.

“That’s my girl,” Bucky whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

You listen to the fireworks until they fade and you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!mcu #dark!bucky x you

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wannabemobwife · 3 years

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Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: You Didn’t Get to Heaven But, You Made it Close

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Language, Fighting, possible typos, hospital scenes

-Words: 4.6K

Chapter 4: You Didn’t Get to Heaven But, You Made it Close

Words: 4.6K

The night was a typical one at the Holland household. Earlier that night, Rosie helped you cook dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, a Holland family dinner favorite. Dinner was quiet, Tom had been ignoring Parker for multiple reasons, mainly the ultimatum but also he was still angered by the recklessness of his son the other night.

Only the sound of slight flickering of the chandelier candles, could be heard. It was a deafening silence that consumed them. No one wanting to speak up and risk and argument forming. Dinner ended quicker than it began and everyone excused themselves.

Tom and you sat by the fire in the living room while their kids closed themselves off for the night. Not giving another thought to their kids. Little did they know, Parker had a date that night. And after dinner ceased, planned his escape.

“Tommy, I think it’s about time we turn in,” you said.

“Y/N, I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Tom whispered with a somber voice.

“About what baby?”

“Parker. The threat. Everything,” Tom was beyond stressed at the moment.

“Shh, we’ll figure it out. We always do,” you said rubbing the back of Tom’s head and Tom nodded in response

“Now come on, why don’t I put your mind at ease,” you whispered seductively.

“Are you talking about some good lovin’?” Tom inquired moving his eyebrows up and down.

“You’re such a dork. I was, we’ll see now.”

“Aww don’t be like that, you’re such a tease.” “Oh you love it,” you said. “Yes, I do,” Tom shouted following you up the stairs.

“I think I’m going to take a shower, care to join me?” You exclaimed cheekily.

“Love, you don’t have ask me twice” Tom said. How could you be anymore perfect? The day ended even more perfectly.

After they showered, you both changed into wannabe pajamas, for you, a tank top and some shorts and Tom wore a pair of boxers. They were all set to watch a little TV and hop under the covers when tiredness overcame them, falling asleep in each others arms. Absolutely content with everything in your life, everyone in the family was safe, nothing had come of the note yet.

“I love you, darling,” Tom whispered pressing his lips to your hairline.

You were already fast asleep. How did he get, you, this amazing woman to fall in love with him? The night soon fell into pitch darkness, however Tom’s phone ringing, startling him out of his deep sleep.

“Hello?” Tom answered it with a groggy voice.

“Is this Mr. Holland, father of Parker Holland?” A woman on the other line spoke.

“Yes, this is. Who the fuck is this?” Tom said rather rudely just being woken up.

“Sir, I’m calling from Kingston Memorial Hospital. Your son has been involved in an accident.”

“Fuck, I’m on my way.” Tom muttered as he hung up

“Angel wake up, something is wrong with Parker,” Tom whispered, shaking you awake.

“Tommy, what? What’s wrong?” You muttered as you stirred awake.

“Just get dressed.” Tom said.

Driving like a madman and disregarding all traffic signals, they all eventually arrived at the hospital. Not giving anything else a second thought.

They all piled into the Rolls Royce. Tom drove, for the first time in a long time, always having someone drive him. You sat in the passenger seat, clutching Tom’s hand and hoping to god your baby boy was okay.

You hadn’t even bothered to wear proper clothes, you wore mix-matched shoes, shorts, a tank top and an overcoat to stay warm. Rosie was like her mother, only wearing a hoodie and pajama bottoms. Tom on the other hand was more put together, wearing a regular t-shirt and pants along with the same pair of shoes, unlike, you, his wife.

Barging through the sliding doors, Tom made his presence known.

“Parker Holland, where is he?” Tom screamed as he marched up to the receptionist.

“I’m sorry sir, hold on a moment,” the nurse clad in light blue scrubs said.

“NO! Fuck this. Parker Holland, tell me where the fuck he is before I blow your brains out.” Tom shouted and flashed his pistol.

“Alright Sir, just please put the gun away,” the nurse pleaded.

“He is in room 202,” she concluded.

“Thank you, come on Tommy,” you replied, pulling your husband away.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the moment you saw your baby boy lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

“I’m sorry, are you family?” asked the doctor as everyone funneled in the room.

“Yes, we are his parents,” Tom concluded

“I’m his sister,” Rosie spoke up, trying not to be forgotten.

“Good. Parker has a mild concussion, a few broken ribs, and he came in with a ruptured spleen which was taken care of during surgery. The anesthesia should be wearing off any moment now,” the doctor explained.

“Parker? Baby? It’s mommy. Please wake up,” you whispered to your son while petting his head, trying not cry at his busted lip and swollen eye.

“Mr. Holland? Sorry to disturb you but, the police would like to talk with you” a nurse informed Tom. Tom nodded with a blank expression, not letting his eyes stray away from his son.

“Follow me, sir,” the nurse concluded as she led him out of the room.

“Mom, is Parker going to be okay?” Rosie inquired. “I hope so” you responded with a hoarse voice from crying. Rosie wrapped her arms around you, comforting you,

You were so used to you being the one waking up in a hospital bed. At first, dating Tom and eventually marrying him, put a huge target on your back. Never experiencing the crippling fear of losing the one you love most.

Meanwhile, Tom was conversing with the cops who were on the scene. “Sir, your son was a victim to an assault that happened earlier at The Luxe, a nightclub downtown,” explained one of the cops. They stood tall, attempting to act macho but failing. The notorious mobster scared them. The stories, alone, spread on the street was enough to make a grown man soil his pants.

One of them was a man around age 45, looked like he had a pension and drove a hybrid car. Old but tried too hard to be young again. The other was a woman, rather young, possibly new to force. Both of them oblivious to man they were questioning. Unaware of Tom’s business and status. “What? I don’t understand.” Tom was puzzled, he knew his son snuck out, but to a nightclub, why? “It seemed like the moment it was made known that he was a Holland, they let him in,” interjected one of the officers. “Alright, anything else? If you don’t mind I would like to get back to my family.” Tom concluded, bothered by their pestering. “Your son wasn’t alone?” “What?” “There was another body found at the scene. A female about 16 years old, her ID labeled her as Charlotte Owens. She was shot in the abdomen and found dead at the scene,” the officer informed Tom. “Did your son know this woman?” asked the first officer, holding up her driver’s license. “Nope. Never heard of her. I’m sorry to hear about her, wrong place wrong time I guess.” Tom couldn’t tell them the truth, he only needed to protect his family right now and if that meant blatantly lying to the authorities it was worth it. “Your son really had no connection to Ms. Owens?” asked the second policeman.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Mr. Holland, when we found your son he was covered in blood, not his own.” “What… are you accusing my son of murder? I’ll have you know I can have both your jobs in an instant,” Tom yelled, astounded at such an accusation.

“Sir, are you threatening us?” said the cops growing defensive. “No. Just making you aware of the situation. Tell Captain Reid I, Tom Holland, says ‘I’ll call him tomorrow, if you guys can’t do your jobs and leave me and my family alone”” Tom knew what he was doing. You don’t get to be the most powerful man in London by not having the police Captain in your pocket.

“We’re sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” the cops said, realizing they might have just made a very powerful enemy.

“I should hope so, if you have anymore questions here’s my business card and I suggest you don’t bother me again,” Tom concluded.

“Yes, sir. Have good rest of your night,” they said but Tom ignored them as he made a call.

“Tom? Do you know what time it is?” Harrison answered after a few rings, probably consumed by deep sleep.

“Haz I’m at the hospital.” Tom spoke with a somber voice.

“What? What happened?” Haz said all panicky. “Parker snuck out and got beaten up. A hit had to be on him. He was with his girlfriend. She didn’t make it.” “Jesus Christ. I’m on my way. Is it Kingston Memorial?” Harrison inquired. “Yes, also bring Henry I have a feeling Parker is going to need some moral support.” “Alright, be there soon mate.”

Parker was coming out of his deep sleep. His body begged for it, desperately needing to heal. He took quite a beating.

“Woah, woah. Where am I?” Parker asked, confused by his surroundings.

“Honey you’re at the hospital, don’t move you’ll hurt yourself.” You exclaimed. Parker soon realized everything that had transpired that night.

“They killed her,” Parker whispered as his eyes went cold. Every moment flashing before his eyes. One minute she was dancing, full of life and the next lying his arms dead.

“What? Who, honey?” You asked just relieved that your son was awake. “Charlotte.” Tom said walking in as you burst into tears at the vocalization of Charlotte’s name.

“What? Parker you need to tell me what happened. I thought you were in your room,” you pestered, only concerned about her son’s well being.

“I snuck out and my girlfriend got killed. What more is there to tell?” Parker said raising his voice and showing off his beloved Tom’s temper.

“I’m sorry. Charlotte just wanted me to be there to celebrate her birthday. I’m so sorry. If it weren’t for me she would still be alive,” Parker explained, tears slipping from his eyes.

“Shh baby, you can explain later. Just get some rest,” you concluded and Parker nodded in response.

“Mom, I’m gonna get some air,” Rosie said, wanting to be sick at the thought of Charlotte’s demise. She walked aimlessly around the hospital, making her way outside by the ambulance entrance.

Her breathing rapidly increased, she was hyperventilating. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she whispered to herself.

Collapsing against the wall, she sunk to the ground and brought her knees to her chest. Parker being the older sibling, knew more of the family business and tried to shield Rosie as much as possible. Not wanting to see her dad littered with blood after a hard day’s work.

“Rosie?” Henry asked with concern, seeing her sitting on the ground with tears streaming down her face.

“Hey, hey, hey. I got you. You’re okay. I got you.” Henry whispered bringing her into his embrace.

“Henry. I’m so glad you’re here.” She said, not letting go.

“Roo, you gotta tell me what happened? My dad wouldn’t say anything.”

“Parker got hurt when he snuck into a nightclub with Charlotte and she—“ Rosie bawled, her voice cracking and not finishing the sentence.

��It’s gonna be okay. Parker is okay right?” Henry asked and Rosie nodded in response. “Charlotte though, she…” Rosie having trouble finding the words. She knew the words but, the moment she said them they became 10 times more real. “Come on, Rosie, spit it out.” Henry said, trying not to alarm her. “She’s dead. She’s dead and I was awful to her.” Rosie stammered. “Oh my god. How?” Henry gasped, trying to wrap his head around the news. “She was shot. I know it’s not my fault but I can’t shake the feeling that I had something to do with it.” “Rosie you can’t think like that. It was an accident,” Henry whispered, comforting the trembling girl beside him. “Hey come here, I got you Roo. You’re safe with me.” Henry whispered pressing a kiss to Rosie’s forehead. She was actually starting to grow fond of the nickname, only when it was Henry who said it.

“I know this is a bad time, but I have to tell you something,” Henry whispered, trying to find the guts to tell this amazingly perfect girl the truth. “Yeah,” Rosie responded, eager for his response. “Rosie, I…” Henry tried to say but was soon interrupted with Rosie’s lips on hers. The kiss was soft yet full of passionate. Their lips melded together like two puzzle pieces. Both their eyes fluttered shut as euphoria consumed them, finally breaking away to breathe.

“I like you a lot, I have for awhile,” Rosie said, shying away from his face.

“Rosie, I really like you too,” he whispered, bringing his hand to caress her cheek.

“Really?” Rosie asked dumbfounded. “Yeah, what’s not to love,” he said and brought her into another chaste kiss. This time lingering longer as his lips brushed against hers. This was everything they both desired.

In the Parker’s hospital room, Tom and Harrison were conversing. Stuff was happening right under Tom’s nose at the estate and he was fed up with it.

“Who do you think it could be?” Haz asked, trying to get to the bottom of this before it blows up. “God knows who, I have countless enemies. Barnes, Roberts, most likely Carson,” Tom said, trying not to alarm, you, his sleeping wife or son. “Alright, I’ll inform the others to be on high alert,” Haz concluded. “We will have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning, I want everyone there.” “Yes, sir.”

“Enough Haz, you don’t need to be formal” Tom chuckled. “I know it just makes you laugh sometimes and you need that right now,” Harrison said, being the comic relief in times of crisis.

“Dad?” Parker whispered, coming out of his deep sleep.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Tom exclaimed. “It’s fine. Can I ask you something” Parker inquired.

“Mmmhm,” Tom acknowledged. “How’d you deal with all those times almost losing mum?” Parker inquired.

“I won’t lie to you, I was a wreck” Tom explained. Seeing his son like this, brought Tom back to the time you were kidnapped and tortured. You two had only been going out for a year at the time and it was a huge turning point in your relationship.

At the time, Tom was in the middle of a turf war with James Graham, another mobster who predated Tom. You and Tom had just moved into together. Everything was smooth sailing up until that point. It was the night of your anniversary, going to the restaurant you went on your first date. You were dressed in a red, Tom’s favorite color not much of a surprise there, satin dress which hugged your figure perfectly. You had made your way to “Casa Nostra,” the little Italian restaurant that was very dear to your heart.

You sat down at your usual table with your usual drink, a gin and tonic, and fell in love with the ambience. Once in a while glancing at your watch, Tom was late. It was puzzling because Tom was everything and of those things was punctual. Tom was currently, stuck at the “office,” swamped with paper work.

“Vincent can you call Y/N? Tell her I’m sorry for being late and I’ll be there in 30 mins,” Tom asked one of his men. “Yes of course boss,” Vincent concluded as the phone suddenly rang.

“Oh, what’d you know, its her right here,” “Thanks Vincent, I got it from here,” Tom said grabbing the phone and dismissing him out of his office.

“I’m so sorry love. I’ll be there in 30 mins tops. Order what every you want to start with, may a suggest a bottle of Dom Pérignon. I promise I’ll be there. I love you,” Tom exclaimed hoping you would understand.

Who was he kidding of course you would understand. You were always so kind and considerate of everyone else’s feelings, he knew you wouldn’t be mad.

“Oh, no worries. I’m fine, just enjoying a few drinks. See you when you get here. I love you too. Remember don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you replied.

Drinking gin and tonic one after the another to pass the time, you had gotten up to make a phone call. 10 mins had past since you entered the establishment and your driver had dropped you off and stayed in the parked car. You made your way to the bathroom. Coming out of the stall having finished and washed your hands. In the reflection of the mirror, stood a tall figure one who looked like he could break your neck with one snap.

A gasp exited your lips as the assailant lunged toward you. Launching towards the bathroom walls, banging you head against the wall and the tile once your body hit the floor. All you heard were muffled screams you assumed belonged to the other patrons of the restaurants. Followed by several gunshots before you fell into complete and utter darkness.

You woke up to mind-numbing pain and throbbing pain to your head, your wrists fasten to a metal chair and wet, thick liquid dripping down the side of your face.

“Glad to see you are awake. Could I get you anything, water maybe?” Graham inquired tauntingly. “Fuck you, Graham. What the fuck am I doing here?” You yelled as you tried to escape your restraints.

James Graham had been a rival of the Hollands for decades. Always craving more power than there was to go around. The Holland’s enjoyed their freedom at the top of the food chain.

They were and are the most dangerous predator out there. When one of the less powerful predators gets a taste for blood, they won’t stop til they have decimated the rest of the population.

“Wow, who knew such a pretty girl like you would have such a mouth on her,” he quipped.

“Tom’s gonna come for me and when he does he will show no mercy,” you said, your voice tainted with hope.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he chuckled. “Why me? Why didn’t you just go after him yourself?” “I suggest you shut your fucking trap before I put a bullet through your skull,” He barked, slapping you straight across the face. Leaving a small imprint of his hand. Right before, he yanked your hair back, entangling all your strands in his fingers. All the pain caused tears to fall.

“I guess that seemed to shut you up. Better hope, your man hurries or he is going have to carry your decaying body out of this hell hole,” Graham taunted. “Why are you doing this?” you asked. “Your corpse would make Tom shatter. To get to him, I have kill you. You are his weakness. It will be the end of him, the end of Tom Holland,” he spoke with a tight grip on your jaw, leaving tiny bruises.

“Well, better get started cause one way or another you’ll be dead by sunrise.” He said, delivering a swift punch to your stomach. One after the other.

“I’ve had my fun. Boys, do you want to get a few licks in?” “It would be my pleasure, boss,” his men snickered as they made their way over to you. Alternating who punched and when. “Have your fun, but no guns. Tom needs to see the pain she felt. I’ll be upstairs.” Graham explained while leaving you alone with his men.

Meanwhile, Tom was finally free of work and on his way to enjoy a lovely night with you. A year spent together was really testament. He already felt so guilty for ditching you for 30 mins, he had some ideas of how he would make it up to you.

He arrived to a massacre at the restaurant. Not a single soul was found alive anywhere, they had all been shot. Searching for you, along with the other casualties, you were nowhere to be found.

Only explanation, you were taken by Graham. The lack of gravitas when it came to killing led to one person, James Graham. You were the only thing on his mind right now and Graham was behind it all. He quickly pulled his phone out and dialed the last person he wanted to see tonight.

“Oh Tom, what do I owe this pleasure?” Graham said cheekily. “Where the fuck is she, Graham?” Tom barked, not fucking around. “Sorry Tommy, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Who?”

“Graham, I swear to fucking god if you hurt a hair on her head there will be hell to pay,” Tom gritted his teeth.

“It’s a little late for that.” Graham stated. “TOM!” You screamed in the background. “Let me talk to her,” Tom pleaded. “Alright, I’m not a monster. Hope she has some good last words for you now.” “It’s for you,” Graham said, holding the phone to your ear. “Y/N? Are you okay? Where are you?” Tom said with concern. He blamed himself for you being in this position. Sure, you had come from a mob family but, nothing like this happened. It was because of him. He was in love you, which made you his biggest weakness.

“I’m fine, don’t listen to him, I’m sorry we didn’t get our second date,” you said, trying to put Tom’s mind at ease. “You mean anniversary date. Oh… Baby, I’m going to find you. Trust me” “I do, I love—“ the conversation soon ended when Graham pulled the phone away and pummeled into your cheekbone, causing red to seep out. Only winces from pain and quiet sobs were heard on the other line.

“Aww, did you say your fucking marriage vows or shit? Too bad you’ll never see her in a wedding dress,” Graham snickered. “Graham, I’m coming for you and for your sake, I suggest you fucking run like the pussy you are,” Tom threatened as he hung up. He knew where you were thank to you subtle hint and he desperately needed backup. How could he go in there guns blazing when it’s just him.

“Haz, Y/N has been taken. Gather all the men I know where she is,” Tom said into the phone. “What? Where is she?” Haz inquired “She’s at the marina, our second date.”

Tom drove to where your second date was, the marina. He needed to know you were okay, the phone call didn’t give him much to go on. Haz and the other men soon arrived all in black SUVs.

“She’s in there. On my count. 1, 2, 3!” Haz said, instructing the soldiers. Tom let Haz take the lead on this one so he could focus on you.

Busting through the doors, guns went off a split second later. Flooring most of Graham’s men. Tom and Haz found you looking half dead strapped to a chair in the middle of the room.

“Love we have to get you out of here” Tom said, trying to run up to you until he was stopped by sound of a gun cocking against your head. Tears slipped as your came face to head with the barrel of a gun.

“Come any closer and she’s dead. Now drop the gun,” Graham shouted.

“Do you think I’m playing around. DROP IT!!!” Tom slowly put his gun on the ground, trying to stall enough for Harrison to be behind him.

“Duck!” Tom yelled, hitting the deck as Haz fired 3 shots. Striking Graham right between the eyes, and the chest twice. A thud soon followed and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Tom rushed over to you, cutting off your restraints.

“Y/N. Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” Tom cried.

“It’s ok, you got me now, that’s all that matters,” you said growing more weak in his arms “We gotta get you to a hospital come on,” he said, wrapping his arm around you shoulder as he walked.

This was the first time Tom had brought you to the hospital. Who knew it would be the first of many instances. He hated hospitals, all the sickness that lingered in the air.

You had been in surgery for an hour, the doctors were in the process of fixing your internal bleeding. All those punches, ruptured one of your kidneys. Now you were resting in your hospital bed with Tom attached to your side, refusing to let go of your hand.

Tom had been a wreck, sure it was only two hours but the most dreadful two hours of his life. He knew you would be okay, but all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms.

“Hi Tommy,” you whispered, beginning to wake. “God you scared the fucking hell out of me, please don’t ever scare me like that again. I need to know you are okay,” Tom exclaimed. “I’m okay, I promise.” “Yes and you will be from now on…. Tomorrow Jared, my driver, will help you gather your stuff from the house. I’ll have someone else take care of the furniture. Do you have a place to stay?” Tom explained.

“What? Why are you doing this?” you said, confusingly.

“I love you Y/N, this is the only way I can guarantee your safety.” “Tom, don’t push me away.”

“None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for me. You wouldn’t be lying here half fucking dead. You should just forget about me,” Tom pleaded. “Hey, look at me. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not,” you said, standing your ground. “Y/N, I’m damaged goods. This your chance, go live the your life without getting blood on your hands.”

“Tom, I think you forget that I already have blood on my hands. There is nothing you can say or do that would ever make me leave you.”

Tom knew in the moment, you were his and one day he might regret your words. Thank god you stuck around or he wouldn’t have the family he has today. You and Tom even still make it a priority to spend your anniversary at Casa Nostra.

Parker needed reassurance, just like Tom did when he asked you to leave him, after your kidnapping. Tom never wanted himself to be the reason for your demise. He could never forgive himself.

“Dad, I just don’t know how to move on from this. It hurts so bad,” Parker pleaded.

“She’s dead because of me. All I want to do is hold her. She didn’t deserve any of this,” Parker cried. “I know, it wasn’t your fault though,” Tom reassured.

“How is it not? The men specifically asked for me, I’m the reason she is dead!” Parker exclaimed.

“How do I make the pain go away?” he said, desperate for a quick remedy. “It will eventually, you just need time,” Tom explained to his devastated son. “No, what I need is revenge,” Parker said forcing a shocked expression upon Tom’s face.

“I’ll do it, dad” Parker concluded with a new found confidence.

“Do what, P?” Tom inquired.

“I’ll be the next you, be the next Holland that strikes fear.”

“I’m in, teach me to be the best fucking mobster this world has every seen.” These were the words Tom was wishing his son would’ve said a week ago, but there’s no time like the present. “It would be my pleasure. I always knew you had it in you,” Tom said rather excitedly.

“This is the only way I can avenge Charlotte. They won’t know what hit them.” Something in Parker changed. A switch had flipped in his brain. The innocent boy was now a shell of person, demanding revenge. He was out for blood.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Series Masterlist

Author note: Feel free to be asked to be added to the taglist if you want :)

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x reader

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farfromharry · 3 years

Note

Sorry, i meant part two to lifeline! I really loved reading it

summary: you and tom are officially on the run from the police, and the two of you need harrison’s help

mob!tom x reader

w/c 763

a/n - part 2 to this fic!

- clearing out my inbox -

tom’s grip on your hand was almost painfully tight as he led you down the crowded street. he was sure that by now people would definitely know he was gone and would also be on the lookout for him. the police probably didn’t want the mobster slipping through their fingers all over again.

“fuck,” he cursed, spotting a copper not too far away from where you were, in the exact direction you were headed.

tom had made the smart decision to get the two of you some different clothes straight away, or at least more normal jackets that would help you both blend in, but if you were to pass by a policeman with nothing covering your faces, then they’d surely catch you.

“come on,” he whispered, tugging you in the direction of an alley not too far from where you were. you followed him without hesitation, checking behind you to make sure you weren’t being followed.

if you were looking forward you would’ve seen tom stop walking, but you weren’t, so you ended up colliding with his back with a small sound of discomfort.

“you okay?” he asked. you nodded, leaning against the wall, the cold brick sending shivers up your spine. tom was talking to himself, frantically typing something on the burner phone he must’ve picked up days prior.

he held the phone to his ear while you watched, silently mumbling the words ‘come on.’

he seemed on edge every time someone would walk past the entrance to the passageway, shooting you a glance that was almost like checking you were still there and okay.

“fuck,” he cursed, having no luck with whoever he was calling. you’d been silent this entire time, anger building up inside of you, increasingly so as time went on, until you eventually voiced your thoughts.

“so, what now, we’re just on the run?” you asked. tom rolled his eyes, re-dialling the number he’d just called on the burner phone. “answer me, tom,” you pushed, growing more and more frustrated.

he pulled you tightly into his chest, looking deep into your eyes with a sincere look.

“i need you to be quiet darling, i will explain everything as soon as i can.”

that wasn’t good enough for you. your lives were on the line here and you were sick of the simple, shitty explanations he kept giving you, you wanted something more.

you opened your mouth again to say what was on your mind but tom cut you off before you could even get a sound out.

“stop talking,” he practically growled. your mouth snapped shut, tom noticing how you gulped nervously. his words weren’t meant to scare you, he’d never want to scare you, but he needed you to stop talking so you didn’t get caught, and you seemed to be making that difficult for him.

after his little warning you stayed perfectly quiet beside him, silently sulking at being scolded by your boyfriend- well, whatever he currently was.

your head turned to look at the people that were filing past where you were, your eyes widening when you noticed the hat above everything else that read ‘police.’

“fuck,” you whispered. “tom.”

he huffed, shaking your hand off of his arm as he busied himself with the phone. your pleas for his attention grew more urgent, to the point where you had to slap his bicep for him to even look at you.

“what is it?”

“there’s police coming this way.”

his eyes widened and he quickly pinned you to the wall, his body pressing into yours. he ducked his head down, brushing his lips over yours as you watched each other.

he tilted his head more so he could connect your lips together, leaving you startled for a few seconds. you quickly kissed him back, your hands sliding up the expanse of his back. tom tried not to get lost in you, trying to listen out for the sound of footsteps on the cobbled street next to the alley.

he pulled back after a little while, deeming it safe for the two of you to part. he took a cautionary glance out onto the streets, making sure the danger was gone.

tom’s hands were still tightly gripping your waist, keeping you as close to him as possible.

“now what?” you asked. he glanced down at the phone, showing you the screen that held a text from harrison. it was simply an address and a reassurance that harrison would be waiting there to get the two of you out.

“we get the hell out of here.”

tom holland taglist → @seutarose @lmaotshollandd @photoshopart15 @hopelessly-harry @call-me-baby-gir1 @icyhollands @strawberrytom @siriuslyslyslytherin @musicalkeys-blog @itstaskeen @tpwk-grande @zspideyy @chrisosterfield @givebuckyhisplumsnow @lowkey-holland @hollandcrush @wizkiddx @sannie-san-shine @sonnydoesrandomshit @hopeless-romantic-baby @thehumanistsdiary @dummiesshort @itsbieberxholland @lillucyandthejets @piscesparker @bvttercupbby @mymilliefrommarketing @spideyspeaches @kujokura @l0velyevans @jess-holland23 @felicityparkers @quxxnxfhxll

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland oneshot #mob!tom

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lombredanslaeu · 4 years

Text

justice is blind | j.jaehyun

▸ mafia! jaehyun x lawyer! reader

▸ summary y/n and jaehyun are two different chemicals. one works for the law and one works disrupting the law; but somehow, the two found solace and unconditional love from each other. however, the path that leads to their forever took a rocky turn when y/n was assigned to defend a former lover. word count 3754

▸ angst, fluff | WARNINGS: smut, domestic abuse (if you are not comfortable with this, please refrain from reading)

this isn’t proofread so pls excuse any mistakes <3

You beamed at the man in front of you. The dim lights of the expensive restaurant added a dramatic effect to the already romantic night. He held your hand before pressing a soft kiss at the back of it. The deep red wine in front of you replicated the burning love that you have for him.

The man you have been loving for exactly 4 years today, was none other than Jung Jaehyun - a prominent mob boss in the whole South Korea. Although Jaehyun did not have the supreme power as the overall leader, Lee Taeyong, he did have tremendous control over a huge portion of the mafia. One is left to wonder: how in the hell did a lawyer fall in love with a mafia boss?

The answer goes way back to your first year as an attorney. A person’s first paycheck is something worth celebrating. Shots after shots of fiery liquid and you found yourself on the lap of a man gifted by the gods.

That night, Jaehyun swore that no one deserves to touch you aside from him. And thus started a journey full of romance, adventure, and loyalty.

“Y/N,” Your fellow lawyer, Kun, stood beside your desk. You looked up and offered him a questioning smile.

“What’s up?” You asked. He took a deep breathe before answering.

“I really hate to do this to you but,” He landed a folder at your desk. You glanced at it and furrowed your brows. It was normal for lawyers to hand over clients before they could start the case. Kun was one of your closest friends and it was not new to the both of you to exchange cases. His seemingly reluctant demeanor today made you wonder why he seems hesitant to give you his case. “I’m working on a huge case with Jennie and I need to focus on it.”

“That’s not a problem, Kun.” You assured him. “Why do you seem nervous giving me this case?”

A part of your mind told you that there’s a possibility that the case would be about Jaehyun. However, the NCT mafia is in deep connections with the feds. If anyone would to stir up trouble with NCT, the mafia would not hesitate to use it’s overwhelming power. That’s how powerful your boyfriend’s mafia is, they are above the law. Now the possibility of it being about Jaehyun or NCT is out, you still wondered what the hell is this case about.

“It’s about Kim Mingyu.” Your breathing hitched at the mention of the name. That’s a name you haven’t heard in forever; the name of your ex. You immediately opened the folder and Kun took it as a signal to give you the details. “Mingyu called the police on the night of the 16th. By the time the police got there, they found Mingyu laying unconscious on the floor with several bruises all over his body. After he regained consciousness, he claimed that his wife beat him to a pulp. Apparently, it’s a domestic abuse case. That wasn’t the first time she beat him.”

A tidal wave of sadness washed over you. You and Mingyu ended before you took the licensure exam to become a lawyer. The break up wasn’t messy, it was just because both of you wanted different things in your life. For a year that you dated Mingyu, he never had the nerve to hit you or even break something in front of you. He was a good guy and although things were left in a bitter tone between you two, you found yourself sympathizing with him.

“I’ll take it.” You announced. “Do you have the name of his wife?”

“Kim Jiwoo.”

You craned your aching neck as soon as you entered you and Jaehyun’s shared home. Jaehyun followed behind you after parking the car on the garage. With his colossal wealth, it wasn’ t difficult for him to find a home that exceeded your expectations. You earned quite a sum of money yourself but Jaehyun almost always insisted on paying for everything.

You slumped over the couch. Jaehyun’s fingers kneaded the tense muscles of your shoulders which made you hum at the sensation.

“How was work today?” He said in a low voice.

“Nothing unusual.” You replied. “How about yours? Did Johnny finally forgive you for missing his art exhibit?”

“All it took was a free lunch from me.” You two chuckled.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself at home in his lap with his hands roaming through the skin that your clothing exposed. Your fingers tangled themselves through his thick hair. The way his lips captured yours was something you never got used to. Through 4 years, he always seemed to surprise you every time you fucked.

“Are we really doing this on the couch?” You breathed as you fumbled over the buttons of his shirt.

“It’s been a while since we did it here.” He replied. One of his hands found the back of your head and with a slight push, his lips found yours again.

You grind your clothed core over his, in attempt to create friction for relief. He moaned to the kiss, signaling you to push deeper and faster. He flipped you on your back and towered over your small body. Jaehyun loved control and nothing turns him on better than the sight of you under him. Normally, Jaehyun would be one to enjoy foreplay. But tonight, he wasted no time exposing your core by hastily removing your panties from your body. His cock sprung from his pants and boxers. You gasped as you felt him stretching you wide.

“Oh my god,” He moaned. His eyes were closed shut as he pushed everything of him into you.

“Jae-” You couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt him filling you to the brim. Your hands found their way to his toned chest.

Each time Jaehyun thrust himself into you, you swore you could taste heaven. It wasn’t long before your legs were trembling and his pace got sloppy. You felt yourself clench around his cock as you ride your orgasm. Jaehyun looked at the view of his cock being swallowed by your tight pussy. The moment he felt your walls tighten around him, he lost himself. You screamed at the sensation of his cum painting every inch of your pussy.

As the two of you laid on the couch to catch your breathe, you nuzzled your face to the crook of his neck.

“I’m always in love with you, Y/N.” He spoke in a whisper. His fingers massaging your scalp.

“I’m in love with you too, Jae.” You replied, preparing yourself for a good night’s rest before focusing on your new case.

The lights of the office was dim but you saw it as clear as day. The clotted cuts and purple bruises that sprawled across Mingyu’s once cheerful and bright face. It was no question that you would find everything to make his wife pay. The ache that you felt in your heart wasn’t because you still romantically love him. The pain you felt was because of the fact that someone was so heartless to abuse their husband. The fact that Mingyu was once an important figure in your life added fuel to the fire in you. You had no mercy for abusers and you would cross anyone just to win this case.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I should be the one asking you that, Mingyu.” You spoke calmly.

“You don’t need to ask me to know how I am, Y/N.” He replied with a sorrow smile. “Really, how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You replied.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He said before looking down at his fingers.

“Like what?” You asked carefully.

“Like I’m some kind of un-fixable set of bones.” He sighed. “My cuts and bruises will heal. Looks of pity is the last thing I need right now.”

You sighed and straightened your back. You looked over the pictures inside the file folder. “Where does it usually happen?”

“It’s almost always in the living room.” He responded. You saw how hard it was for him to reminisce the past months of his life. “But, sometimes in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Everywhere really.”

“How often does it happen?”

“At first, it only happens whenever we have a huge fight. It wasn’t often before. But, her family cut her off. She wasn’t the same ever since. I thought it was because she was frustrated and hurt. So I let her take it on me. I wanted to be a loyal husband and I love her enough to let her hurt me.”

Mingyu wiped a tear from his face. You didn’t realize the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“You don’t have to continue if you’re not yet ready.” You remind him.

He shook his head as tears continued to fall from his eyes. “Last March, I had cameras set up around the house because there was a burglary in the neighborhood. She doesn’t know I had those set up; I never had the chance to tell her. You can see everything there.”

You sighed as you entered Jaehyun’s car. It was the end of the week and the past few day’s revelation made you extra weary. You kissed his cheek before settling in the passenger’s seat.

“Where do you want to eat dinner?” Jaehyun asked you.

“There’s this new sushi place that Kun said was good. Do you want to try it out?” You suggested.

He nodded in response before setting the car’s GPS.

“I’m leaving for a few days.” Jaehyun started. “Me and Johnny were asked to do the evaluation for the Chinese unit.”

“Oh.” Your demeanor fell. You hated when Jaehyun leaves for a period of time. Not only do you miss him, but you fear whatever harm might come his way. You felt his hand squeeze yours.

“I’ll be fine, baby.” He softly said. “Doyoung will keep you company and secured while I’m away.”

“Be safe always, okay?”

“Always.”

The situation is this: Doyoung’s jaw is threatening to reach the ground when he saw the whiteboard in your home office and you were trying your best not to let him panic. You took the opportunity to bring the paperwork home since Jaehyun was away. Jaehyun never minded any case you worked on before but the fact that this particular case involves Mingyu made you hide it from him.

“D-does Jae-jaehyun know?” Doyoung stuttered. He knew how heated Jaehyun gets when it comes to you. Jaehyun was good at keeping emotions at bay; all except for jealousy.

“No, Doyoung, he does not.” You replied sternly.

“Why?”

“Do I need to tell you why?” You rebutted.

“Why did you take this case, anyway? Aren’t there 6 others lawyers in your office?” Doyoung interrogated you.

You sighed before responding. “Everyone else was booked except for me.”

“You do know that Jaehyun will go batshit crazy if he finds out about this?” He stated the obvious.

“Of course, I know.” You felt your eyes drop on the laptop in front of you. You were yet to review the security tapes from Mingyu’s home. “And I’m counting on you to not snitch on me.”

“Of course I won’t sni-” Doyoung’s eyes fell on the suspect’s picture that was taped to the whiteboard. “Y/N? Why is Jiwoo in this case?”

“You know Jiwoo?” You stood up to walk near him.

“You don’t know Jiwoo?” You rolled your eyes at his retort.

“How am I supposed to know my ex-boyfriend’s wife? We haven’t spoke in almost 6 years.”

Doyoung faced you, the playful aura that he usually sports was not evident on his face.

“Y/N, that’s your boyfriend’s sister.”

One of the reasons why Jaehyun was dedicated to NCT is because it became his new family. After cutting him out of their lives, Jaehyun was forced to go to extreme measures to stay alive. Ever since NCT was established, he never spoke to his family and he never spoke about them. You understood him. It wasn’t your position to dictate how he should feel about his family. You never met anyone except for his mother - whom you only met twice. Remnants of how his family looks like never existed in the home you both share. You accept that. When you first started to love Jaehyun, you accepted all that he is and was. So, was it your fault that you didn’t know Jiwoo was Jaehyun’s sister?

You rubbed your hands on your face. Your eyes were dry from reviewing the security tapes over and over again. You made sure the opponent doesn’t find any loophole. The trial was tomorrow. You wished that time would go fast. Your reverie was interrupted by the ringing of your phone.

“Hello?” You greeted the person on the line.

“When were you going to tell me?” Jaehyun’s voice was cold. You swallowed a lump that formed in your throat. This tone of his never meant anything that you enjoy.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to keep your voice was breaking. You knew exactly what he was talking about.

“That you’re about to send my sister to prison.” He responded. Your heart pumped fast.

“Who told you that?”

“Jiwoo.”

It boggled you why he was bothered by the fact that you’re fighting against Jiwoo. He never cared about his family. He never once spoke about them to you. You never saw him meet with anyone.

“Oh and also the fact that you’re defending Mingyu? I thought we promised no secrets from each other?”

You sighed for nth time today. You were too tired to fight. “Jaehyun, baby, can we talk about this when you’re home?”

“I’ll be home in a few hours.” He announced before cutting the line.

You tried to distract yourself from the anxiety that was boiling inside of you. It has been an hour before your call with Jaehyun ended. You decided to lay down on the small couch in your home office. You looked at the night sky that your window provided. You and Jaehyun promised that work wouldn’t get in between your personal life. And for the longest time, you two were good at that. Your jobs never interfered between you two - except for the times you feared for his life. You wanted so bad for Jaehyun to understand the situation. You closed your eyes with that wish in your mind.

Your sleep was interrupted by the sound of the front door closing. You sat up and fixed yourself. You had no idea what this night has to offer but you swore to stick to your principles. You spotted Jaehyun pacing in the living room.

“Jae.” You spoke quietly. It would be dishonest to say that you weren’t scared of angry Jaehyun. You knew that he wouldn’t hurt you but his voice can shake this walls of the home.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked immediately.

“Because you wouldn’t want me to pursue it.” You honestly replied.

“That’s my sister you’re going after, Y/N.“

“How was I supposed to know, Jaehyun? You never tell me about your family. If you resent them so much, why do you care if you’re sister might go to prison?”

“She’s still my sister. Even if I resent her, we’re still cut from the same cloth. Do you know how hard it was for me to hear her crying because my girlfriend is doing her best to send her to prison?”

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Oh my god, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun waited for you to continue what you have to say. His hair was disheveled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it.

“Your sister abused a person.” You stated. “I don’t care if it was anyone. I didn’t take the case because of Mingyu. I took the case because of what Jiwoo did. This is my job, Jaehyun. And if you can’t accept that this is a part of what I do, then do you even accept me at all?”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You wiped the tears that fell on your cheeks as you ascend the stairs.

“The jury finds the defendant guilty. Kim Jiwoo, you are sentenced to 20 years in prison. Court is adjourned.”

You exhaled a relief as the judge banged the gavel. A month’s worth of stress was finally off your shoulders. Even if things with Jaehyun was still under construction, you felt happy. You were happy that you stood by what your principles and let an abuser get what they deserve. You faced a teary-eyed Mingyu and offered him a tight hug.

“Thank you, Y/N.” His voice was shaking.

“You’re always welcome, Mingyu.” You replied. You release from the hug and chuckled as he hastily wiped his tears.

“I’m sorry that this affected you and Jaehyun.” He said.

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m a lawyer, this is my job.” You assured him.

You felt a pounding on your head and all you wanted to do was rest. You spotted Doyoung on the hallways.

“Great job, Y/N. I’m always in awe of you.” Doyoung complimented.

“Thanks, Doyoung.” You responded as he offered to open the passenger seat’s door for you.

The ride from the courthouse to your home wasn’t long. You wished it was though as you were not ready to face Jaehyun yet. You thanked Doyoung as you exit his car and entered the front door. Based on the silence of the house, you concluded that Jaehyun wasn’t home. You stratched your body as you made your way to your shared bedroom. You laid on the bed and snuggled to his side of the bed. The smell is a mix of his favorite detergent and body wash. You sighed as you caressed his pillow. It’s been almost two weeks since you slept in the same bed. He was away for work and you were looking forward to snuggling him after sleeping alone for days. But instead, your case kept the two of you apart. You closed your eyes as you let sleep take you.

You stirred sleepily as you felt a warm hand rub the skin of your bad. You forced yourself to open your eyes. The blurry figure of Jaehyun entered your vision. You sat up on the bed as you realized that Jaehyun was already home.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi.” You responded.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He started. His eyes dropped to thick blankets that sprawled all over your legs. “I was too caught up with the fact that you kept it away from me. I was also caught up by the fact that my sister did that to Mingyu. It’s just that I’ve always seen her as the opposite of me - not doing illegal shit and actually building a good life for herself. So, when I heard what she did, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.”

You held his hand with yours. He took it as a signal to continue. “There wasn’t any excuse for what she did. And you did the right thing by letting her get what she deserves. I realized that if that were to happen to you, I would also go beyond anyone to serve you justice. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

You smiled at his statements. One thing that you love about Jaehyun is that he has such a sweet, understanding side. He never shows this side to anyone except you. You pressed a long kiss to his cheek as you hear him sniffle a bit.

“It’s okay, Jaehyun.” You assured him.

“If that happened to you, Y/N-” He continued, with his eyes watering. “I don’t care if you’re my ex or anything, I’d do anything.”

“I’m not gonna be your ex, though.” You replied. You held his face between your palms and pressed a kiss on his lips. His lips that you longed so much to taste for the past few days.

“I’m not letting you be.”

Fin.

a/n: i hope u enjoyed this! im not very confident with the plot so please tell me what u think. also i know the smut part is cringey but i hope u liked it nonetheless. i also realized that this isn’t very mafia-y??? like theres not much mafia action?? i’ll do better next time <3

#jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x you #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct jaehyun #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #nct jaehyun imagines #jaehyun smut #jung yoonoh #nct scenarios

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

365 Days Epilogue (Feysand)

Because @hizqueen4life asked me to.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

______________________________________________________________

Day 365, 7:42 PM

~Rhysand~

Rhysand was in his office, looking at reports from one of his casinos downtown when his phone rang with a text.

Feyre Asterra: When are you coming home?

He grinned and texted back Soon.

He’d been planning the night for a while and wanted it to be special. It was their first anniversary, and he couldn’t wait to finish what he was doing and go home to his wife. Apparently, she couldn’t either.

Feyre Asterra: Not good enough.

Before he could analyze that, a loud thud came from the hallway outside his office. Which was strange, because he’d cleared the building over an hour ago to work alone.

A gun was in his hand instantly, and he prowled toward the door, wondering who was trying to die tonight. He ripped it open, then leaned out to glance down the hallway. Empty.

He cocked the gun and went off in the direction he’d heard the noise come from. Only to whirl around as he heard almost-silent footsteps behind him.

It was too late though, because something hard connected with the back of his head and darkness swept in to claim him before he could fire a shot.

When he woke up, his hands were tied above his head and his eyes were covered with a thick blindfold. He was on a surprisingly comfortable seat, but the comfort was minimal, seeing as his legs were bound, too.

He tugged on the ropes holding his wrists and ankles, unsurprised to find them not at all loose enough to get out of.

Shit.

Rhysand had no doubt someone would find him, but this was bound to be unpleasant in the meantime. It was probably someone he’d wronged in the past or a rival gang leader trying to take out the competition. Either way, pain was inevitable.

He’d hold out for as long as he could and pray Cassian or Azriel would find him before the worst happened.

He heard footsteps walk up to him, his muscles tensing in preparation for the blow.

It never came.

Instead, he felt someone drop onto his lap, thighs straddling his waist. His eyebrows shot up behind the blindfold and his mouth dropped open as Feyre leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Happy anniversary, Rhysand.”

~Feyre~

The look of pure shock on his face had to be the highlight of her life.

It took him at least a minute to compose himself, then he demanded, “You fucking knocked me out?”

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it. “No, that was probably Cassian.” A sigh escaped her. “I told him to be careful.”

“Hold on. You had my best friend kidnap me from my own office?”

He sounded a little incredulous, even though that was obviously what had happened. “No, I had your best friends kidnap you from your own office. Azriel was involved, too.”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to kill them. Take the blindfold off.”

“No.”

She was suddenly very, very glad he was tied up. “Ferye, I swear, whatever you’re doing, it’s the opposite of romantic. When I get out-”

“Oh, I beg to differ. You seemed to think it was pretty funny a year ago when you had the same two idiots kidnap me.” She put her hands on his shoulders, and he opened his mouth to respond.

Then the plane started to move, and his entire body went tense. “What the hell is going on?”

She had to work to repress a giggle. Her husband really hated not knowing what was going on, apparently. How shocking.

“We’re going on a honeymoon. Someone never took me on one, so I asked the pilot to take us somewhere special.”

He paused his complaining to consider that. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous. It’s my plane.” He shook his arms again. “Let me out of these.”

“It’s our plane, actually. And no.”

To keep him from complaining more, she leaned forward and kissed him. He opened his mouth, so she swept her tongue in, loving how in control she was.

His arms pulled again at the ropes, and she grinned. “I’m not letting you loose yet. And I’m not telling you where we’re going. You’re completely at my mercy.” She kissed him again softly. “Might as well get used to the idea.”

Her husband’s jaw was still set, but he didn’t look mad anymore. Feyre knew it would be difficult for a man like him to give up control. That’s why she hadn’t given him a choice.

Plus, she’d never payed him back for having his friends kidnap her from her bed all those months ago.

Besides, she was enjoying herself. And if he bulge pressing against her thigh was any indication, so was he.

So she pressed herself against him and kissed up his neck, stopping to tug on his ear.

The plane was going faster now, and as they started lifting off into the air, she reached in between them and palmed him through his slacks.

“Feyre.” His voice was rough with lust, but it still sounded like a warning.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, hand still on him.

He shook his head immediately. “No, but I want my fucking hands free.”

She made a humming sound, faking consideration. “Not yet.”

Feyre knew the second she united him, she’d be the one on her back, begging him for...

What a wonderful idea.

She unbuttoned his pants, then slipped her hand inside. “I mean, I’ll stop if you want me to.”

His body was tight, jaw clenched tightly. “Don’t stop.”

Smiling, she kissed him deeply, then pulled her dress up on her thighs. “Give me control, Rhys. You know you want to.”

He was trying to move his hips, but his binds made it impossible. After a few minutes of trying, he gave up and stilled. “Fine.”

Feyre smiled as the leader of the mob, and an undeniable alpha male, finally admitted he was powerless. She kissed him softly, then positioned him against her.

“Beg me,” she demanded sweetly, holding herself right above him.

He growled, and she knew there’d be hell to pay when she untied him. But she didn’t exactly care at the moment, because from between clenched teeth, he murmured, “Please.”

She sank down, and both of them groaned. Their lips collided as she started to move, and it was such a rush to have him like this she almost came.

It wasn’t like she’d never been on top before, but it was different for him to be the one begging. Normally, he drove her half insane before claiming her, and it was sugary sweet to finally do the same to him.

The plane continued to soar as they moved together, faster and faster.

Rhysand threw his head back against the seat, and she licked the column of his throat, making him groan. “Fuck, baby.”

Bracing her hands on the wall behind them to get better leverage, she kissed him wildly, both of them suddenly desperate.

She felt release start to build up in her and knew she was close. As her legs started to tremble, she leaned down and murmured in his ear, “Come with me, Rhysand.”

Both of them moaned, and she smiled as she kept moving until both of them were a boneless pile of limbs.

Then she pulled the blindfold off, smiling down at him victoriously.

“Devious woman,” he murmured, violet eyes full of amusement, even though he was still tied up. “I had a whole romantic evening planned, and you go and kidnap me.”

“My plan was better.”

She could tell that if his hands were free, he’d be shrugging. “Maybe so. Will you untie me now? Please?”

Feyre grinned at that word, then reached to grab the knife Cassian had given her for her birthday. “Um, don’t move.”

“Oh, God.” Her husband looked nervously at the knife, then pressed his eyes shut.

Careful not to cut him, she cut his his hands free, then leaned down to do the same for ankles. After turning his wrists a few times, his hands settled on her hips. “Where are we going?”

Now that he was free, she knew he’d get the information out of her one way or another, so she gave in. “Paris.”

He nodded, leaning back to study her face. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Three weeks, but I only involved Cassian and Azriel yesterday. Cass can’t keep his fat mouth shut around you for more than twenty-four hours.”

Rhysand laughed, knowing how well it was true. Then he leaned to press a kiss on her neck, just below her jaw. “You know, kidnapping is a felony.”

She was aware, considering she’d graduated from law school three months ago. But she still asked in a playful tone, “Really?”

“You might have to bribe me with some insane arrangement so I don’t report you to the police.”

That devious twinkle in his eyes made it impossible not to grin back. “Like what?”

He shrugged, hands sliding across her hips to her backside. “A year of marriage might do the trick.”

Even though their marriage had started with such a bargain, it had grown into so much more. So she repeated the exact thing she’d said to him a year ago. “So my options are to go to jail and become a disgrace to my family, or marry a mobster?”

“Pretty much.”

Feyre leaned down to kiss him, murmuring, “I guess you have a deal, then.”

He smiled against her lips. “Happy anniversary, wife.”

“Happy anniversary.”

______________________________________________________________

I didn’t keep the tag list, so I just copied it from part 3. Sorry if it doesn’t work!

@rapunzel @bamchickawowow @wesupremeginger @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @hizqueen4life @exciting @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @sleeping-and-books @negativenesta @burritowithfeels @sis-it-dont-add-up @mockingjayusa @aelin-is-my-heart @awesomelena555 @thekeytohappiness-is-you @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @keshavomit @b00kworm

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #rhysand #feyre #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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bulletballet-arch · 3 years

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The Revised [ Full ] History of Eve in Picture Perfect

( until I decide to tweak and edit it some more )

In this verse, Eve’s mother Linda would reside in Brooklyn for three years after the death of her husband, William Littlejohn, his brother Malcolm, and Malcolm’s wife Yvette. Initially, she stays in Brooklyn simply because she feels she is supposed to. Her in-laws, Amos and Liza, want to observe her. Similarly, Linda’s parents want to ensure she is fine after narrowly facing death. Haunted by the massacre, Linda suffers from survivor’s syndrome, but she is never allowed to vocalize the pain felt. In the midst of secretly attending therapy sessions ( while Eve is taken care of by her Grandma Evelyn and Papa Giuseppe ) Linda finds that her lifestyle is stagnant. She feels as though she is a woman who does whatever someone else wants. Therefore, Linda decides to move to Manhattan with the five-year-old Eve in tow. They live in a luxurious apartment and Linda makes her living as a secretary on Wall Street while Eve attends ballet classes.

Linda didn’t have to be a secretary, as the Littlejohns (and her father) provided her with money, but she liked working. It kept her mind off things. Sometimes things would feel great until people asked her was her husband the late William Littlejohn. In time, Linda gets a boyfriend who is a stockbroker. He’s white, he’s a recent divorcee and because she worked so closely with him, Linda knew it would be unprofessional to date him. But she thought to herself, ‘this is my decision. It’s okay because I have some control.’ The idea of control was a myth, though. She became his arm candy, similar to what happened within the Littlejohn Family when she initially became linked with William.

Linda could not complain too much, though. Because her new lover was good to Eve. The overall excellent dynamic caused them to get married. Their marriage lasts for four years. Eve is eight years old when they divorce. It’s a divorce that’s long. Messy. He was going to jail for a pyramid scheme was a part of and Linda didn’t want to stand by him. After the divorce - and the trial - Linda decides she could use a break. She decides that she and Eve should leave the country for a little while. Because why not? She has the money. The first country they go to is England, staying in London.

It was supposed to be a month-long vacation, but she kept putting off returning home. She didn’t want to house hunt back in New York, she didn’t want to be identified with a scandal, she didn’t want to see any family. So they began living in London. When Eve is nine years old, Linda would decide to go to South Africa. Eve experienced cities such as Durban, Ghana, Cape Town. While Linda was really in Africa to become more connected to her ancestors, all and all, she thought the experience would be good for Eve. Her baby girl could have a lot of memories of different buildings, landscapes, cultures. And, this exposure did make Eve happy, however, she had no stable school life or friendships. So on a social level, Eve was miserable. She also tried having pen pals, but that only worked for so long before both parties ceased writing one another. Eve did feel at home when she was in New York with her extended family during holidays like Christmas. Eve’s maternal grandparents wanted her to live with them, but her mother refused it. Eve has a vivid memory seated in the back of a taxi, crying because she didn’t want to go to the airport. And as for Linda - well, she would never notice this, but whenever she was deeply distressed, her mental desire was to just keep moving.

When Eve was fifteen years old, her mother fell in love with a highly esteemed professor from the University of Cape Town. This would be her mother’s third significant relationship. They all began living together and he begins an inappropriate relationship with Eve. It’s all an act of grooming that Eve isn’t aware of. Linda catches on to it and calls out her boyfriend for his behavior. However, he is offended by the accusations. He moves out, but he still contacts Eve through phone calls and even picks her up from school at one point without her mother’s consent. Eve remembers her mother always asking her questions, ‘did he touch you?’ ‘What did he do to you?’ Eve was overwhelmed, as she felt her mother didn’t believe her. It caused Eve to give her the silent treatment, which in turn caused Linda to decide to move again. This time, they would leave Africa to live in Europe - France, specifically.

In France, the two moved twice. First to Paris then to Lyon. Eve liked Lyon more than Paris, but was much too stubborn to admit it. Part of Eve was worried that if she was open about her love, then her mother would want to move somewhere else. She attended college with a focus on art conservation. Ultimately, she did not fully complete her apprenticeship because she would meet Alexandre DuBois, a con artist she fell in love with.

He did not expose his true nature to her at first, but she began questioning the source of the jewelry he was continuously giving her. When she reached the conclusion that he was a criminal of some sort, Alexandre kept insisting that it wasn’t as much of an issue that she was making it out to be. To prove this he wanted Eve to come with him to a job wanting Eve to participate as well. Eve declined, she wasn’t trying to get in any legal trouble. However, Alexandre said he didn’t like boring women. Offended, she agreed. He slicked down his hair so it could appear straight. Wore his best suit. Meanwhile, he instructed Eve to dress as though she was going to attend the most extravagant party. When they stood side by side, Alexandre was looking like a wealthy white man with a young, black mistress. The trick, Alexandre told her, was to always act as though you belong. For days Eve waited for consequences. For the police to knock at her door. Something. It didn’t happen. She told herself never again, but she got addicted to stealing with Alexandre, as it became an adrenaline rush.

Eventually, Eve and Alexandre were apprehended by law enforcement. Linda bailed Eve out and told her that if she was not going to continue reaching for her career goals then she would send her to America. Eve would fight back, insisting that she was an adult, so she doesn’t have to go to America just because she said so. Linda then has enough and states that since Eve is a young adult, she can live with Alexandre. The relationship that would progress between Eve and Alexandre was not without its faults. Even when Eve moved in with him, Alexandre was cheating on her discreetly. He had his alternate hookups and one-night stands, with Eve simply being his main girlfriend. When women smugly confronted Eve of how Alexandre was nothing but a womanizer and she was his latest victim, she fought for the sheer integrity of his name. Behind closed doors, when Eve confronted Alexandre about his inability to be monogamous: he blackened her eye.

The relationship comes to an end when Alexandre gains access to an elite party. During their fumbled job, they would be acknowledged by someone who would be very influential in Eve’s future, Gisella Agostini of the Corsican Mafia. The two would leave the scene in shame, fiercely arguing in the car about who messed up. Eve brings up how he’s a liar and manipulator, only for Alexandre to rip the pearls from her neck and kick her out his car. She had to find her way back to safety in the dark of the night.

While Alexandre and Eve are separated, the Agostini family does research on the two. They see that Alexandre has a long history of theft, and even a previous murder charge, while Eve just seems to be a college student who got caught up in the thrill of crime. First, Alexandre is snatched off the street by Agostini goons. In what he deemed as an act of self-preservation, he sells Eve out, claiming it was her idea.

When Eve is abducted by the crime family, Gisella confronts her directly. The old woman states that she could fix everything and spare her from her ‘husband’s wrath.’ But the truth is, Gisella’s husband doesn’t do anything in the crime family any longer due to his age and illnesses, but Gisella uses him as a ‘front’ to reign. Eve ends up working for the crime family, and in little moments, she ever so gradually speculates she is in the midst of a female mob boss. As the months go along, Eve’s mother wants to make amends but Eve doesn’t want her mother to know she is now gang-affiliated. Eve is very afraid for her life. This leads to more mother-daughter tension due to the lack of communication.

As the years pass on, Gisella is progressively attached to Eve. This is reflective of how she has her own passion for the world and the diverse people who live in it (especially those of the African diaspora.) In turn, Eve initially grows to feel like she’s a part of some sort of stable family. Ultimately, their relationship gradually becomes overbearing and toxic. Eve is literally feeling like she’s owned and controlled by an old white woman. Therefore, Eve distances herself from dealing with Gisella personally because it was too much. However, Eve continued working for the crime family in regards to assassinations and heists, but she was not eating at Gisella’s home for dinner or talking over tea. Eve decides to make amends with Gisella by the time she is 31. Little did she know, the woman was on her death bed at this point. They were kind to one another and Gisella lets Eve know she can do whatever she wants now. Later that week, the old woman would die. While Gisella’s death comes as a shock - Eve was also feeling relieved. Afterward, Eve has mild conflict with Gisella’s nephew who feels like she should not be leaving the crime family, but Eve insists Gisella harbored no ill will towards her and wanted her to do whatever she wanted. So, she’s leaving.

Eve relocates to New York to begin a new, stable life. It’s what she wants. It’s what she needs. Or so she thinks. She thought New York would have her feel at home and content as it did when she was a child, but she didn't feel this way at all. She felt like a stranger among her family, like a guest or something. Eve proceeds to sell the art she makes for a living and gains recognition from it. Admittedly, she’s bored with a quiet life. It is entering a relationship with Salvatore Scozzari that sparks her passion for crime, although he would much rather her marry him and live a quiet but glamorous life. But in the end? Eve can’t do it. Breaking up with Sal by claiming she’ll be working at a gallery in California, she travels to another state. Her life as a thief starting up a second time.

#long post tw //#grooming tw //#v; picture perfect.

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writinginthedarkwood · 5 years

Text

Alien Shoto! Capturing your heart <3

Alien Shoto Todoroki x Reader!

This is a continuation of Alien Izuku x Reader AU! You can read that here here -> https://writinginthedarkwood.tumblr.com/post/188136408454/kinktober-alien-izuku-x-fem

This was requested by a follower of mine! They gave me an idea they liked and I ran with it. I’ll write for you toooo just ask <3

Warning: contains kidnapping. Also some freaky alien sex ~

It was all over the news. It started with the disappearance of one girl. She was a freshman in college, a quieter girl. Her mother said she had anxiety and insomnia, and frequented walking in the middle of night when she couldn’t sleep. “She wouldn’t just take off, something happened to her!” She cried on camera when she was interviewed. The police chalked it up to a random incident until about a month later. Every day girls between the ages of 13 and 25 disappeared in rural America. It was slow at first, farm towns in the middle of nowhere that didn’t usually have much trouble were panicking. The police were stumped. Thirty days after the first kidnapping, that girls face with a crown on it was burnt into a soybean field near her college. At first, the police thought it was a tribute to her by other students. The farmer who owned the field was frantic. He said a bright light burnt the picture into his field, killing his crops. The police brushed him off, but people were shaken up all over the country. On the 31st day after that first girls disappearance an entire girls school in Japan was abducted, seemingly out of thin air. Girls 13 to 18, all 300 of them were gone in one night. Their beds were still made like they were in their, nothing was disturbed. One girls teddy bear was gone with her, but mostly all of their things were left untouched. The Russian government reported the disappearance of teen girls went up by 36% in all of their major cities. The strange thing was, it didn’t matter their race, how much money they had or even where they were during the time of abduction. The only thing that connected the girls? None of them were married. The world news exploded, conspiracy theorists claimed it was the end of the world. People rioted in the streets, some families were hiding their daughters in bunkers. Some randomly married their daughters off to try and prevent them from getting taken.

My mom pulled me out of college. I traveled back home, my family lives in New York City. Mom boarded up the windows to our apartment while I watched the T.V. I picked at my nails, people were gearing up for war against the Government. NYC hasn’t been affected by the disappearances. People went missing at a normal crime rate for the most part, which has people thinking the the abductions had to do with some type of project, and the New York elite prevented the government from effecting the city. “This is just a precaution darling, nothing will happen to us here. “ She said as she hammered the wood onto the frames of the window. The news was running a piece on the newest conspiracy.

“This man here say’s that he watched his daughter and her two best friends disappear out of thin air.” The man said with a shaky voice. He was at a dairy farm in Wisconsin. The farmer grabbed the mic out of the reporters hand, his face stained with tears. “They were with me, and then they were gone! A bright light flashed and they were gone.” He stuttered as the reporter tried to take the mic back. He positioned himself in the center of the camera and raised his voice. “It was aliens! I saw the light! The government is ignoring the only answer to this crisis!” He started screaming and the camera cut back to the main station.

A loud crash came from outside the window. Mom and I turned to each other puzzled. “Was that a car crash?” I asked her. She shook her head, her face pale. “It was probably nothing.” She said. People started screaming in the street below us. “Stay right there. Don’t move I’m waking up your brother.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. She rushed to the back of the apartment and banged on my brothers door. I ran to my room and looked out my window, people were running in a mob away from something. They abandoned their cars, screaming for help.

A mother pushing a baby in a stroller was panicking, a wheel of her child's stroller fell off of the curb and jammed into a sewer grate. She was trying to pull her infant out of his stroller, but people were shoving her. She froze and started crying. I threw my desk drawer open and grabbed my craft scissors. She’s just under my fire escape, I can pull them up here and to the safety of our apartment!

I shoved my window open and almost fell trying to get down the slick metal stairs. The ladder that would lead me to the ground jammed, I stomped it with my foot until it fell to the sidewalk. People scurrying out of the way. I shoved myself against the flow of the mob and looked in the stroller. The baby was red face and sobbing, probably scared to death. I cut the infant free and the mom gathered him in her arms, trying to thank me over a new deafening sound. Was that, marching?

Before I could tell the mom to climb the ladder, she took off running. What’s happening, was there a bomb? Is the army here?

The swarm of people started shoving me away from my apartment building. The wave of frantic humans wouldn’t allow me to push against them. My shoulder was shoved, I’ll have bruises all over my body if I make it out of here.I started to slip to my feet, I can’t move! A strong hand reached out and grabbed me, pulling me out of the crowd and onto the hood of a parked car. He wrapped both hands around my waist, saving my life.

He was breath taking. His face unlike any young man you’ve ever seen. He had a black military cap on, his entire uniform was black except for silver metals pinned to his shoulders. A solider? What branch of the military has all black uniforms? He had long hair that swept over his forehead. One side was bright red, and the other, stark white. He had a deep tissue red scar on the left side of his face. His eyes two very different colors. He shouted over the crowd. “I saw you save that woman back there.” I nodded my head yes, feeling shocked. “Why did you do that?” He asked, it was hard to hear him over all of the commotion. I looked over his shoulder, smoke rose over the city line, something had crashed in the middle of times square, what is that? He asked again, closer to my ear. “Why did you do that?”

Why? I don’t know why. Something came over me and I had to help her. “She was in danger, her and her baby could have been trampled.” I said close to his face so he could hear me. His face was stoic and I swallowed, he was studying me. “We need to get you to safety.” Was all he said, he stood me up and looked around, surveying his options of where to go. He helped me keep my balance, the running mob knocking into the car was making my legs wobble. He held me by my elbows, close to him. This isn’t the time to be thinking about how strong and handsome my savior is, but I can’t help myself. The sound of marching grew louder, and I saw what everyone was running from.

An invading army, men of every shape, color and size plowed through the streets in formation. They were breaking into every building and pulling women out into the streets. I gasped in horror. “What’s happening?” I screamed and the young man pulled me tighter into his arms. “Don’t worry I’m going to get you out of this shit hole.” He had a high tech watch on, he was messing with it in a language I didn’t recognize. I squinted my eyes, the apartment complex across the street from mine was being raided by the men. They wore all white uniforms, similar to my rescuer. A man pulled a woman out of the building, he had huge muscles and purple tinted skin. Are those scales painted on him? The woman didn’t fight him, in fact she looked kind of happy to be with him. She gripped onto his shoulder and before I could even finish blinking.

They were gone.

Aliens, the crazy people on the news were right. The object down the street that had crashed was shining silver in the broad daylight, it was a ship. The man who pulled me out of the street turned my body to face him. He put a hand under my chin and made me look him in the eye. “Hold on tight.” I nodded my head yes, hypnotized by his icy gaze.

“Y/N!!!” I heard a scream. I snapped my head away from him and looked up at my window. My mom was waving frantically, my brother half way down the fire escape coming to get me.

Before I could say a word, tingles ran through my whole body for just a second. Like a light current of electricity rippled over my skin and then dissipated before I could blink.

We were in an all white room, a lot of people were. It was noisy, people were chattering. I looked around. Some men in white uniforms had animal body parts, some were different colors of the rainbow. Some had extra limbs, and some looked completely normal but with brightly colored hair. They all had normal looking women with them, some girls were softly crying, and some were happy and holding onto the man that was with them. They started disappearing through sliding white doors. I realized I was still holding onto the man that saved me. I let go and took a step away from him. “What the hell is happening!” He took a deep breath and adjusted his cap. “I feel so much better getting off of that nasty planet, how do you even breathe all of that smog?” He said, ignoring me. I took another step away, bumping into a girl who was asking the same thing. Her escorting man was holding her hands and kissing them. “So you really are an alien?” She had her jaw hanging open, her tone shrill with surprise. “Yes but we’re going to be so happy together! You’ll start to feel it soon.” He said with a wide toothed smile. Before she could protest, a smile crept across her face too. “You’re so... you’re so sweet.” She said to him and he laughed and picked her up in his arms. She was terrified a minute ago, but after he kissed her knuckles she blushed and was okay with this?

With every couple that left this big white room, another would appear. I shot daggers at the two toned haired boy. “What are you.” I hissed through gritted teeth. He looked at me with a bit of confusion, but then straightened out his face. “You’ve probably gathered that I’m an alien.” He looked around the room, seeming a bit stressed. “Can you just come with me? It’s loud in here.” He stuck out his hand and I rejected it. “Start talking, why did you bring me here!” I shouted, my entire body was shaking with fear. “I want to give you all the answers, please just come with me.” I wanted to trust him, he spoke earnestly. I reluctantly followed him, but refused to touch him. He took me through a busy hall of couples, lot’s of them giggling and kissing. I saw a much younger boy, without a uniform holding hands with a scared human girl, she had to be only 13. They were talking to an older alien man who was smiling. “Isn’t she sweet Kai? You two get to be friends forever. No hurry though, you two need to grow up some!” The older man said as he ruffled the alien boys hair.

He pressed a code into a screen on the wall, a door that blended in with the wall opened and he invited me to step inside. The door shut behind us, and I realized I was in a small apartment type place. Most of the interior seemed normal, a wooden table. A microwave, a bed in the corner with white sheets. The technology on the appliances was all types of touch screen, but other than that it all looked vaguely familiar to a bigger dorm maybe. He sat at the table and I stood by the door. “Won’t you come sit with me?” He asked politely. I shuffled towards the table, sitting across from him. I eyed him carefully, he studied my face with a slight smile. “My name is Shoto.” He had his hands clasped in front of him on the table. “And you’re Y/N, right?” He asked. I nodded my head yes. “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked while staring right into my eyes.

“I’m not sure.” I said barely getting my voice out of my throat. “Well, fate is the best way to describe how we met, but it’s actually a little more scientific than that.” He gave me a small smile. “My species is very similar to yours, but we have one fatal design flaw that no amount of science can fix.” He started explaining. “Eons ago, before your planet even held homo-sapiens. My species almost died out. We evolved to produce several offspring at one time of conception, but our a mutation in our genes prevents our female offspring from living to maturity.” He messed with his fingers like he was nervous. “Our population numbers dwindled, but our amazing specialists on the matter discovered a solution.” He upturned his palm and held it out on the table, silently asking me to take it. I ignored it. A pained look crossed his face, but he retracted anyway, “We have the ability to mate with species similar to ours, and this helps the spread of much healthier genes. We’re in a constant cycle of finding a new planet, returning home, and then sending the next generation out to find another planet. The system works only if the planet we find has a species that meshes with ours.” He paused for a moment to check and see if I was following. I nodded my head, urging him to go on. “It can be very dangerous if it doesn’t work. We spend our whole lives studying the species, and we send our leader to find his mate first to make sure it works.”

The girl! That girl who disappeared a month ago!

“This is where fate ties in.” He looked like he wanted to reach for my hand again but resisted the urge. “This is my first reproductive cycle, I didn’t have the greatest role models growing up, I learned everything I know from school. So bare with me as I explain this...” A small blush sprinkled over his cheeks for just a moment. “We feel strong ties to the universe, it links us to who our partner at the right time and the right place. None of this is random, it’s all very calculated. I was supposed to find you today. That’s why I lead my squadron through your city.” He fidgeted for a moment. “When we mate we mate for life, our bond will never be broken.”

“You want to...” My face blushed wildly. “You want to mate with me?” I choked out. He nodded his head. “Of course. You’re the perfect female for me, you’ll look beautiful carrying my offspring.”

I felt faint, my head spun and everything hit me at once. “What’s wrong you look-” He panicked and stood so fast his chair hit the floor. He grabbed a bag out of the cabinet and threw it on the table. “I’m fine I just feel like I might pass out.” I leaned my head onto my arm on the table and closed my eyes. This table is so cool, I could just take a nap here. I felt a sharp prick in my arm, but I felt too weak to sit up. “Don’t worry Y/N I read about this in class.” He said softly with a hint of something frantic in his voice. I felt a jolt of energy and sat straight up. “What did you just inject me with?!” I looked at my arm in horror, he’d placed a needle and was filling me with something. “Just some organism essentials. Do you feel better?” He asked, his face riddled with concern. “I feel a lot better actually.” A light spot of blood was left where he pricked me. He dropped the needle in horror and pulled me out of my chair and slammed me on the table. “Hey!” I called out in protest. “You’re bleeding!” He yelled, studying my arm. “Humans can die from lack of blood!” He dug through his medical bag, tossing things onto the floor. I giggled, I can’t help but laugh. “It’s just a speck. You can just wipe it away and it’ll clot on it’s own.” I rolled my eyes and he stopped searching through the bag. “Oh.” He said plainly. He grabbed my arm and licked over the spot of blood, I tried to recoil but he held my arm firmly in place. His spit was extra sticky, like warm honey. He dragged his tongue slowly up and down my arm. His spit sunk into my skin and I felt a rush of emotion. I reached out and grabbed him in my arms. He was stunned at first, but then wrapped his arms around me back. He hugged me for a moment before pressing my back against the table. He planted a firm kiss on my lips and swirled his tongue around inside my mouth, I felt an extreme heat boil in my lower belly. I put both hands firmly on his shoulders and shoved, gasping for air. "What are you doing?" I said losing my breath. He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Is my saliva not working? My hormones should be coursing through you, releasing large amounts of oxytocin in your brain.” He grabbed my chin and tilted my face back and forth, looking deep in my eyes. “Your vitals seem normal...” He trailed off, feeling my pulse on my wrists. “Your spit is supposed to do something to me?” His touch alone was driving me crazy. My heart pounded against my chest, my lungs are tight and I can barely breathe. “Yes it should be signalling to your body that I’m ready to mate. Your ovaries should be excreting hormones preparing your va-” My face blushed wildly and I interrupted him. “I know how sex works!” I blurted out. “Are you trying to brain wash me with that stuff?” I felt my arm where he had licked. Though it felt like gel before, my skin was completely dry in that spot now. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course not.” He spoke so seriously. “My chemistry causes a reaction with your chemistry better than any other potential partner. My instincts guided me to you, your pheromones are very potent to me.” He nuzzled his face in my neck, pressing me close to him with his hand on my lower back. He planted a kiss on my collar bone, he gently used his tongue to glide over the sensitive part of my skin. I shivered, goosebumps covering my whole body. He trailed wet kisses up my neck to my ear. “I can take good care of you, forever...” He whispered, his voice was growing raspy with anticipation. “You don’t need to be stubborn.” He pulled away from me and put two fingers in his mouth. He sucked on them for a moment, covering them in saliva. The sticky substance trailed from his lips and followed him to the waist band of my leggings. He placed the tips of his fingers on my entrance and moved up and down. My body betrayed my mind, I gushed onto his digits. I bit my lip, holding back a moan. He smirked and plunged his fingers into me. “Shoto...” I whined.

You don’t know this man! He invaded your planet and kidnapped you!

My rational thoughts started to fade as he swirled his fingers around. I was expecting some type of pain, his hands look so strong and callused. “Tell me how you feel...” He purred. His eyes were glazed over with want, his cool exterior melting away the more he touched me. “I- I feel good.” I mewled back, my arms shook while trying to hold myself up on the table. “Say you want to be my mate.” He commanded while pressing hard on my g-spot with his fingers. He softened his tone a bit sounding sweet. “Please Y/N... I can’t bring myself to hurt you.” He looked pained. I could see his want press hard against his pants. I melted at his sweetness. “I want to be your mate-” I said breathlessly. He ripped off his uniform jacket and threw it to the ground, the medals on the pocket clinging together as it hit the floor. I pulled my shirt off at the same time. He stopped holding me for only a few seconds but we grasped back onto each other like we were both touch starved. His lips crashed against mine, I clawed at his shoulder blades and he pulled my leggings of with a rip of the fabric. “Spread your legs.” He growled and I obeyed. My legs wrapped around his hips as he pulled his pants down and quickly stuffed himself inside of me. I took a sharp breath in and my body felt just the slightest bit of relief, finally getting what it wanted. He pounded his hips into mine, grabbing onto my back and neck for support. I held onto him as tight as I could, feeling like I couldn’t get close enough. He thrust into me with hard slow strokes. I moaned his name over and over again, feeling my body tighten with pressure. “I- I’m going to cum-!” I couldn’t help but scream. Shoto grabbed my hair at the nape of my neck and groaned a short, almost growl like sound in my ear. “Dammit-” He said under his breath, his body gearing up for his climax. I burst onto him, my body gushing all over his staff. I screamed his name and he quickened his pace, hitting me harder and faster. I started to cry out for more when he stopped and pulled me into a soft kiss, his body pulsing. “Did you finish?” I asked just before his cock changed shape, still inside my canal. I squealed as his eyes rolled back into his head and he panted. I felt a small orb leave his body and pulse into mine. A shiver ran up my spine. “What the hell!” I tried to move away from him and he firmly grabbed my ass, sliding me back to the edge of the table and holding me there. “Don’t panic.” He said with a heaving chest. Another object pulsed into me, and then another. My body suddenly squirted again, an explosive orgasm rocking my entire being. I gripped the edge of the table, unable to even make any noise. He kissed my lips tenderly and pulled out. “Oh my god...” I covered my mouth in shock at his member. It was silver with deep purple veins. It leaked a few shiny gooey drops of liquid before the opening closed, looking vaguely similar to human genitalia, but with no slit.

He quickly covered himself by pulling his pants back up, looking lightly embarrassed. “As one of the King’s generals I should have more composure.” He looked down at me, happy with how much of a mess I look. “But you’re so lovely, I just couldn’t wait any longer.” He helped me off of the table and guided me to his bed. “Come here Y/N. Let’s rest awhile before we go again.” He said devilishly as he tackled you onto the soft comforter.

Part 3~ https://writinginthedarkwood.tumblr.com/post/188289769294/alien-bakugo-x-reader-the-warrior

!!!!! My requests are open, message me let’s have a chat! If you’d like to buy me a coffee while I type your request you can do that here, I never expect tips, I write for fun. It’s just if you feel like being extra generous :) -> https://ko-fi.com/writinginthedarkwood

#bnha au #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki smut #shoto x reader #alien abduction #bnha lemon #bnha lemon au #lemon #kinktober #kinktober bnha #monster boy #monster bnha #ovipositor #ovipositor kink #inthewoods bnha alien au

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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When Machiavelli wrote, “in order to know Moses’ virtue it was necessary that the people of Israel be slaves in Egypt …,” he was pointing to the truth that knowing what one is up against is a powerful incentive for dealing with it intelligently. Genesis tells us that only in Moses’ time did the Egyptians make clear how harsh was the alternative to the Exodus by deciding to kill their longtime slaves’ baby boys.

Today, the oligarchy that controls American society’s commanding heights leaves those who are neither its members nor its clients little choice but to marshal their forces for their own exodus. The federal government, the governments of states and localities run by the Democratic Party, along with the major corporations, the educational establishment, and the news media set strict but movable boundaries about what they may or may not say—on pain of being cast out, isolated from society’s mainstream. Using an ever-shifting variety of urgent excuses, which range from the coronavirus, to the threat of domestic terrorism, to catastrophic climate change, to the evils of racism, they issue edicts that they enforce through anti-democratic means—from social pressure and threats, to corporate censorship of digital platforms, to bureaucratic fiat. Nobody voted for this.

What forces can and can’t this oligarchy bring to bear? We have a hint from Time magazine’s Feb. 4, 2021, valedictory of “a vast, cross-partisan campaign” by leaders of business, labor, and the media, in cooperation with the Democratic Party, that “got states to change voting systems and laws” for the 2020 presidential election in contravention of black-letter constitutional law. Rulings by judges in Michigan and Virginia that changes to those states’ absentee ballot laws were blatantly illegal matters not one whit.

Why not? Because the coalition of masters controls the levers of the state and the press. As Time reveals, they “helped secure hundreds of millions in public and private funding. They fended off voter-suppression lawsuits, recruited armies of poll workers and got millions of people to vote by mail for the first time. They successfully pressured social media companies to take a harder line against disinformation and used data-driven strategies to fight viral smears.” Because these elites realized that “engaging with toxic content only made it worse,” they decided on “removing content or accounts that spread disinformation and by more aggressively policing it in the first place.” Instead of answering facts and arguments with which they disagreed, they would ignore their substance and smear whoever voiced them.

The boldness and novelty of these as well as of unmentioned tactics delivered the desired electoral result, and power heretofore unimaginable: Americans in 2021 are being fired or “canceled” from society for whatever anyone connected with the oligarchy finds objectionable—even for asking for evidence of the oligarchy’s assertions. Yet Time tells us that because the process of defeating Donald Trump’s voters angered them further, these oligarchs worry that they gained only “a respite.” Hence the united oligarchy must seek, as The New York Times’ Jamelle Bouie put it, permanent “national political dominance.”

Though that dominance seems at hand, the general population’s compliance with it is not. That is because isolating and alienating anybody, let alone half the country, is the proverbial two-edged sword. Anytime you isolate and alienate someone else, you do the same to yourself. The boundaries that the oligarchs have drawn, are drawing, separate them from the American people’s vast majority, whose consciousness of powerlessness and defenselessness clarifies their choice between utter subjection and doing whatever it might take to exit a system that no longer seems to allow for the prospect of republican self-government.

…

By this century’s second decade, the oligarchs who occupy the commanding heights of American life had ceased trying to persuade. Self-government has declined as corporations have wielded public powers with private discretion. America’s ruling class—bipartisan, public and private—grew to disdain the rest of America’s religiosity, patriotism, and tastes. But until our own time, most Americans either had not noticed their loss of status as citizens or assumed that they could vote to regain it. But the rulers inspired no confidence and ruled by pulling rank.

…

Hate-as-identity was key to the ruling class’s victory in the 2020 election. For the elites, indulging sentiments of moral superiority, promoting hate, and rubbing “deplorable” faces in the dirt is a means to secure and mobilize supporters, which itself is incidental to securing the material benefits of power. For those who deliver the votes, indulging hate is affirmation of identity.

Ruling people by insulting and harming them is problematic, and not reversible. The use that the oligarchy made of the COVID epidemic added to insult and injury, as well as to its power, in a manner previously unimaginable. Boldly dismissing without argument the fact that viral infections cannot be stopped from running their course once they have taken root in a population, they asserted that acquiescing to indefinite cessation of social and economic activities they deemed to be nonessential would stop the disease’s progression. The ensuing lockdowns, mask mandates, and other measures made life for most Americans worse in every way. But these strictures also crippled the sectors of American society independent of and resistant to the oligarchy—religious institutions and small businesses. They isolated people and limited what they could hear from and say to each other, leaving them prey to one-way propaganda narratives backed by nightly threats of mob violence.

Correctly, however, the American oligarchy, which resides these days in the Democratic Party, feared that the weaponized, mutually validating narratives with which it had bombarded the population could not guarantee that the American people would vote differently in 2020 than they did in 2016, widespread public dislike for Donald Trump notwithstanding. Not a few suspected that the COVID heavy-handedness had increased resentment among people who had learned to be suspicious of pollsters, reporters, and opinion-samplers.

Ordinary credulity was never enough for swallowing the narrative that universal vote by mail, coupled with drop boxes for ballots and ballot harvesting by self-proclaimed civic groups, plus the reduction or elimination of verification of signatures, would do anything other than transfer electoral power from those who cast votes to those who count them—that is, to the oligarchy and its party. Even so, the ruling class’s victory depended on tens of thousands of votes out of 156 million, in some of the most corrupt counties in the land. In Pennsylvania, the vast majority of all mailed ballots were for Biden. The oligarchy sealed the victory as brazenly as they gained it: by meeting demands for transparency with ad hominem accusations backed by threats of social ostracism and enforced by control, which itself was attained in part by issuing naked threats backed by legislative and bureaucratic power—all over partisan, monopoly digital platforms which eventually participated in censorship.

The oligarchy’s power over American institutions public and private, however, does not change the fact that it rests on near universal voluntary compliance. The irrevocable alienation of and from at least half of Americans has canceled much of the oligarchs’ moral legitimacy and left them obliged to rule by further alienating and punishing—to rule a house that they divided against itself. Hence, the unprecedented power it gathered will prove less significant than the manner in which it did the gathering.

…

The deplorables plainly stand no chance of dismantling the new American system. Corporate executives, not legislatures, governors, or presidents are the ones who decide what happens to the trillions of dollars created jointly by the Federal Reserve and Wall Street. They are the ones who regulate speech and attitudes, who for the most part decide who rises and who does not. And they are the part of the oligarchy most insulated from republican institutions.

…

In our time, millions of people have grown up or been educated no longer to want or be able to live as citizens of what had been the American republic. Partisans in mind, heart, and habit, their support of the oligarchy’s partisan rule has left the United States with two peoples of opposing character, aspirations, and tastes within its national borders. The government bureaucracies are led by persons selected and habituated against the deplorables. The same can be said of the educational establishment and corporate boardrooms. What sort of dictatorial power would it take to purge them? Were the deplorables to struggle for the partisan power to oppress the others, they would guarantee dysfunction at best, war at worst. That is why it makes most sense for them to assert their own freedom.

Some sort of mostly peaceful exodus is within our powers to achieve. A very bad imitation of Mr. Smith was able to convince 75 million to rise against dangers that were still largely theoretical in 2016. Better imitators can lead many more to act against present ones, and to live within institutions of their own making. We can withdraw our compliance, go our own way, and build anew.

…

Our American exodus won’t be led by a Moses. The Republican Party, with the exception of a few national-level personages, may be as useless as ever. But politics is a collective activity, and the lack of top-down leadership notwithstanding, our exodus is already in progress, thanks to Americans’ legal structures and traditions of state and local autonomy, as well as our Tocquevillian taste for organizing ourselves into ad hoc groups for the common benefit.

…

What to do about the media’s banning or restricting the circulation of ideas with which it disagrees, including the distribution of books and movies, is a major issue of national politics. Without shame, medically unqualified “fact checkers” censor the writings of physicians on medical matters, while defining their own beliefs about gender and race as “science.” Letting such pretenses stand also ratifies the negation of the First Amendment. Overcoming them requires ending the exercise of what amount to governmental powers, indeed of police powers, by nongovernmental persons and entities.

Not so long ago, government power was the only threat to the First Amendment. But oligarchy’s essence is precisely the blurring and blending of public and private power in a partisan manner. Hence, media malpractice must be dealt with as part of a bigger political problem, namely expanding the Bill of Rights’ coverage to ostensibly private entities.

What is to be done about private companies that subject employees to training aimed at convincing them that there is something wrong with being white—or at least pretending to convince them? Or that they must abide by the oligarchy’s preferences? To be sure, state governments may outlaw such training within their borders, as part of their general police power. But big employers may object to such laws as contrary to their own freedom of speech, while asserting that the employees’ attendance at those sessions is voluntary. Even if courts back them up, governors and mayors don’t have to listen and can impose their penalties. Public figures, or brave employees, can organize many if not most employees to stay away and to explain just how wrong it is to racially stereotype. Management can’t fire them all. Yet republican self-government can return to at least some Americans only if and when a bloc of major states puts itself in the position of dictating what will and will not happen within their borders.

…

Until recently, graduation from highly selective colleges seemed to certify their graduates as better for having been admitted, and doubly so for having learned more than students at lesser schools. But for a generation, the Ivy League, Stanford, and others have made a point of admitting many students with lower scores on the Scholastic Aptitude Test rather than students with higher ones. In general, and with the exception of physics, chemistry, and pure math, the more highly rated the college, the less work it expects from its students. And since learning is inherently proportionate to studying, graduates of these academic peaks often know less than kids out of Podunk State. Yet they give their students something of supposedly greater practical value than knowledge: prestige, pretentiousness, and access to enviable careers.

Which leads one to ask why the nation’s most powerful consulting groups, private equity firms, and big banks hire Ivy League types and pay them so much. They are not necessarily all that bright or knowledgeable. Why then are they so valuable? Not because of what they know, but who they are: junior members of the oligarchy, identically chosen, trained, and confirmed to defend its interests, to communicate its priorities, and preserve its hierarchy. How come the public-private oligarchy was able to use the COVID challenge to crush independent business, thus transferring massive wealth to itself? Because its various parts are staffed by interconnected people who, whatever their differences, instinctively trump the Smiths’ priorities with those of their own class.

…

The oligarchy’s cancellation of most ordinary people out of its desired America leaves the latter with the choice between helotry and exodus. But since submission to inconstant, inept masters is impossible, common sense suggests counter-canceling: limiting involvement with the oligarchy to minimizing its interference on individuals who don’t share its aims and preferences.

The oligarchy’s cancellation of ordinary working people—of those who actively participate in forms of organized religion, and are otherwise attached to the common norms and values that prevailed in America and shaped the civilization in and by which most of us live—signals an alienation deeper than that between citizens of different but friendly nations. Asking how this cultural chasm has come to be detracts from the hard task of understanding its depth and making the best of it. Like married couples who have lost or given up what had united them, trying to work through irreconcilable differences only drives Americans’ domestic quarrels toward more violence.

#angelo codevilla #tablet magazine #read the whole thing

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pagesoflauren · 4 years

Text

Ride & Prejudice Ch. 3 (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy AU)

Summary: A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Warnings: mentions of violence, reader has PTSD & traumatic flashbacks, guns, mentions of animal violence, animal injury, swearing, angst, slow burn, eventual smut.

Specific warning for this chapter: the reader goes into detail about what has brought her to the farm. It involves gun violence and death.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3,657

Posted January 5, 2020

“...She’ll be ready to join y’all in a month, I'm tellin’ you!” Nat absolutely gushes about you and how well you've been while breaking Brego.

The first two weeks were easy, just getting the horse used to your touch and presence, having him understand you weren't a threat. He cooperated well enough, though when you brought a bridle into the picture, all bets were off.

He stomped and kicked and whinnied, absolutely terrified and forgetting everything you had worked on in the few seconds you had shown him the bridle. You threw it out of sight and he calmed down, allowing you to pet him to salvage what trust hadn’t been lost.

You easily found the trick was singing and slow movements to keep him relaxed and focused on you, rather than the harness that would go around his head. He was also very much like a toddler, enjoying physical touch like forehead touches and pettings. Nat smiled whenever she saw you two interacting, proud of every step you made to create a bond with him.

You worked your way up to saddling and mounting, eventually learning to direct him in turns as he trotted laps around the corral. You and Nat were stupid excited, squealing and high-fiving each other profusely after doing exercises for a week.

“That’s great!” Peter says happily, smiling at you widely, then sadly adding, “It’ll be so fun to have you with us, I won’t feel like a third wheel.”

You coo at him, pinching his cheek. “Don’t worry, Peter, we’ll be the cool ones.”

“Yeah right,” Bucky says, “Steve and I already got that covered.”

“I thought you were going for a fun and boring friendship paradox,” you verbally poke, raising laughter from everyone except the man you called boring.

“And I thought you were going for someone who’s actually trying to earn my respect.”

Silence falls almost immediately, tension rising in the room.

“And I thought for a man who demands respect from someone he met only two months ago he would at least treat me decently.”

“You’ve given me no reason to--”

“And I’ve also given you no reason not to!” you burst, having enough.

More silence. It’s thick in the room, like a heavy blanket pressing into your skin.

Steve stands suddenly and all eyes are on him. Even Ransom in the corner of the room perks up, ears at attention.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” is all he says, awkwardly stalking off.

More silence, broken by Bucky this time.

“Well, time to wash up, yeah? How about some cake?” he suggests, offering the leftovers from Nat’s trip into the market to satisfy her sweet cravings.

Steve is more mindful of his steps as he passes the bathroom and goes into the guest room--your room. He slowly opens the door to avoid the squeaking hinges and turning on the light to help him see better.

You’re hiding something. He knows it.

He starts with your drawers, opening and shutting them when he finds nothing. He looks on the floor under the bed, lifts the mattress from the bedframe to check there. He presses his face to look behind the headboard against the wall and finds nothing still.

He scoots across the bed to eliminate noise and cross the room to the closet, turning the knob and slowly opening the door.

There’s nothing on the walls or the shelf above the rod where your clothes hang from. Your suitcases are stacked on top of each other on the floor. He picks up the top one, setting it on the floor and opening the zipper one tooth at a time. When he flips open the cover, there’s still nothing there. He moves to the other suitcase opening as slowly as the first.

It’s empty.

Save for the manila folder that rests on the bottom, stamped with a red “CONFIDENTIAL” across it.

He takes it out, sits down and reads it. He scans the court report, eyes scanning. He spots one phrase, “accused of second degree murder,” and marches downstairs as he hears you all laughing in the kitchen, you and Nat splitting a piece of chocolate cake.

“The fuck is this?” he spits, throwing the file on the counter.

Cold runs from your scalp and prickles down your spine.

“Nat, you hired a murderer?” Steve continues, hands on his hips, expression severe.

Bucky’s eyes go wide with betrayal, shocked that his wife would lie to him.

“Baby?” he asks, grabbing the file. He flips through it quickly. “What is this?”

“You gonna explain yourself?” Steve asks.

Tears are already brimming in your eyes and you breathe deeply. “Did you read it?” you ask.

“I read enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did!” he shouts, “You murdered someone and are sitting here expecting us to help you?”

“Steve, you don’t know the whole story,” Nat interjects.

“I don’t need to know the whole story. She leaves in the morning, I’m not letting her--”

“He would have killed me!” you scream over him. Everyone looks at you this time.

“Honey, you don’t have to--”

“No, I do,” you interrupt Nat, “I’m not gonna let another man try to accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

You set your fork down, piece of cake still speared on it.

“My friend and I were out getting drinks. I drove her home and waited for her to get into her apartment. She didn’t live in the nicest part of the city, a lot of really shady things happened there.” You pause, closing your eyes. “I saw...I saw these men in the alleyway. They had a gun pointed at someone. I knew I had to leave before things went any further. When the trigger was pulled I started my car and they saw me.”

Nat says your name quietly, putting a hand on your shoulder as a way to tell you to stop.

You shake your head and keep going. “When I was turning to leave, they shot out my tires. When I had nowhere to go, they pulled me out and threw me onto the ground. They were yelling they were gonna kill me too. They put a gun to my head, Steve.”

You raise your chin to look at him. His posture has sagged significantly, listening to you intently.

“I don’t know what I did, I might have kicked him, but the gun fell out of his hands. I grabbed it and just pulled the trigger.” You press your hands to your head, hating the memories emerging in your mind. “The police came and arrested everyone, including me. It was a mess, God, it was a mess. They accused me of being some scorned lover of the guy I killed to try and discredit me as a witness and create a case for murder. Their lawyer was really good.

“There was no way to prove I wasn’t seeing him because I had gotten rid of the pictures I had with the guy I was seeing during the time frame they used. They were able to twist everything I said, everything my friends said until the DA pulled my ex in to testify. The judge dismissed the case but they were furious, yelling threats at me and telling me I was getting what was coming to me. The police gave me protection before they offered to relocate me here.”

You shut your eyes before placing your hands on the counter and daring a look at Steve.

“I killed someone. But there was no other way. I wake up in the middle of the night feeling the barrel of the gun pressed to my head. I dream of scenarios where they succeed and I’m lying cold six feet underground.”

“Stop,” Steve says, and you think you can see tears in his eyes.

You continue.

“Even now, when I’m meant to be safe, I still pay for it because everyday I have to deal with you and your petty feelings. Things could be worse, I get it. But I know I don’t deserve all this because I am nothing like whatever city folk you’ve encountered. I’m just trying to move on with my life. I don’t need you to dig into me like this, especially when it’s none of your business, how did you even get this?” you ask, pointing at the file in Bucky’s hands.

He tells the truth, then apologizes immediately after.

You scoff, jumping off your stool and walking around the island. You snatch the file out of Bucky’s hands and he flinches away from you. You approach Steve and look into his eyes, long and intensely. You don’t know what’s behind them, what emotion or thought. You’d like to think it’s regret.

You break gaze and head for the stairs, stepping onto the first one.

“By the way, you may as well use my real name from now on.”

You introduce yourself from there and head upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Jesus fuck Steve, I told you!” Bucky shouts. “I told you to stay out of it, keep your damn nose out of these things.”

“Do you know what could happen now?” Nat adds, “An agent’s comin’ in a month to see how she’s adjusted. If they find out there’s a risk of her name and location getting out because you snooped--”

“Which I told you not to do!” Bucky says again.

“They could take her back to be relocated again! If they find out she’s in the city, she won’t stand a chance. It was a mob gang, Steve. They have connections everywhere.”

Steve is beside himself, head hanging in shame as guilt rests on his shoulders, weighing heavier and heavier with each second. He doesn’t need to be told that he fucked up.

Nat finishes her cake and dumps her plate in the sink.

As she passes Steve, she stops.

“Steven Rogers, I have never been so disappointed in you.”

Bucky follows her.

“You better fix this.”

Steve stands in the entryway, shifting from side to side. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Peter, who’s still looking at him. He reminds Steve of a sad puppy, like Ransom when he was told he couldn’t go outside when it rained.

He and Peter leave in silence that night, using the spare key to lock the front door for them.

You stay in your room in the morning, skipping breakfast and listening to the sound of cutlery tapping against the plates and heavy slurps of coffee.

You stare at the window, thinking back to when the agent first drove you here. You were scared, but also had first-day-of-school nerves. You remembered thinking what you would do if the people here didn’t like you. Nat, Bucky and Peter had done everything to make you feel welcome and you had grown to like them.

Steve was like another curveball. He’s so handsome, you weren’t stupid. When he went in not liking you, you were stupid enough to think it was a game. But it was all him trying to find any reason to dislike you and now he had tried to twist your story like the lawyer who accused you of murder.

“Can I come in?”

The voice is too deep to be Peter’s and the drawl is too thick to be Bucky.

“Why? Here to find another reason to try and kick me off your farm?”

The floorboards creak and shift with his steps. You think he’s going to sit on the bed with you, but instead he sits on the floor next to you, knees bent, elbows resting over them as he clasps his hands together. His back rests against the bed as he faces the window too.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Are you so proud that you can’t even look me in the eye when you apologize?” you bite, still bitter. You don’t know if you can ever forgive him.

You watch with surprise as he moves to his knees, right hand rubbing the back of his neck and he wills himself to look at you. When he takes in your expression, stone cold and penetrating, his own face becomes desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, blue eyes clear in showing you his regret. “My ma always told me to not stick my nose in places where it don’t belong.”

“I see you take her advice well,” you say sarcastically.

“Why don’t you lay down your own pride for once!” he says indignantly. “I’m here tryin’a apologize and make amends--”

“How can you ever expect to make amends for what you did?” you stand as you reply, using the same tone.

“I don’t know, I’m on my damn knees! Figured that was a good place to start and we could go from there.”

You can see he’s at a loss. This is a man who either has had little to apologize for in his life or is as stubborn as some of the cattle he herds, having a hard time bending.

“I know I can’t expect you to forgive me. But I want to move forward from this, please. However we can. You can stay, f’you want. And if you do, I’d just like to know I could--we could--be friends one day, when you forgive me.”

“If I forgive you,” you correct.

“Yeah.”

He’s still on his knees.

There’s a lot of thoughts going through your head. You’ve been here for two months and made friendships with Nat, Bucky and Peter. You’ve had fun with Nat and when Bucky is around, you feel like a lifelong friend, not an intruder or third wheel. Peter holds a special place in your heart, like a little brother you never had.

Though you hate to admit it, in the past two months, you’ve also harbored a tiny (huge) crush on the man in front of you. With every word of banter caused an elastic stretch in your chest, giving a squeezing feeling in your heart and butterflies in your stomach. And his damn eyes…

“Can I tell you something?” Steve asks, gesturing for you to sit on your bed again.

You slowly sit down and he sits back on his heels, running his hands through his hair and God, you hate how attracted you are to him.

“When my pa was younger, he grew up here and didn’t want to stay. He packed his things and moved to the city to start a business. He partnered up with some guy he met, who seemed really trustworthy. You can probably tell where this was going,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded. Though your prediction was right, you still listened as Steve told you how the man stole his father’s money, leaving him only with the clothes on his back and the items in his suitcase. He came home with no choice but to take over the farm and settle down there. While Steve loves being a cattle hand, it’s not something he learned from his father.

“Pa never liked farmwork much. Brought me and my brother up with the idea that city folk ain’t worth trusting because the first one he met took every opportunity and dream away from him. When my brother and I graduated high school, he made it known that he wasn’t gonna stay, so he took his inheritance and left for the city. Hasn’t been in contact since. Just another reason to not trust city folk, they just think they’re too good for us.

“I know I don’t know you. Though you been here months, I just haven’t tried. That’s just all I knew. Pa died shortly after he hired Bucky. Nat helped take care of Ma when she got sick. I just...don’t talk to many people. I’m not good at it. Never was. And I know this all sounds like a bunch of excuses but I’m trying to use them as an explanation, not an excuse.

“I’m sorry. I am. I never should’a tried to get ridda ya. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental about you.”

You breathe deeply, taking in all the information you’ve learned about his prejudice. Though the generous part of you wanted to forgive him, you knew you shouldn’t.

“I appreciate your apology,” you say evenly. “Thank you for telling me that, you didn’t have to. But don’t think it automatically fixes everything.”

“I don’t,” he says, making to stand up, “I just thought it’d be good for you to know.”

You hum, keeping your face neutral. You weigh the scenarios of harboring your anger towards him for what he’s done versus the idea of slowly letting it go over time, though probably never forgiving him fully.

You liked living here, you liked Bucky, Nat and Peter. The trajectory of you life here entailed you going out every day with the boys to herd the cattle out of pasture. Everyday you will eat meals with Steve and Peter. Even now, when you’re angry with him, you still have a crush on Steve. Granted, you’re completely aware of the fact that your crush is the lowest priority, but it’d be nice to be able to look at Steve everyday. At least until you find another man who actually likes you.

If you left, you would go back into danger’s path, have learn an entirely new alias, adjust again and bank on the hope that those people won’t completely hate your guts the way Steve does.

Was the risk worth it?

You closed your eyes, huffing a breath. You opened them to find Steve still giving you that desperate, morose look.

“Well, I guess we should go downstairs, they’re probably waiting for us to get started on the day.”

Nat had been right. Within a month, you and Brego were ready to ride out daily with the boys.

You kept distance from Steve apart from pleasantries and strictly business talk. You’re certain that sometimes you catch him looking at you, though you think it’s just because he still feels guilty.

You don’t feel much anger towards him anymore. Mostly you just wonder how you’re meant to move forward. It’s been an awkward dance around each other, jokes falling flat on the ground or ending in dissolving laughter without a follow up. You try to stay near Bucky and take commands from him, but of course there’s the odd occasion where Steve has to tell you what to do.

You’ve learned more about your colleagues/housemates. Bucky speaks Romanian. His horse is a palamino, tan with white at the bottoms of his legs. He’s named him Sesoto, the Romanian word for “socks” because, “Don’t he look like he got some on?” Peter’s aunt lives in the next town over, running a grocery store. She worries about him all the time. Despite his naivete and boyish nature, he’s very clever and quick on his feet.

Steve continues to remain a bit of an enigma, though Bucky tells you what he feels at liberty to say. Steve’s favorite color is blue. He originally wanted to join the army, but his father ingrained farming into his head.

“His horse is like his girlfriend,” Bucky says with his mouth full during lunch.

“What?” you spit, hating the image Bucky has put into your head.

“Oh, no, not that way. Jesus, woman, get your mind out the gutter!”

“Then what do you mean?”

“They’re like best friends, I guess. I mean, I’m his best friend and Ransom’s his other best friend but the man and his horse, like...s’almost like you and Brego. She won’t let anyone else near her with a bridle. She’ll really only listen to Steve.”

“Did he grow up with her?”

“Nah,” he says, swallowing the bite.

“Do you always talk with your mouth full?” you interject before he starts his story, earning a bump on the shoulder from him.

“Anyway. Steve’s kinda always been reckless all our lives. He’d get into fights all the time in school. Was a bit of a pipsqueak. Then he got big when he really started working on the farm, lifting all the heavy shit.

“But he didn’t stop being stupid. One day he was up on the hayloft in the barn and the ladder fell. I was gonna get something for him to land on when he jumped off, but he said it was fine. He landed on his side, broke his ribs and arm real bad. He spent weeks in the hospital and going through physical therapy. His ribs stopped him from getting on a horse so that was a real struggle.

“Meanwhile, Ash was found really badly abused. We don’t know what she was used for, but whatever it was, she ran away even with a broken leg. Steve’s dad got her and helped her recover and thought she’d be perfect for Steve cuz they were going through the same thing ‘n all. They needed each other.”

“Like me and Brego,” you say, watching Steve sit with his horse and a drawing pad under a tree across the field.

“Yeah,” he says, “You two needed to get out of the situation y’all were in. And it brought you here.”

You look down at your sandwich thoughtfully, thinking about how 1. You and a horse could be so similar and 2. You and Steve could be similar. Steve needed to see deeper into you to stop being so bitter. It took a huge fight and the entire dynamic in the houses turning upside down, but you were in a better place now.

Maybe now it was your turn to see deeper into him.

“You’re either thinkin’ a lot about Steve and his horse or thinkin’ real hard about that sandwich,” Bucky jokes.

You pop the last bite into your mouth, wipe the crumbs off your hands and swipe your hand up to knock Bucky’s hand off his head.

Tagging: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @viarogers @jamielea81

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #cowboy au #ficsofpagesoflauren

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sugasweetsubs · 4 years

Text

the world is cold and life’s not fair, baby [Yoongi x Reader] pt.3-1

3 | THAT’S THE TRUTH

Demon!Yoongi x Reader - Angst

Rated M (for violence, blood, strong language, mentions of death*)

*more warnings will apply in future chapters

Words: 8k

Pt.3.2 of 4 (previous | next)

As soon as her call with Yoongi disconnects, Y/N sags onto her bed. It wasn’t the most elegant conversation she’s ever had, but it got the job done. Lifting a hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stem a quickly building headache.

She was going to be seeing him. Today. And that left her both terrified and relieved.

She knows it won’t be easy, but, now that most of the initial shock and anger have subsided, she also realizes that she has no idea what she actually wants to do about Yoongi.

In many ways, it was easier in the beginning, when Yoongi was nothing but the mysterious owner of a fight club. A name to be feared, but nothing more than a name.

But now… now Yoongi is someone who has let her meddle in his life for the sake of her brother; someone who nearly got stabbed for the sake of the search. More simply, and maybe more importantly, he’s someone who made her laugh--at 2 AM in a middle-of-nowhere diner no less--when no one else had been able to do so for a long, long time.

There is no doubt that he’s abrasive, hard to read, and a little too good at fighting for her comfort. But, it was the softer moments in between that kept her from calling the police then, and that keep her from being able to hate him now.

A frustrated sigh escapes her as she pushes herself into a sitting position. She shakes her head and tells herself that none of those things matter. Regardless of her personal feelings for Yoongi, good or bad, she needs him in order to find her brother. That is what matters.

With that as her resolve, she begins to prepare for their meeting.

____________________________________

Yoongi doesn’t handle waiting well. It isn’t long after his call with Y/N disconnects that the itching discomfort of impatience settles deep into his skin. The urges have been getting worse lately. He started noticing them not long before Y/N showed up at his door for the first time; it was only the brief interlude her presence had afforded that distracted him from the growing reminder. But, as history has shown, it is not something he can afford to keep ignoring. Sooner or later he will have to release the pent up chaos that is his power, the only variable is how much destruction he’ll bring when he does it. For the moment, however, the situation isn’t critical. He will deal with it after settling this investigation mess.

Glancing at his clock, he calculates the time he has before Y/N arrives. Judging it to be far too much for him to remain in his office, he takes the opportunity to rise from his chair and exit to where his assistant sits. After instructing the man behind the desk to keep an eye out for the information his sources are supposed to be sending, he weaves his way through the hallways that take him to the main practice room of the compound.

The “room” is more of a gymnasium, a large, open space sectioned off into five different areas. Each corner contains various equipment, with two set up with machines for weight training; one with lockers and benches for fighters to store equipment and rest; and the fourth acting as a makeshift infirmary with cabinets full of supplies for basic first aid, and gurneys for those who can only be wheeled out. The fifth and final area dominates the center of the space, acting as a ring for practice fights. It’s a simple setup, with mats on the ground and a few ropes marking the fighting zone, but it gets the job done.

Even now, two fighters are in the ring practicing footwork. At Yoongi’s arrival, they stop their drills and turn to watch him. One grins and gives a slight wave, the other blanches and looks away. Yoongi gives neither more than a cursory glance, though he notes their movement out of the corner of his eye when they exit the ring and start packing up. Smart people. They know that there’s usually only one reason that Yoongi himself makes an appearance in the practice room.

Yoongi searches the space. It’s a typical day for the club, and as such there are plenty of members walking around, chatting, and making use of equipment. However, a sudden hush spreads like a wave over the room for a moment as news of Yoongi’s arrival spreads, but sound surges a moment later as they begin to guess at the reason for his appearance. Most try to be discreet, but Yoongi can feel the eyes on him. He ignores the attention and continues his search.

“You," he calls out, finally finding what he is looking for in a young man who sits on a nearby bench, carefully wrapping his hand with support tape.

At the sound of Yoongi’s voice, the fighter looks up and spends a moment searching around, confused. Then he nearly pops out an eyeball when his gaze lands on Yoongi, who stands looking at him expectantly.

"Me?" He has paused his taping and now points at his chest, a bewildered look on his face.

"Yes, you. Ring. Now." The words are short, clipped. Now that the ring is in sight, the itch of his impatience has become a burn.

Startled blue eyes go even wider for a fraction of a second before the fighter's expression shifts into an eager grin, "you got it, boss."

As the man starts to tape his second hand, Yoongi readies himself. He first walks over to a small sink set into the wall near the medical equipment, and scrubs the spill of pen ink off his hand. A faded stain of gray remains, but he is no longer in danger of leaving marks on everything he touches. He then returns to one of the benches in the opposite corner and methodically removes his suit jacket and the white shirt he wears underneath. Despite the screaming need to jump into a fight, he takes the time to neatly fold the clothing and place it on the bench. He then bends to undo the laces of his black leather shoes before sliding both the shoes and the socks underneath the same bench.

Standing, Yoongi catches the roll of white tape that the fighter tosses to him. He makes quick work of wrapping his hands. While he could easily go without it, it is always good to keep up appearances. Finished with the tasks, Yoongi walks to meet the fighter in the roped-in practice ring.

"Gotta say, I've always wondered if I'd get the chance to knock you on your ass," the fighter calls out from the other side of the circle. "Everyone's so scared of you, but if you ask me, everyone has to fall some time." The words are said with an arrogance that can only come from youth. Yoongi wants to laugh.

"Perhaps," is all he says.

They both walk closer to the center of the ring. A woman, who the young fighter calls “Soojin” when she steps into the ring, takes the place of an official. Soojin quickly lays out the terms of the practice fight, accepting various tweaks from both Yoongi and the fighter--who he learns is named Joel. That done, Soojin steps out from the ring and raises an arm to signal the start of the match.

And just like that, they are fighting.

Limbs dance to the brutal grace of an unheard song, arms swinging and feet moving in time with each other. Yoongi is immediately grateful for his choice in partner, because despite the arrogance of his taunting, Joel knows how to fight.

First blood goes to Joel as Yoongi takes his time learning the bounds of his opponent. It is, of course, impossible for Yoongi to go at full strength, so instead these practice matches become an exercise of restraint; the real challenge lies in finding the right balance of give and take to make it appear an even fight.

The next blow is Yoongi’s, and it throws Joel precariously off-balance. He recovers with admirable skill, but Yoongi is already moving in for his second strike.

The match ends sooner than Yoongi would’ve hoped, but they both leave the ring bloody and grinning. The man has talent, but for Yoongi, fighting is like breathing--the human never stood a chance.

____________________________________

Y/N tries to calm her heart as she walks into the building that houses Yoongi’s club. A part of her rages against the idea. Why should she have to work with him, it yells and she is inclined to agree with it. But, the part of her not driven by pride recognizes the truth of the situation: Y/N has no leads on her brother without Yoongi. Besides, she tries to reason with herself, there will always be time to turn him in once she finds her brother.

With that unsound logic to tide over her guilt and confusion, she clenches the strap of her shoulder bag tighter, and walks past the practice ring that connects the main entrance to the halls that lead to Yoongi’s office. Through the haze of her mental pep-talk she notes that the place is livelier than usual. From the snippets of conversation she picks out of the noise, it seems some major fight just ended. If the excited yelling was any indication--it had been a good one. She even passes a man surrounded by mobs of other fighters all talking over themselves trying to ask him questions. Y/N notes, with a rolling of her stomach, that blood drips down the man’s chest onto the floor. But, he is smiling through split and swollen lips while holding a compress to what could only have been a black eye. He seems to be recounting the fight with an energy that made Y/N shake her head, a small smile on her face. She doesn’t linger long, and a short walk later she finds herself standing in front of Yoongi’s assistant.

The middle-aged man behind the desk gives Y/N a complicated look when he notices her presence, which only worsens the awful anticipation that has sweat pooling on her lower back. He turns to the computer before him and his hands fly over the keys for a moment before he returns his attention to her.

“He’s in a mood,” is all he says as he moves to open the door, his tone a warning.

She nods her thanks and ducks through the doorway, praying to whoever might be listening that this meeting won’t be a disaster.

Yoongi tries to ignore the treacherous thrill of anticipation that shoots through him at the sight of the message on his computer alerting him that Y/N has arrived. He surely should not be so eager to see a woman who looked like she was ready to call the police on him the last time they were together.

It isn’t long before there is a knock at the door. It opens to reveal Daniel, who says nothing and instead gestures for Y/N to enter.

She walks in, her hand clenched around the strap of her large black bag, and Yoongi is reminded of the first time they met. Even then, before she spoke a word, he was struck by her presence. He has always been good at reading people, seeing them. Even for one of his kind. And Y/N...Y/N is an interesting case, her aura almost palpable. It is one unlike any Yoongi has ever seen. It hovers around her like a golden halo, and something about its beauty has unsettled him since that first meeting. Over time it only seemed to shine brighter, so bright that, these days, he can hardly stand to look for more than a few minutes. Diving deeper into his memories with her, he thinks back, not for the first time, to the night at the diner. That sudden, stabbing pain with no apparent source...a part of him still isn’t convinced it didn’t have something to do with that brightness. Even now, seeing it again after the time apart makes his head spin.

“Are you just going to stare at me the whole time? Or can we get started?” Y/N’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Right. Come, sit.” He gestures to the chair across from him.

She folds her arms across her chest. “I’d prefer to stand.”

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, grinding his teeth, then nods. He tries to remind himself that she has a right to be standoffish. “Alright.”

There is pause. The tension in it hangs heavy.

Yoongi clears his throat, “I’m--” a pause, “I’m assuming you want me to say something.”

Y/N raises a brow. “No, no you don’t need to say anything,Yoongi, because I'm not here for you.”

Yoongi returns her raised brow.

“In the end, I’m here for my brother. And regardless of how I feel about you, I still need your help,” the words come through gritted teeth.

“I see.” Yoongi takes the time to shift some of the paper on his desk, gather them into a neat pile, and align the edges against his desk. The sharp shick, shick of the papers is the only sound in the room. Setting the stack aside, he leans forward to brace his arms against the polished edge of the wooden surface. He makes every effort to make his attention on her appear undivided, but still a part of him watches with fascination as the very other glow around her grows even more noticeable with her building anger. Interesting.

“What exactly would you like to discuss, Y/N?”

____________________________________

Y/N grinds her teeth. Again. Maybe this is a mistake after all. They’ve been “discussing” (read: arguing) for nearly an hour and have gotten nowhere. Yoongi meets her every argument with a cool retort, and while she knows he has to be just as fed-up with the back and forth, he lets none of it show. As always, Yoongi is frustratingly put-together, and it makes her feel ridiculous for being anything less than frigidly composed. Even the crisp lines of his spotless suit seem to mock her.

“So, just to clarify,” she starts, trying her best to keep the bite out of her voice, “you’re still insisting that you don’t know my brother? After I’ve explained to you over and over who he is? What he did at your club?” Y/N takes an unconscious step closer to Yoongi’s desk, her voice sharpening. “I even spoke to one of your fighters, who I know you know, and he confirmed that you have personally spoken with and fought with my brother in the ring. Broke his arm even!” She stops when she realizes her voice is well above polite volume. She forces a steadying breath before continuing, “how is that possible, Yoongi?”

“To be fair, I’ve broken a lot of arms,” is his tight-lipped response. He closes his eyes and rubs at his right temple in the first show of emotion Y/N has seen yet. “I realize the facts of the situation, but you saying it over and over again isn’t making me remember anything more than what I’ve told you.”

“Bullshit, you’re telling me he was here for weeks and weeks and you didn’t notice him even once?”

Yoongi makes a sound that is curiously like a growl, “do you know how many fighters walk through these doors? I don’t keep personal tabs on all of them.” He continues to rub at his temple and,in a startling realization, she notes the slightest flaw in his otherwise flawless appearance. There, just above where he keeps rubbing, is the faintest trace of yellow-green at the edge of his temple, where skin meets hair. It gives the impression of a healing bruise, and even while most of her mind is consumed with other, much darker feelings, another, much smaller voice whispers its concern for the small hurt.

But even her unbidden sympathy can’t hide her fury, “you keep saying that, but I don’t believe you.” There’s more to this, there has to be. “There’s no way the head of the biggest fighting ring in the city didn’t keep tabs on a fighter who was spying on him for another group.” The act of disloyalty on her brother’s part was a hard pill to swallow, but this rollercoaster of a search has taught her to separate the facts from her reactions to them.

Yoongi stands from his desk in a furious blur of motion and begins pacing the length of the room. On the second turn, she catches a glimpse at the unfocused look in his eyes and it gives her pause, but still she decides to push. “I’ve told you his name, shown you his picture, his records. There has to be mor--”

She cuts off when Yoongi spins on her and pins her with a look that makes her blood run cold and then hot. A whisper in the back of her mind says maybe it is time to go, but then he speaks.

____________________________________

“Will you shut up about your brother for one goddamn second,” the words are spit at her with such force that he might as well be yelling. The unexpected acid of them leaves her feeling like the floor got pulled from under her feet. “Don’t you understand that this is so much bigger than one missing nobody? Your brother didn’t disappear because of me. He disappeared because he got involved with the wrong people and pissed them off,” his face twists with a dark kind of amusement, “and for once I had nothing to do with it so will you back off.”

Y/N is so startled at the sudden outburst that she is silent for a moment before her face distorts with anger. “You’re a disgusting human being, Yoongi. Don’t you dare--”

And maybe because Yoongi is bored, or maybe because he has a death wish, he interrupts her with a bitter laugh. “Oh, but that’s just it. I’m not a disgusting human being, because I’m not even human. Things like me don’t play by your simple ideals of fairness or morality, how many times must I demonstrate that for you?”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Y/N shakes her head, her eyes betraying her when they start to sting, “no, you know what, at least we agree on one thing. You can’t be human, because no human would be so awful.”

Yoongi latches on to that ever-so-slight waver in her voice and takes a tiny, oh-so-dangerous step closer. Y/N takes a careful step back, not trusting the sudden wild light that enters his eyes. “No, I don’t think you understand.” Another step forward. Another step back. “I’m not human, Y/N.”

Her eyebrows sink low and she gives a nervous laugh, “yeah right, and I’m the President. Stop fucking around, Yoongi.”

“Oh, but I’m being deadly serious.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and turns in an attempt to make her way to the exit. But, faster than her eyes can track, Yoongi grabs her roughly by the arm and spins her back around to face him.

“Just think about it Y/N,” he shakes her arm, “use that detective brain that you pride yourself so much on. You haven’t seen much, but you’ve seen enough.”

She yanks her arm out of his grip and takes a big step back, “Jesus, Yoongi, what the hell are you talking about--”

“Think!” He lets out another one of those frustrated, almost-growls, “the first time you met me, your skin crawled a bit, no? And not just because you were about to meet with a criminal, no it was something more than that. Something that just felt wrong?” Yoongi knew she would have felt it. Animals are more reactive, but humans have the same kind of primal response to his kind, whether they realize it or not.

Y/N freezes at his words, thinking back to the day she first met Yoongi. The waring feelings of disbelief that a quiet well-dressed man could be the leader of such a violent organization, and the intense sense of wrongness that had filled her with irrational dread that day. Before she can process a reply, Yoongi is speaking again.

“The day that we went to the abandoned house,” he starts, edging the tiniest bit closer until her arm brushes against the smooth cotton of his shirt; the heat of him seems to burn through the material onto her skin, “I thought you would be too panicked to notice, but nothing gets past you, Y/N. You saw me get stabbed that day, and you were right, the knife went all the way through. I should’ve died, but it was nothing more than a faint scar just a few hours later. And, you would have only seen it for a moment, but I’m certain you picked up on it: the dark shadows under my eyes that day, too intense to be simple exhaustion.”

Y/N wants to interrupt, to stop whatever this is and have Yoongi go back to normal, but he continues before she can say a word. His own words are like a flood, seeming to fall from his lips without conscious control.

“And haven’t you noticed how things have a funny way of working out when we’re together? Like that postal worker who gave us an address? You don’t actually think they bought that story with the rings, do you?” His smile is mocking and Y/N once again gets that crawling sensation of warning up the back of her neck. “Surely you’ve wondered why the police haven’t shut me down, even though my business is well-known and I make no attempt to hide what goes on here?

“It’s me, Y/N. Everything has happened like this because I made it that way. One of the perks of being what I am.

“I’m sure there are a hundred other tiny things that you could list,” he makes a small flicking motion with his free hand, “all tiny pieces of evidence that you ignored,” he takes another step closer without warning and suddenly his face is inches from hers. His eyes fill her vision and she shudders at the way the dark brown of them appears black, his expression distant, “because human brains have a funny way of twisting things that don't fit their precious reality.”

Y/N can hardly breathe, let alone think, but she has a creeping feeling that she has to keep him talking, so she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “What are you?”

Yoongi’s smile splits his face so wide that Y/N flinches at the sight. To her overwhelming relief he takes a small step away. When he releases her arm, her breathing returns in a ragged rush.

“A demon.”

She freezes for a moment, processing. Then, she burns with embarrassment at the declaration. God, she can’t believe he really got her with this nonsense. “A demon? Yoongi, I’m losing my shit here, don’t you dare fucking tease me right now.”

“It’s not a joke, Y/N,” his voice is soft, but not gentle. “I’m a demon.”

She laughs, because it’s the only thing she can do. “And, what, I’m just supposed to believe you? For all I know this is your sick idea of a prank, or maybe some drug-induced fantasy world you believe in. Where’s the proof?”

Yoongi freezes in a way that sends a chill down Y/N’s back. Too still, she thinks, no one should be able to stand so still. “You want proof? I can show you my true form, but,” he meets her eyes and she wants to bend under the intensity of them, “I have to warn you that humans have been known to go mad from the sight.”

“Wow, you’re really committed to this,” she crosses her arms in a show of bravery that is only skin deep. “Okay, Yoongi, show me your ‘true form’ or whatever.”

It is the wrong thing to say.

When the words leave her lips, Yoongi's expression changes in a way that Y/N has no words for other than "inhuman" as ridiculous as that sounds. He takes a large step back, and the distance allows her to take her first deep breath in what feels like hours. That is, until she takes a closer look at Yoongi.

The first thing she notices are his eyes. The black of his pupils expand, eating up the color of his irises and even the whites, to the point where Y/N can no longer tell if she is looking at eyes or simply dark holes in his head. The veins that sit just below the surface of the skin under those eyes have turned a sickly black, creating an eerie web of bruised-looking skin that is a startling contrast to the sudden and extreme paleness of his face. The next things to catch her attention are his hands. They look almost charred, the skin turning an unearthly black so incredibly dark that they seem to eat away at the light in the room, with the darkest black occurring at the tips of his fingers and fading into an ashy gray before disappearing under the rolled sleeves of his white button-up shirt.

The air in the room grows heavy and hot to the point where it almost hurts to breathe. It seems to roil the way heat does off a hot summer road. The sensation only builds until it is another presence in the room, seeming to crawl up Y/N's arms and down her back, tingling like tiny electric shocks across her skin. She tries to take a step back, to get away from the nightmare emerging before her, but when her back hits the office wall, she realizes with a numb sort of horror that she has nowhere left to go.

At that moment, the thing that used to be Yoongi takes a step back, and Y/N swears she sees embers rise from the ground in a short burst of red and orange. The subtle smell of smoke joins the cloying heat of the air. The thing, she can't bring herself to call it Yoongi, spreads its arms wide, an uncomfortably wide and razor-sharp smile on its face. "What do you think?"

Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, but she knows that these images are already burned onto her brain. “W-what are you?” she stammers, barely finding her voice.

“A demon.” The creature echoes Yoongi’s earlier words, except the voice coming from where the Yoongi she knew had been standing was a distorted copy of his voice. Too deep, too rough, as if it hadn’t been used in a long, long time.

Y/N doesn't feel real. Surely she is having a nightmare and any minute now she'll wake up. When she gets to Yoongi's office she'll tell him that her subconscious paints him as a demon and they'll have a good laugh.

"Sorry, but you're not dreaming.” The thing doesn’t sound sorry at all.

"How did you-"

"My abilities are stronger in this form. I usually only pick up feelings and auras of people, but your mind is shouting so loud that I'm picking up actual thoughts as well." It makes this sound like an easy, natural thing.

Y/N's legs give out without warning and the impact of her knees on the wood of the floor is hard enough that her teeth knock together, but the pain barely registers--her mind too busy trying to comprehend the impossible.

The thing--Yoongi, she forces herself to use his name--crosses his arms, "So, you believe me now." It isn't a question.

Y/N can barely nod, let alone speak, her vision starting to go fuzzy around the edges. Yoongi's voice sounds far away, and muffled like he is trying to talk through heavy glass. "How," Y/N's voice isn't hers, it feels detached from her body, "how is this possible?"

Yoongi starts to answer, but in the same moment that he takes a step forward, something deep inside Y/N snaps. In a move so fast she doesn’t even register it, she is on her feet and running for the door. Some part of her recognizes that Yoongi could keep her here if he wanted. She had quickly realized that the overwhelming weight and electric heat of the air was stemming from Yoongi, and it screamed of power in a way Y/N only knew on instinct. But, to her surprise, he allows her to run. She is out of the door and through the compound before she can pause to think.

She only stops when she reaches her car in the parking lot. She fumbles with the keys for nearly a full minute before she finally pops the lock and collapses inside. The click of it locking around her loosens one of the knots in her chest, and she allows herself a series shuddering breaths. She wants nothing more than to drive away at speeds that would do more than get her a ticket, but one glance at the uncontrollable shaking of her hands and she knows she won’t be taking the car anywhere.

Instead, she lets her head fall back against the headrest and takes deep breath after deep breath, trying to calm the thundering of her heart.

When she can think past the roaring in her ears, she grabs her bag from the car and exits, keys in hand. She may not be fit for driving, but she also can’t stay here so close to whatever the hell just happened. She’ll walk all the way home if she has to, send someone from work to pick up her car another day. She almost hopes Yoongi has it towed from the lot.

Her thoughts are still a whirlwind when she starts passing through the market district. Even though it’s just barely into the evening hours, most of the doors she passes have their artful signs flipped to “closed.” She passes one of her favorite shops and stares mournfully through the window. A pint of her favorite icy treat really would have hit the spot for this personal crisis. She closes her eyes against sudden flashes of memory, the black eyes and the acrid smell of smoke that still burns in her nose, clinging to her clothes, her hair.

She wants to forget it ever happened, pretend it was all an elaborate prank. But her fear runs too deep, too powerful for it to have been anything but terrible reality. She can’t decide what surprises her more: the fact that demons exist, or the fact that she had almost called one a friend.

Not that Yoongi had really done anything for her to consider them friends, but at the very least she had been starting to almost look forward to their afternoons together.

On the tail-ends of that thought, she starts re-analyzing her every interaction with Yoongi. What had been the signs? Shouldn’t she have known something was so terribly wrong about him?

And maybe it’s because she’s lost in thought, or maybe her body’s warning systems had been overloaded on Yoongi, but she doesn’t notice the screech of tires besides her. She doesn’t hear the mechanical sliding of a van door opening, doesn’t register the shouts of men beside her until it’s too late.

Rough hands clamp over her arms and then her feet are no longer on the ground. She hits the metal floor of the van a second later, her left shoulder crumpling painfully beneath the weight of her body. She is quick to scramble to her knees and is just about to release the scream that had been building in her throat, but before she can make a sound, a large, gloved hand clamps over her mouth with absolute force.

Still, she resists. She kicks and wriggles, bites and even swings her bag at one of the men, hitting him squarely in the jaw with enough force to knock his head to the side. It seems to only have the effect of pissing him off, however, because he draws a sleek black pistol from his back and, in a calculated blow to her temple, knocks her out cold.

The last thing she remembers is the black clouding over her vision. Then there is nothing but black.

____________________________________

Yoongi stares at the door Y/N had run through just moments before. He should stop her, but for whatever reason he lets her go. For an inexplicable reason, he has the feeling that she won’t speak to anyone about what she saw.

Turning from the door, he takes a deep breath, settling into skin that hasn’t seen use in too long. Demons can exist in their more human disguises indefinitely without ill effects, but there’s nothing quite like the feeling of letting the power that usually sits behind walls of controls come to the surface unrestrained.

He pauses mid-step when he spies the burn marks on the floor. Sighing, he makes a mental note to order a repair and draws his power back under careful shields until nothing of his other self remains.

Just then, there is a knocking on the door and, without waiting for a response, Daniel walks in with a handful of files and a judgemental look.

“I see Ms. Y/N left in a hurry today.” A pointed look at the burn marks in the floor as he hands over the files.

Yoongi takes them and grumbles, “not today, Daniel.” The man may have been in Yoongi’s service for decades--serving out a contract that had been initiated out of desperation, in the dark days of the human man’s youth--but he continues to walk a fine line between honesty and insolence.

Daniel simply raises his hands and says, “I’m just making a statement,” before leaving Yoongi alone with the files.

Picking up the first one off the stack, he is surprised to see that it’s from Hoseok. A handwritten note is scrawled across the front of the small envelope, it reads, ‘you owe me -H.’

Inside the envelope sits a USB drive, and Yoongi wastes no time plugging it into his computer. There is only one folder on the drive, titled ‘Nephilim,’ and it gives Yoongi pause. The word itself means ‘the fallen ones,’ but beyond that it feels familiar somehow. The almost-memory of it dangles on the edge of recall.

Within the folder there are two files. Yoongi opens the first and begins to read. It seems to be an excerpt from the journal of a lesser demon who considers themself one of the few historians among their kind. The passage is a record of lesser-known supernaturals and their histories. Yoongi isn’t quite halfway through when he realizes why the word seems so familiar. Nephilim, the fallen ones, is the name given to the offspring of humans and angels.

He had actually met one, in a chance meeting near the dawn of his existence. Young and inexperienced, he had only distinguished the nephilim from the surrounding humans when an older demon had pointed the woman out. She had been old and wisened, and had appeared incredibly weak to Yoongi, but even now he could remember the dizzying feeling that had nearly sent him stumbling when he walked by. The feeling of vertigo elicited by Y/N is much weaker in comparison, but the similarities are something to note. And while the woman hadn’t had that kind of golden glow that surrounds Y/N, Yoongi also hadn’t been as sensitive to auras at the time. Interesting parallels, but nothing conclusive.

He hadn’t been much older the first time he met a true angel. They had been a very old, but low-ranking messenger, and it was only then that he truly understood the power of his celestial counterparts. Angels are, in many ways, the opposite of demons--where demons wear darkness and shadows like armor, angels have weaponized their light. The angel that day had scowled when they came within reach of Yoongi, their beautiful face twisted in much the same way Yoongi’s had been. “You taste of soured petrichor and burning sulfur, demon,” the words had been spit with disdain as the scroll was handed over.

Yoongi hadn’t bothered with a retort at the time, but he still remembers the awful light that flowed from the angel’s skin, a blinding brightness that made it impossible to distinguish anything but blazing eyes of white-gold. Even more than that, Yoongi remembers the scream of static in his ears when the angel spoke, their voice ringing with a high pitched hum that grated like shattered glass on his senses.

His reactions became less intense over time, as he grew older and more powerful, but still he made sure that his meetings with angels were few and far between.

Pulling himself from the memories, he pulls up the second file--a retelling of a folk story from almost five hundred years ago. The story tells of ‘golden children’ and of family lines who were thought to have been blessed by angels. For generations after the appearance of a golden child, members of such families were said to have powers that weakened evil and protected entire towns. Most of the tale could be chalked up to human inventiveness, but there were striking similarities between the descriptions of the golden children of the legend and the nephilim in the demon histories.

Yoongi recognizes the message Hoseok is implying by sending this particular information, but he has a difficult time accepting it. There are similarities between his experiences with Y/N and these tales of human-angel offspring, but there are also enough differences that he doesn’t make the connecting leap just yet.

Moving on to the next file in the stack, he finds it is a personnel record for Y/N’s brother. Yoongi almost skips over it, after all there couldn’t be anything in these records that Y/N herself hadn’t shared, but he pauses when he sees the attached picture.

It becomes immediately obvious that the picture Y/N had shown of her brother was outdated. The man in this photo looks to be several years older, the hair is shorter and an entirely different color, and the man in this photo sports facial hair that hadn’t existed in Y/N’s picture. Yoongi wants to hit himself when he makes the connection between the two faces. Of course this was Y/N’s brother. He hadn’t realized it when looking at the picture she had provided, but he should have known, their faces were too similar for anyone to think them anything but siblings.

More importantly, Yoongi recognizes this face. Remembers clearly keeping an eye on the young and brutal fighter, not only because Yoongi suspected him of being in contact with a rival group, but also because he had almost beaten Yoongi in a fight.

It had been a routine sparring match in the practice ring. Yoongi had been itching for a fight, and the young man had been happy to oblige. Things started off as usual and Yoongi had expected a clean win. But then, when the other fighter had connected his fist to Yoongi’s jaw in his first successful hit of the match, Yoongi remembers being startled by the rolling sense of vertigo that had disoriented him enough for the human to get in several key strikes. Yoongi had recovered quickly, ending the match in a vicious move that had broken the man’s arm, but it was the closest anyone had ever come to beating him in his entire time with this club.

It was a feeling, Yoongi thought in a moment of startling realization, that was identical to the one caused by Y/N.

His eyes drifted to where the historical records were still open on his computer and wondered at the significance of this familial connection. It’s not enough to entirely convince him, but something tells him this detail is important. He puts both the file and the envelope aside for now.

After dealing with a few club-related emails, he returns to the final file at the bottom of the stack Daniel had brought to him. A thin manila envelope with no identifying markings. He reaches inside and pulls out two things that set his blood to a boil.

The first, is a note. Scrawled in a messy hand, its message is short and to the point. ‘We have the girl.’ Below that ominous statement is an address on the other side of the city and a time for the following afternoon.

The second, is a photograph. Yoongi immediately identifies the woman in the picture. Y/N. Bloodied. Tied to a chair. Her head lolled forward in a way that speaks of unconsciousness.

Yoongi’s anger is a cold thing in his bones, but it burns hot on the surface, setting the photo in his hands ablaze until all that remains of it is a pile of ash.

He is moving a second later, exchanging his suit jacket for a rugged leather one that is less likely to show the signs of a fight. He is out of the building before he can register the decision to do so.

His only coherent thought is that the people who took Y/N better hope she is alive when he finds them, because it’s the only thing that might ensure them a quick death.

____________________________________

Y/N wakes suddenly, and she immediately regrets it when she registers the pounding in her head.

It takes her several too-long moments to remember the events of the day, but when she does, they return to her in a rush. The call with Yoongi, the nightmare of his reveal, the terror of being thrown into the floor of a van.

She attempts to blink through the pain radiating from her temple throughout her skull, but nothing she can do will clear the ache that’s so sharp it blurs her vision. She notes, with a numb sort of calm that she is alone in a dark, unfurnished room. She sits in a chair, her hands bound behind her with a tight looping of rope that bites uncomfortably into her skin. She knows even before she starts to pull, that her attempts at freeing herself will be useless. She makes the attempts anyway.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, her head making it impossible to think coherently, but it feels like hours have gone by when the only door in the barren room opens. She is blinded for a moment by the light that leaks in from the hallway, and the disorientation is enough that she doesn’t immediately register that someone has entered the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” a gruff male voice breaks the silence. She struggles to focus on the speaker’s face, but it proves to be pointless as his features are hidden behind a black mask that leaves only his eyes visible. “We have some questions for you about our mutual friend.” The masked man takes up a position on the wall opposite of Y/N, folding muscled arms over a wide chest in a black long-sleeved shirt.

Y/N stays silent.

“The shy type, huh? That’s fine,” he reaches into one of the pockets of his black cargo pants and pulls out a pocket knife, “we have ways to encourage talking.” The silver blade of it flashes in the air in a motion so practiced that Y/N feels sweat start to build on her neck.

“What--” Y/N’s voice comes out hoarse, her throat too dry. She tries again after swallowing, “what do you want from me?”

“Smart girl,” her stomach rolls at the appraising look he gives her, “we just want to ask a few questions.” He pushes off of the wall and comes to crouch before her, pulling down the mask from his face to reveal a startlingly handsome face full of clean lines and full lips. He plays the tip of the knife over the knee of her jeans, and it takes every ounce of willpower she has to remain still and silent. “Let’s start easy. Why has that bastard been looking for us.”

In this position, Y/N is almost eye-level with him and she pours every bit of her fury into her gaze. She wants to spit on him in answer, but the blade on her leg suggests that that may not be the smartest course of action. She decides instead for compliance--for now. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you and your people have been plotting his murder.”

The man’s eyes widen a fraction, then he grins--and it’s a dark, slimy thing. “Oh, you’ve got a mouth, huh?” He holds her eyes for a tense moment before breaking the contact to rise to his feet. Back to her, he continues, “And how, exactly, did Mr. Min learn about this plot?” He turns to face her, the smile still on his face, “could it be that, like brother like sister, we have a leak on our hands?”

At the mention of her brother, a guttural sound leaves her throat before she can stop it.

“Oh, sorry,” he says with mocking sincerity, “that’s a bit of a sore subject I see.”

“What the hell do you know about my brother?” Y/N snarls, the force of her anger overwhelming the throbbing pain of her head.

“I know he was a two-timing nobody who got in over his head.” He begins to walk the length of the room, his pace unhurried and even, “I know that he was a loose end. Just like you are now,” he doesn’t miss a step when he turns to shoot her a knowing smile. “I also know that my employer doesn’t allow loose ends,” he steps forward suddenly and captures Y/N’s jaw in a loose hold, “even pretty ones.” The warmth of his fingers is like a brand on her skin and Y/N struggles against his grip, only succeeding in sending a shooting pain down her neck when it twists at an awkward angle.

“Tell me,” he says, his eyes filled with an odd kind of light when he yanks her face back to his; their breaths mingle in the bare few inches between them and Y/N fights the urge to hold her breath in protest to the uninvited intimacy of the action, “would you like to meet your end in the same fashion as your brother, or shall we think up something unique for our new guest?”

Y/N’s body reacts before her mind, her eyes starting to burn before she has even processed the words, but the tears don’t fall. No. It couldn’t be.

“You’re lying,” her voice, whisper soft, is fierce in its conviction.

“Afraid not.” The man, who seems endlessly cheered by her suffering, smiles again, but this time his eyes fill with a darkness that makes her body shudder as if overcome with a sudden chill. She can feel her mind spiraling, barely focusing as he continues to speak. A large part of her absolutely refuses to believe his words. Her brother can’t be gone. She would have felt something, right? Her world couldn’t just lose one of its core foundations without crumbling, could it?

“You see, your brother was just a little too smart for his own good. Even knowing about the plan to get rid of Yoongi probably wouldn’t have been enough of an excuse to get rid of him. We knew we were at no risk of anyone finding evidence to back his claims.” A small silence where his face fell into a mockery of sadness, “no, your brother was killed because he didn’t stop there. He kept digging and found a secret that is better left buried. And for that, he had to die.”

Y/N feels beyond numb by the time he stops talking, the words falling around her without reaching her. Just like in Yoongi’s office, she has the feeling of being outside of herself, watching all of these horrible truths drop onto the slumped shoulders of a woman broken.

“Oh don’t look so down, doll.” She observes with curious detachment as her head is lifted by a finger under her chin. “If it makes you feel better--”

In that moment he is interrupted by the muted sounds of something being broken and someone shouting. Just as his head whips around to face the sound, the door bursts open and a wild-eyed woman sticks her head in only long enough to gasp out, “we have a situation,” before disappearing back into the light beyond.

The man in front of Y/N releases a frustrated yell, the unexpected loudness of it makes Y/N flinch, then sag in minor relief when he releases her chin. Only for that relief to bleed out of her moments later when, after a brief conversation with the woman in the hall, the man returns and draws his gun.

“Looks like our time’s been cut short.” He walks forward, the weight of his boots making the thud of every step fill the room. Each footfall closer has Y/N’s heart trying to claw out of her chest. “I’m looking forward to continuing this later, but, first, you don’t need to see this.”

Then, in a movement so fast that Y/N doesn’t even have time to flinch, he brings the butt of the gun down on her temple and, for the second time that day, her world flickers to black.

____________________________________

*A/N* Sweet jesus it's up. Guys, I'm never joking about taking another year to update again, because apparently I cursed myself. I hope this makes sense, I'm constantly trying to walk that line between "don't let it quite make sense yet so it all comes together later" and "this straight up doesn't make sense," so please, if it's too confusing don't be afraid to ask, I'll answer what I can or let you know that an explanation will be coming later!

Thank you so much to everyone who has been patient with this series, because I know it's taking forever and it's hard to wait. Your comments are what give me that extra kick in the butt when inspiration is there but I can't write, so thank you for the lovely words TT

Not to curse myself again, but I'm planning to finish this up before fall hits.

As of the most recent draft, there will be four main parts in total + an epilogue + an author's reflection where I plan to share some behind the scenes and deleted scenes! This chapter is actually cut into two pieces, because it was significantly longer than other chapters as one piece, so be on the lookout for that in a few days! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts!

Thank you!!!

#bts #suga #yoongi #fanfic #angst #demon au #yoongi x reader #seven sins au #my stuff #the world is cold and life's not fair baby #twicalnfb #sugasweetsubs #a little less than a year...TT #better but not ideal #so excited to finish and have it all up!#please come talk to me about this if you like it #I have so many Thoughts #thank you for reading!!

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everydayanth · 4 years

Video

youtube

STARTING AT 21:48

TRIGGER WARNING: The thumbnail doesn’t convey the tone here. This is footage of anti-protestors “protecting” a columbus statue in a park in PA. Things get violent, over-sensory, and include mob-mentality stress. Shortly after the timestamp indicated, there is mad disrespect to Native history and culture, a lot of ignorance and generalizations about the local Black communities.

If you don’t want to watch it: I am referring to a point where many white Americans are challenging a journalist asking them about policing, BLM, and politics, and one, to paraphrase, is worried that the journalist is going to cut it to make them look racist and call them white Americans, and he wants to be clear that they are “white Americans of Italian descent with deep roots in the area!” When pressed about Native American roots in the area, they erupt in swears and cuss at him, the same guy yelling “what do you want me to do about it?” Throughout the exchange, another guy is riling them up about media twisting their stories while the journalist continues to explain that he is live streaming and it therefore cannot be cut up. The Italian flag can be seen on shirts, bags, and waving in the background.

I can’t stop thinking about this.

I ran into this in every corner of the US except the deep south cus I haven’t really been there yet (teen years don’t count). White Americans who want to belong to a cultural community continue to cling to their heritage culture in often stereotypic ways as a a way to separate them from the “whiteness” of white America and belong to a local community.

I can’t stop seeing it everywhere. But I know there is no one line, its all grey, and belonging to something bigger than yourself is a powerful connection for humans, as social creatures with dynamic identities and emotions, it can be a grounding place.

But when I see stuff like this, I wonder how the heritage cultures see it. What do you think video clip of this in Italy?

What do the Dutch think of all the Calvinists and Dutch Reformed Church communities in West Michigan? I actually asked a few Dutch people once, and one old guy goes “well... they left for a reason, and no one stopped them for a reason” lol.

Cultural identities were assimilated harshly, or else held onto in unexpected ways. When I look at it, my Dziadzia is Polish, from Poland, but he was a baby when they came, or born shortly after, so his siblings speak Polish (you know I hung out with great aunts and uncles all summer), but he doesn’t, he was pushed to be American. Technically, he’s a first generation immigrant, and I’ve connected to a lot of Polish-Americans and Polish people through experiences and linguistic pieces I never considered to be Polish before.

In contrast, my dad’s Dutch parents lived in the Dutch part of town and went to a Dutch church and read from the Dutch (well, Frisian, I was in my 20s when I learned what that meant or why it was important) family Bible and my nana spoke to us in her thick accent and the d and v sections of my schools were the largest (de- and van- surnames) and we did Tulip Time and renamed areas Holland and Zealand. So while they had assimilated, it was in a VERY Dutch area, and assimilation was quite minimal. Some of my aunts and uncles are very... white-American, while others and my dad (he’s one of 6, my mom is one of 8) are very much Dutch and stayed in the Dutch neighborhoods and churches. It took me a lot of training to start capitalizing proper nouns guys, you don’t understand, then I studied German and I turned in a paper to this really harsh English teacher and he made me stay after class and yelled at me because proper nouns had been left uncapitalized while regular nouns were capitalized... it was a bad day lol.

The Irish are critical of the Americanized St.Paddy’s day (understandably) and the souvenir shops seem to welcome Irish-Americans with open-arms and family crests on every type of knick-knack tchotchke you can imagine, while I have also heard Irish-American claims of identity dismissed in documentaries and series about Gaeilge as their own separate thing, with their own history that has become distinctly not-Irish in culture, location, language, or history (though the British enemy stayed the same).

There are tons of anglophiles in America who idealize England and watch the royal wedding and consume British media with glee.

I’m not too sure about Spanish or French identities in America because growing up in MI, I learned the basic French from Canadian friends and their families, but I associated that with Canada, not France. When did it become different? Like Cajun, is it its own identity? Seems like it, tbh. And I associated Spanish and Portuguese language with friends from Central and South America because I didn’t really know of anyone from Spain or Portugal heritages and learned about them in school as the colonizers (along with Italian). Strange how that framing works to displace blame/responsibility, huh. In that Dutch school and I had to learn about the Dutch East India Trading Co from frickin’ Pirates of the Caribbean? Psh, says enough.

Bavarian has become the American stamp of German heritage, despite many families being from the lowlands or surrounding areas. A German friend got so fed up with the association one time, he yelled at everyone about electronic music, jumpstyle, and green energy so long that we ended up not playing soccer and just listening to him rant about what “German” was not. It was Oktober, and it was a college town, so I get it lol.

Eastern Europeans seem to often get stigmatized while Scandinavians... I dunno, seem to assimilate or keep to themselves? There’s a Danish population in a small town in MI that is very proud of its roots but beyond a parade and some flags, some round pancakes and me struggling eternally with the Danish language, there wasn’t too much of a focus on it. There’s also a large Finnish population in the UP (NOT Scandinavian, Nordic, I know, sorry), and they retain many Finnish words and phenotypic traits, flags wave over porches, but again, for the most part, they’re just... Michiganders.

My view of this could also be very skewed because while I’ve lived in tons of states over the past 6-7 years, that doesn’t change the 20+ I spent growing up in MI, a place that is very insulated and island-cultured, making a steady clash of hot/cold and high/low-context cultures in a concentrated area.

Anyway, European friends (or anyone), do you think about this? Is this a conversation topic for you? How do you view white Americans who stand by or maintain ownership of a European identity?

White Americans who know or claim a heritage often have a story about a family member who rebelled and came to America. Do you have those stories from the opposite POV, a wayward family member who left to America and was never heard from again?

For everyone: is there a point where a cultural heritage becomes an idealization? Where you are no longer an active participant but a bystander? Is there an American replacement or did assimilation remove that? Or did assimilation create it?

There’s an Ancestry.com commercial I think about a lot. The guy wears a kilt or Leiderhösen, I forget which one first, then does some research on ancestry, and finds that his family had their history wrong, so he traded in one for the other. Is this cultural appropriation? At what point do you lose ownership? Or do we always own our roots? What about when our roots get too tangled to trace, or cut off altogether, by our own family’s nonchalance (as in, not remembering or maintaining) or forced by a stronger power?

Is it a different conversation when talking about personal costuming for an event vs anti-protests using their European heritage as a platform to deny change? Or is it the same act to different degrees or in positive/negative lights?

If you are White-American, did you grow up with a heritage culture in your family or community? When did you start to notice it? How has it impacted your identity?

I know these questions also extend to BIPOC and immigrant/religious minority cultures in America, but due to histories of stigmatization, demonization, oppression, genocide, slavery, and appropriation, it seems like that has to be a different conversation. Clinging to roots when someone has cut you away or is trying to uproot you to assimilate is different than willfully leaving, which seems different than being forced out as a refugee or due to internal conflict/crises (famine, war, etc.), these are different conversations to me.

I’ve just been thinking about this a lot.

#identity #society #culture #white american #white privilege #anthropology #heritage #ancestry #high low context #context culture #hot cold cultured #family history #roots #personal identity #appropriation #community #belonging #psychology

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fiction-in-my-blood · 3 years

Text

Switching Sides: Part 13 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 12 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

A week and a half had passed since I awoke in the hospital. My recovery was slow, painstakingly so, and I found my thoughts trailing back to every painful memory I had. But, no matter how scared and depressed I got, Kaga would always somehow show up, explaining he had more questions for me, and I would be able to slowly explain to him the same story I had been repeating for days at that point. It was almost comforting and with the silent stare he showed me every time I was able to complete the tale, I felt myself connecting with reality a little bit more. It showed me, reporting to him, that I had lived through it.

~~~~~~

"He's being sentenced today," Juna announced as she sat on the couch in my room, eating some noodles she had bought on the way over. We both stared out the window, the sky raining down hard pellets on the city below. It was a soothing sound to fill the silence that followed her announcement.

"What... What if he doesn't get imprisoned?" I couldn't help my imagination get the better of me. What if he was set free when all the evidence magically disappeared? What if the defence was able to create enough reasonable doubt for the jury to deem him innocent? What if he didn't get a long enough sentence?

I had filmed a video of my witness statement for the courts several days ago, and that was traumatic enough. If I had to do it again in an appeal the defence made up to weaken the case, I wouldn't be able to go up in front of the world and tell my story. I couldn't share with them all my years of weakness as I allowed myself to be abused by the man who was meant to protect me.

"He's going to be put away, Katsu. Don't even put that into the universe." A displeased expression flew over Juna's face as she turned to me, cringing even at how I could think of that happening. I knew it was irrational. The case was solid. There was no way for him to snake out of this one. But, still... I couldn't help but worry.

"Oh!" Juna suddenly gasped, placing a hand on her bursting belly. She was a matter months away from the due date, so the gasp in surprised caused fear of a miscarriage to circulate my brain. I called out, questioning her what was wrong as I lifted the sheets off my legs. She laughed, jumping up and pushing me back on the bed before I could even rest my covered feet on the cold floor. I was only allowed one assisted lap around the hospital floor a day, and I had already used that token up.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Here." She smiled, taking my hand and placing it where her's had previously been. There, I felt a pressure poking from her belly and recoiled in uneasy disgust. She laughed at my childish reaction to her baby kicking and went to sit down again.

Biting the tip of my thumb, the reality of her birthing a child of her own hit me again. At least, for this one, they might not have to worry as much as we did growing up. They would still be hidden from the world, hidden from what remained of my father's mob, but maybe they would have some freedom to be happy and childish for longer than we did.

"That smells really good." I sighed, trying to distract myself from those lingering thoughts, referring to her takeout food. It felt like years since I had swallowed something solid. My stomach felt empty most of the time, but thanks to the IVs, I never felt truly hungry. Just a little uncomfortable.

Juna laughed at me, explaining that she knew I wasn't really allowed solids yet. "I had pudding yesterday! Come on, just a noodle." I pointed one finger up to show how little I needed. My jaw almost felt weak; not using it for so long. She laughed again, picking up a strand between two fingers and dropping it into her mouth teasingly.

The more we talked and she teased me, the more relaxed I became. It was only when she left did I ever let my thoughts return. Let them consume me the way they did. As she told me what romantic thing Kanto had done this morning, a knock came to my door. We both turned and my eyes grew at who stood there.

For a moment, I saw the man that fed me when I was in captivity. He smiled, holding a bag of candies in one hand, showing it to me like it was a prize. I yelled, screaming as I jumped out of my bed and pushed myself to the back corner.

"No! Go away!" I cried out, him watching my reaction made his expression fall.

"Katsu! Katsumi, calm down! It's just Noburu." Juna ran to me from the other side of the bed and held my shoulders to try and stop my kicking. Tears streamed down my face as I begged for the man to leave. I didn't want the kindness he showed me, I was so sure it was what made me feel the true extent of the pain I felt.

Soon enough, nurses came rushing in, pushing passed the man that stayed in the doorway, face blank with shock. When they couldn't calm me down, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and my consciousness quickly faded.

~~~~~~

"This is the worst day she's had so far." Katsumi's doctor told the man and woman that stayed in her room as she slept in the bed. After her breakdown, the surgeon was called to help explain why she had reacted so vividly and check up on her condition. Luckily, she hadn't ripped a stitch from her surgery.

"But she knew Noburu before it happened. Why would she think he was one of her captors? She hasn't seen him in weeks!" Juna fretted, sympathetic worry spreading across her face as the bartender looked at the sleeping beauty guiltily.

"I don't know, but you can't come again. Not until she's healed. She still has weeks of rehab ahead of her." The doctor turned to the young man and he nodded solemnly.

"Surely she'd learn to remember what Noburu really looks like?" Feeling sorry for the man she knew loved her sister, Juna pleaded his case.

"It's too risky when she's still in this vulnerable stage. When she can fall asleep unaided and have a peaceful night, then you can try. I'm sorry, but you need to leave." Doctor shaking his head, Noburu left, leaving the treats he knew Katsumi would have loved on the table at the end of her bed.

~~~~~~

"What's this?" Instructor Kaga asked as I laid in my bed, staring intensely out the window. When I was sleeping, I had another dream about my captors, but this one seemed so surreal, it had really shaken me up. I hadn't talked to any of the nurses and my mood, not to mention my mental stability, was completely at rock bottom.

"Juna left it for me. You can have it, I'm not allowed to eat." I groaned, shuffling onto my back and sitting up to see Kaga already sifting through it. From what I suspected, he had come to tell me the result of my father's hearing, but all he had done so far was steal my-get-well-soon presents.

Sitting in silence, I bit the tip of my thumb to distract the nerves in my stomach. Kaga seemed very content with chewing on the soft sugary treat gifted to me.

"Will you tell me already?" I called out, throwing my fists into my mattress in irritation. Kaga looked at me with a raised brow, his demeaningly concerned look replaced on his face. "My father's trial. You came to tell me what happened, right?" I asked again, needing to know. The anticipation was too much.

"I don't know yet," Kaga grumbled and returned to the squishy cake in between his fingers. I frowned, crossing my arms and turning to look out the window again. It was still raining, even though a day had passed since I was last awake.

The silence was almost too much to bear, so, with a desperate need to cover my thoughts, I grabbed the remote controller on the table beside my bed and pointed it to the radio on the counter across the room. Classical music with a leading group of strings burst from it and I closed my eyes as I tried to drown out my thoughts and every sensory memory I had of weeks prior.

Suddenly, the volume decreased significantly and my gaze shot open to see Kaga standing beside it.

"Are you 90?" He frowned, throwing the pink packaging of the cake in the trash can by the door as he returned to the couch.

"It's my sister's. She helps me calm down." I sighed, turning it up again, although keeping it lower than before as it seemed to annoy him so much. Then, Kaga sprung up again, approaching my bed.

"You won't be able to recover if you just block it out." He placed a hand on the bar above my head and the other on the guarded rail on my bed, leaning in close so all my senses were enveloped by him. His smoke and cologne scent. His face was all I could see. His words repeated over and over again in my head. The warmth of his chest emitting onto my slightly cooler body. My eyes grew wide and I felt my heart stop due to the proximity.

"You need to learn to deal with that if you want to return to the academy." His voice was low and the comment made my head jerk in surprise. He thought I was going to return to my old life? After all the trouble I caused?

"There's no chance I can get back in. My entire resume is fake, let alone my application. I thought I was going to get kicked if I didn't work for you." I frowned my brows, saddened to have to admit I would never be able to complete my dream. Looking down, I found the arm he had encompassed over me. Running my gaze down to his hand, I noticed his knuckles white with pressure.

Before Kaga could retort, a small voice came from the doorway. "Instructor, I have the files you asked for."

Watching Kaga draw back, my eyes locked with a girl I once had a close connection with. She looked tired, a little worse for wear, but most of all, she was teary-eyed.

"Naruko," I uttered under my breath, honestly shocked to see her here. She just stood there, holding onto a beige folder. Kaga stormed over, snatching it from her.

"You're late." He grumbled, taking it and reading through it. I gulped when Naruko's gaze didn't fall from mine.

"Would you come here already? I can't exactly get up." I smiled through blurry vision, trying to reconnect with the girl I left behind. Her shoulder slumped and she ran towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"What the hell, Atsuko! I thought you were dead! I mean, you were dead! How could you betray me?" She shouted in my ear the name she knew me by, tears flying down her face and onto my shoulder. I bit my lip guiltily.

"I'm sorry but... How did I betray you?" I laughed when she pulled back and showed me an out of character frown.

"You said we would graduate together! Why did you leave?" She frowned and my breathing stopped. The happiness I nurtured from seeing her slowly died as I was reminded once again of what I couldn't accomplish.

"He's got life." Kaga suddenly announced, drawing both of our attention towards him. He still had his gaze in the folder, but I knew what he was talking about. My father... He's going to die in prison?

"What?" I asked, feeling Naruko's confusion as she was pushed further into the unknown of my situation. Even though I had an idea of what he was on about, I wanted to make sure. I wanted to make sure I wasn't being hopeful.

"He's got 100 years in jail for ratting some of his partners. He’ll probably be dead by the time that’s up." Kaga seemed hesitant at first but still told me. I gripped the sheets by my leg and reached for my phone on the table.

"You, go back to the academy." Kaga shot a glare at Naruko and she quickly followed his order by running to the door. Before she left, she passed me a meaningful smile and closed the door behind her.

"You're going to recover and you're returning to work," Kaga announced once he was sure Naruko was gone as I stared at my phone, desperately trying to make sense of the clusters of blur in front of me. My vision still hadn't corrected, but I was growing a sense of understanding when I could see the characters. It was so frustrating, trying to see when I knew couldn't. No matter how hard I squinted or how sternly I stared at the object, I couldn't make sense of anything. I couldn't even see my sister's face when she hugged me. I couldn't see myself in the mirror. Just a blur of skin and the white of my hospital gown.

"I can't! How am I supposed to be a detective when I can't even stop this from happening?" I shouted, suddenly enraged by how poor my eyesight had gotten, throwing my phone into the wall of my hospital room to dismiss my problems. It fell into reconnectable pieces at the force.

"I became a cop to protect us, but I failed at that. Juna got kidnapped and I put her baby in danger. All I did at the academy was make mistake after mistake. My recklessness put complete strangers in danger! A boy almost lost his mom! How can I work when whatever I do gets people hurt?" I shouted, tears spilling from my eyes when I didn't care who heard me. I was angry and sad and broken and I just wanted to cry.

Suddenly, I felt arms around me. My head was pulled against a soft, hard surface and I felt a warm breath on my hair. My eyes widened when I realised Kaga was holding me, trying to calm me down.

"You're always so damn loud." I heard him mutter as more tears spilt from my eyes. I clutched the arm around my front for support, needing to know that I wasn't in that room. I needed to know this was reality because lately, I've been having trouble differentiating.

“Just shut up for a minute and remember where you are. Forget the past. It won’t do you any good.”

At some point during my pathetic weeping, with the little sleep I had been getting, I slipped into unaided unconsciousness, something else I’d been struggling with since I was saved.

#HLITF #hlitf ayumu #hlitf kaga #hlitf goto #hlitf ishigami #hlitf soma #hlitf shinonome #hlitf fanfic #voltage games #voltage fanfic #oc #ooc #her love in the force #crime #mafia #mob #police #detective

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piccolina-mina · 4 years

Text

The Misadventures of Mischief & Mayhem

Show: Roswell, New Mexico

Characters: Michael Guerin, Maria DeLuca

Pairing: Miluca/Marichael

A/N: A previously unpublished story from the archives. One-shot. Random rambles. Takes place somewhere in s1 after Songs About Texas. It’s … whatever. Enjoy, or not. To each their own.

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"I hope you can dance, Deluca,“ he shouted over his shoulder, not wanting to risk taking his eyes off of the mob of cousin-f*cking, backwoods rednecks and wannabe cowboys advancing on them.

"I can get down if I have to.” Maria’s voice was like steel to anyone in the vicinity, but he heard the trepidation, and it killed him.

He knew she was likely outnumbered on her end as well when he felt her back press alongside his – her body taut and ready to fight. He could partially smell the adrenaline.

She was so close to him he could feel her exhale as she readied herself for whatever was about to go down. Their bodies melded together – backs slick with sweat as they shifted and moved in sync.

His default was anger; anger was better than the sadness and pain, and maybe he gained a reputation as the volatile one, but it fueled him when necessary.

He hated this. He hated being stuck in a position where he couldn’t protect Maria. He knew DeLuca didn’t need saving, but he protected his people, and the dread he felt at the mere thought of not getting her out of that bar without a scratch was unlike anything he felt in some time.

His anger was burning hot and searing. He could barely hear anything beyond the buzzing in his ears. The chides and jeering faded away.

“When I’m done wiping the floor with you, I’m going to make your colored bitch put that mouth to better use,” the instigator, some muscled, sweaty brute’s lips curled in a sadistic smile, and it was all Michael needed to see red.

His anger rolled off of him in waves, his jaw clenched from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat; his eyes burned a hole through the drunkard front and center leading the charge.

“Guerin … ” his surname on her lips was a question, a statement, a prayer, and a battle cry all in one. He felt her muscles contract as she took a swing, and his fists clenched as he did the same.

The only sound he didn’t tune out was the unmistakable smack of his fist connecting with the douchebag’s face.

He was a brawler, and his objectives were simple: never lose track of Maria, and get them the hell out of there by any means necessary.

Those were his final thoughts as his world descended into violent chaos.

Several Hours before

“You’re going to really make me get on my knees, DeLuca?”

If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t be caught dead scooting around the Wild Pony on his knees, hat in hand, but he had long since accepted Maria made him do unthinkable things.

“Guerin, I’m busy.” Maria signed off on another shipment and flashed a stunning smile at the delivery man. He promptly ignored the twinge of jealousy over someone else being on the receiving end.

“DeLuuuuca,” he practically whined, as she crossed the room ignoring him as best as she could.

DeLuca,“ he called out again, raising an impressed brow at her commitment. "De–”.

She attempted to flounce past him, but this time he grabbed her hips, stilling her. The heat of her skin burned his fingertips, and he peeked up at her through his lashes.

Maria raised her brow, but the corner of her mouth pulled up in a bemused grin.

“I kind of like you down there; it looks good on you,” she jutted her hip out, placing her hands on her hips above where his rested, but at least she gave him her undivided attention.

“Yeah, I remember,” he teased.

He should have been prepared for the knee to the chest, but he wasn’t and found himself falling back on his haunches.

“C'mon, ‘Luc. I just need you to drive me there to pick up a part. It’s the last part I need to restore this vintage baby out back, and the going price is,” he whistled.

Maria was a survivor like him. She was often hard up and respected the hustle.

“I’m not one to knock a person for securing their bag, but what do I get out of this?”

He exhaled. Once they reached a point of negotiation, he always knew he had her. His heart ached a little when he thought about how behind she was in her payments to the facility she placed Mimi in.

He caught a glimpse of the letter the last time she was poring over her finances; ironically, it was while he was swiping a bottle of booze from behind the bar like a total cad.

He found a way to make it up to her, but he still felt guilty about that.

“Ten percent of the profits,” he offered.

“Twenty,” she countered. “And gas money. I’m being generous.”

“Fifteen, and I’ll tune-up your baby free of charge for the next year.”

She snorted. “You already do that, remember?”

He frowned. She was right. He regularly did whatever mechanical work on her truck on his own dime and time, but it was the least he could do for not paying her for all the booze.

“Fine. Eighteen, and I’ll fix the freezer and the eye on the stove.”

“You already fixed both two weeks ago.” She didn’t bother to hide her smirk that time, and it came equipped with her head canted to the side as she peered down on him only slightly smug.

“Shit.” How the hell did he always end up doing so much for her? The worst part is he never minded, and still didn’t, but it put him in a sticky spot whenever they bartered. “You’re hell on my rep.”

“See a sucker lick it,” she replied sweetly.

He stared at her momentarily dazed his tongue peeking out.

“You promise,” escaped from his lips before he could bite it back. He cleared his throat after an awkward beat and pivoted the conversation. “I know a spot.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize how graceless and suggestive it came out until her eyes got a faraway look before she schooled her expression.

He didn’t miss that though.

“A scrap metal spot. Eighteen percent and a side hustle.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, or so he thought, he could never tell with her.

“Deal.”

She stuck her hand out to shake it, and he squeezed tight using her as leverage to hoist himself off the sticky floor.

“Do I need to ask?” She waited for him to read her mind so to speak, and lucky him, he knew where she was headed.

“Trust me, DeLuca. No people or puppies will be hurt by the stripping of this copper. No one will miss it. Certainly no one decent.”

She studied him for a long moment. “I would’ve settled for 12 percent, you know.” It came out smug at first, but then she softened. “I know how hard you worked on that car.”

It was one of the things he liked about her. She was somehow ruthless and soft-hearted at the same time. She needed the money, but she didn’t want to infringe on his profits either.

Haggling was part of their spiel, so they came prepared, but it was her way of making sure she didn’t take too much.

Maria had no idea how much he would sacrifice for her. Even he didn’t understand their thing, but she was his people – somehow, at some point, it just happened, and he didn’t fight it.

Love them or loathe them, he was a self-absorbed bastard, but he always looked out for his people.

“If you plan to get sentimental on me, I will exploit it,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and stormed towards the door to lock up knowing good and well he would be at the heels of her feet.

He always liked driving with DeLuca. It was the main reason he called in a favor in the first place.

Cruising with Maria was pure escapism. It was also when he saw her the most carefree. She laughed and sang, and she drove like she was running away from her problems, and there was no way in hell they’d catch up to her.

She escaped into the open road and wherever it led her, and he escaped into her. It was something simple about that.

Half the time, she forgot he was there at all until he jumped in with the chorus of a song he barely knew the words to, and she laughed uncontrollably at his terrible voice and crappy lyrics.

Some days, he felt like he was drowning, but Maria was like catching a breath.

And there was something refreshing about her never asking him questions.

She didn’t ask much of him, which made him want to share more, so when he directed her to the archeology department of a college campus and had her stay idle in the truck because campus police are a bitch, she only left him with a cryptic, “play nice.”

And when he bolted out a side door with his hat pulled down obscuring his face, an impossibly large box in hand, and a fire alarm blaring loudly, she shot him a puzzled expression but swung the door open.

He jumped inside with the grace of a gazelle, and she sped off before his foot left the pavement – the door swung shut during their hasty escape.

She slowed down as she hit the highway but looked back in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind them.

Max or Isobel would have given him hell, and Alex disapproved of his less than lawful pursuits.

“I liked it better when you were speeding,” he broke the silence.

She let out a soft snort. “When you have a body in the trunk, you drive the speed limit.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” and just like that, he eased them back into their banter. Nope, only Maria would put up with that from him.

“Not yet,” she eyed him and then the box with curiosity. “Day’s still young, though.”

Her smile momentarily dazzled him, and he forgot how to breathe. He admired her restraint; she still hadn’t asked him about the mysterious box that definitely wasn’t a car part he liberated from an establishment with her help.

No one steals car parts from the archaeological wing of a university, but covert space ship pieces? Definitely.

He almost wished she would ask. He knew she suspected something was off – she sensed things, but she never called him out on it. She just gave him the benefit of the doubt in a way no one else did.

If she asked, even once, he would probably take one look at those deep brown eyes and spill it all. It scared the shit out of him.

“Careful, Guerin,” she snuck a look at him before her eyes returned to the road. “You’re going to hurt yourself with all that thinking.”

“You and I both know I don’t do much of that,” he said. He didn’t realize how self-deprecating it sounded until she responded.

“If you were fishing for a compliment, you caught me on a good day because you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

The lump that formed in his throat was unexpected, and the silence that befell them even more so.

“I need a drink,” he said after a while. He googled the nearest watering hole and directed her to it.

She said nothing the whole time, but he couldn’t decipher the inscrutable expression on her face.

They parked some ways away, and he hopped out of the truck to escape the silence – the intensity of it. The intensity of his convoluted feelings for her.

He found the confined space stifling like someone was squeezing the little air left in his lungs, or so he thought, but what did it say about him that he didn’t find his breath again until she was beside him?

Even though it was dusk, the place had a following. They followed the dirt road to the dilapidated shack of an establishment, and he tipped his hat at her while he held open the grimy door.

It smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, a scent he was all too familiar with, and he rolled his eyes and swore under his breath at the rebel flag proudly taking up an entire wall over the bar.

Maria merely shrugged. “It’s Texas,” she sighed with a weariness he never thought about.

She shimmied her way to the bartender, and he appreciated the view.

“Two whiskeys neat, please,” she said coolly. Her fake smile was frozen in place when long moments later she still hadn’t gotten them.

His confusion morphed into disbelief, then doubt, but she merely raised a brow and motioned for him to order.

The barkeep gave him the drinks lightning quick, and Maria only snorted when the flirty bartender ran her fingers across his hand and smiled at him.

He slid a glass towards Maria, but it didn’t stop his new friend from engaging in small talk that roughly translated that she was down to screw.

“Always drowning in ass, aren’t you, Mikey?” She slid the glass back toward him, reached across the counter, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the two whiskeys she intended for herself.

She ignored the dirty look and exclamation from the bartender, tossed a wad of cash on the counter and disappeared into the crowd.

He tossed his own money down, grabbed his drinks and followed after extricating his hand from that of the overly friendly blond.

He figured Maria was in search of a jukebox, but instead, he found her at the pool table, stick in hand.

A group of guys was looking on, some with the type of interest that made him snarl and others with a disdain that made him worry.

Sure enough, a scruffy looking redhead made his way to the table and had his hand on Maria’s ass before Michael could reach her.

His jaw clenched at the sight, along with his fists, and he reminded himself not to cause a scene of the inhuman variety.

Before he could blink again Maria had kneed small Red to the groin and bent back his finger to the amusement and annoyance of some of his crew.

“Next time it won’t be my knee,” she hissed before releasing him.

Maria DeLuca’s her own damn hero. She could save herself, but he didn’t give a damn.

“Everything OK, babe?” He said, placing his hand to the small of her back while eying the room.

The only sign she gave acknowledging his little display of territorial machismo was a snort.

“Everything is about to be,” she responded, sensing a challenge.

He followed her line of sight and watched as a muscled guy emerged from the huddle of men and grabbed a pool stick of his own.

Michael recognized him as one of the men whose leering was more disdainful than lust.

She tossed him another stick, and they had a loaded conversation in just one look. Maria was a mystery to him, and despite her psychic claims he knew he was to her, but there were certain things of which they spoke the same language.

Their kinship was in what they did to get by – how they survived. No judgment, just mutual respect and understanding.

It’s why they worked so well together. It’s the reason they barely needed to exchange a word with one another in the hours they spent at that pool table.

He felt the tension in the room, and it made him uneasy. However, the money stacked up.

Maria’s way of fighting back against a world of people that saw her as nothing more than scum was to channel her energy into bleeding them dry. She told him it was more productive than wallowing.

He respected the hell out of it and her, but she made too much of a show of it during her last round. He could tell.

Around the time she crowed a “thanks for your business, gentlemen. Now run me my money,” he knew tempers were on the cusp of flaring.

She won, of course. Or rather, they won. The funny thing was the clowns surrounding them probably thought they hustled them when in reality, he and Maria were just that good.

It wasn’t either of their first times at a table. Maria was a shark in more ways than one, and he relied on some betting to feed himself often growing up.

“Bitch!” Their opponent wasn’t taking the loss well, and he hurled the pool stick in a fit of anger as he advanced on Maria.

He stepped in front of her without a second thought. It wasn’t the first time he stepped between a beatdown and made himself the target. But if he didn’t learn anything from those years of bouncing in and out of shitty foster homes, he learned how to fight and how to take a beating.

“Michael …” he felt her warm breath on the back of his neck as she exhaled. He didn’t have the time to unpack the use of his first name or what she was trying to say.

He swiped the stack of cash off the table and palmed it in his hand, not breaking eye contact with the group of men as he walked backward shuffling Maria along with him.

“You stole our money, and if you think we’re letting you leave here with it, you got another thing coming.”

“Oh, now that’s not true and you know it. Don’t be a sore loser, champ,” Michael responded with a smug grin that earned him a pinch from Maria. “Like the lady said, 'thanks for doing business.”

He tilted his hat and turned to leave with Maria’s hand in his. He knew they were in for hell when he heard a whistle.

“God damn assholes,” Maria muttered under her breath. “They’re really doing this.”

Her irritation was unmistakable, and she picked up her step only slowed long enough to twist the arm of some random drunk who grabbed at her.

They made it as far as the bar before Michael stalled as a mob consisting of most of the patrons at the shithole advanced on him.

The bar grew louder by the second as half the members of some biker gang headed in his direction. He swore profusely. There was no way in hell they were getting out there without a fight.

He shouted as much over his shoulder to Maria, and she was resigned to it as well. He mentally filed away her response curious as to how often and in what capacity did she find herself in a brawl.

They shared a look, then a nod before turning back to back and throwing their punches simultaneously. He heard the guy DeLuca hit howl in pain.

He landed another punch with the drunken prick in front of him and grinned when the guy’s nose gushed with blood; he broke it.

Maria groaned, and his smile turned to a grimace. He still felt her at his back, pressed against him, which was a good sign.

“Maria!” He called behind him.

Someone landed a punch to his gut that knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over for a moment.

“I’m –” she was winded as she ducked a fist and landed a one-two number that sent some guy to his knees and impressed the hell out of him. “I’m fine, just …”

She was poetry in motion, graceful as hell, and he realized she may very well have some experience with this. He made a note to ask her about it later as her foot met the groin of one creep as her fist connected with the chin of another.

He eyed a guy out of his peripheral rushing toward Maria with a clenched fist. He swung his arm out making the guy land hard on his back and pushed him down harder with his boot.

“You were really about to sucker-punch a woman?” Michael growled.

“I haven’t seen a woman yet,” the guy coughed.

Michael didn’t get to respond. The punch to his eye had him seeing stars, and he blindly swung, landing as many punches as he could.

A sickening smack and a grunt that was all Maria had him seeing red again. He stole a glance over his shoulder and was stunned by how many guys she warded off, but he heard her labored breathing.

He growled loud and animalistic as he drove the heel of his palm into someone’s solar plexus, and he sent the guy sprawling out across the floor.

Fuck it; he couldn’t limit his powers if they ever hoped of getting out.

His heart seized in his chest when Maria disappeared from behind him. He reached around, groping at bodies but not finding her.

The distraction was all anyone needed to get the better of him, and he went down hard. Only then did he find Maria on the floor, but damn that woman, she was still fighting like hell.

It was enough. He tapped into his powers and sent multiple guys looming over them sailing across the room – hitting the walls and sliding down.

“DeLuca,” he croaked. He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. “We gotta book it, babe.”

He slung his arm around her waist, ignoring the sharp inhale of breath she took, and they took advantage of the break in the mob and hobbled out the door.

“Guerin!” Maria yanked on his hand to get his attention. “Looks like those cowards called in the calvary.”

He blinked, his left eye made everything blurry. “A new group of people was trudging down the trail laser-focused on them.

"We’ll go around,” she whispered. She pulled him around the back, her hand sweaty and her gait off. They spotted their truck in the distance, but a linked gate stood in their way.

“Make yourself useful, Guerin,” she barked. Her voice was strained without the fire and heat.

He didn’t need to see her to know what she meant. Her foot was in his cupped hands within seconds. Her soft hands burned his skin as she used him to hoist herself up.

His hands were on her ass, pushing her over the gate until she was comfortably straddling it, and she reached out to help him over too.

They dropped to the dirt and gravel around the same time, but he flanked her as they made a run for the truck. Based on the way she ran, he was betting she sprained her ankle.

They ignored the shooting and hollering from behind the gate as some of the mob celebrated running them off, but a few stragglers attempted to climb the gate as they had done.

Maria wasn’t looking, she was too busy clamoring into the truck and swearing when she realized she had climbed in on the passenger side.

He contorted and twisted the gate sending those on it flying toward the dirt.

“Screw it, DeLuca, I got this,” he slid into the driver’s seat and sped down the dirt road still running on adrenaline.

“Easy there, Clyde,” Maria murmured breathlessly.

He smirked at the reference, then winced at the shooting pain in his jaw.

He slowed down, the adrenaline fading and the pain starting to sink in. It hit him that he and Maria barely escaped a full-blown brawl with some rednecks and not like anything at the WP either. This time he was actually scared for …

He jerked the truck over to the side of the road before Maria could so much as protest and flicked the overhead lights so he could see her better.

“Shit, Maria.’ He studied her intently his hand reaching out not knowing where to touch her but needing to. "Are you OK?”

The light was dim, but he saw she had a busted lip. Her tank top was torn and bloody. His expression and his fist clenched around the steering wheel must have given away his inner turmoil.

“It’s not mine,” she said pulling at the tank top that was nothing more than tattered pieces. Her skin was exposed and her bra, but after a tug, she gave up trying to cover herself knowing it was futile, and she was shameless anyhow.

She had a cut on her forehead that fortunately didn’t look too deep, but he couldn’t fully assess the damage.

He unbuttoned his shirt and wiggled out of it handing it to her so she could cover-up.

“Thanks,” she said with a hiss as she struggled to drape it over herself. She pressed against her ribs and grimaced some more. “Yup, those are definitely bruised.”

He could barely contain his rage.

“Cool it, cowboy.” She smiled past her pain, her pearly whites tinged pink from the bloody lip. “You didn’t exactly get away unscathed.”

She pressed against his swollen eye and cringed sympathetically when he winced.

“I’m fine,” she laughed a caustic noise. “I’ll heal.”

“Good to know. Now, what were you thinking?” He heard the severe tone, but he couldn’t be bothered to soften it. He was too keyed up.

“Wha-”

“You were goading them, DeLuca. Those … those–”

“Racist, misogynistic assholes?” She supplied. He squirmed under the weight of her intense stare. “You didn’t know.”

He started the car back up and headed for the gas station further down the highway.

“I mean the rebel flag is usually a dead giveaway for what kind of establishment we were probably dealing with, but you didn’t know. It’s not on you, and I sure as hell won’t take a lecture about instigating anyone from you, Guerin.”

Just like that, she sliced through his guilt and fear like a hot knife through butter.

“I’m not used to you being the one to start trouble,” he muttered, as they pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m off the clock,” she quipped wryly. “I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

She grabbed his hat and placed it on her head, pulling the brim down until it covered her eyes and all he could see was that smirk of hers.

Maria gave him whiplash in the best possible way. She always managed to surprise him.

He ducked his head, swallowing back a chuckle, the adrenaline that was coursing through him waning.

“Hell of a scuffle to get into over $300, but you kept me on my toes,” he hopped out of the truck and shut the door. “I’ll go in,” his eyes shot to her tattered t-shirt, lingering a second too long on her breasts for it to be innocent. “You’ll draw more attention then I will.”

She barely heard his last words, too busy snickering and wincing over his error. “Oh, babe,” she emphasized the term of endearment mockingly, clearly recalling his usage earlier. “Three hundred? No, it was $3000.”

She pulled a wad from her bra and peeled off a few bills, handing them to him. “For the supplies,” she ignored his surprised expression, the gravity of what they endured finally hitting her as she laid back against the seat.

It turned out the gas attendant wouldn’t have noticed Maria. The kid barely paid him attention.

Maria was dozing when he got back to the car, and he opted to drive a bit more and pull off the side of the highway into the desert.

He hopped out and opened the truck bed, scattering the bags of first aid kits, snacks, and booze.

“Ah, the essentials,” she said at his side. Of course, he felt her before he even registered that she was really there.

He said nothing as he picked her up without warning and sat her on the bed. He tore the rest of her shirt off of her and shoved the remnants in his back pocket.

Maria had popped the cap off of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he bought and took a swig. But she shot him a look.

“What?” He sighed gingerly prodding at her ribcage. He didn’t see any visible bruising, but he noted how she winced at his touch, so the area was at the very least tender.

“You’re the reason I can’t find my underwear from that day, aren’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him assessing.

He activated a couple of cold packs, placing them against her and wrapping an ace bandage carefully around her. She hissed but took another sip, brow raised awaiting a response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his hands were resting on her hips, and he practically dared her to challenge him.

Doing that song and dance with Maria was almost as effective as a salve and booze.

“I had no need for your …” he slid his hands down her legs, stopping at her calves as he eased her foot out of her boot. “Black lacy underwear with the purple detailing. Not at all.”

He knelt down and ghosted his fingers across her ankle, noting every movement and verbal response. He proceeded to wrap that up too.

“Perv,” she hissed, flinching and squirming beneath his grip.

“I had to commemorate your poor decision making somehow.”

Her finger pushing a curl out of his face was unexpected, and his eyes met hers with a slight frown.

“You’re really good at this,” she said suddenly, seriously, her voice dropping to a whisper like she was trying to keep this observation a secret between them.

As if the desert wasn’t a keeper of secrets.

“I had a lot of practice,” he slipped. He knew he did. He always did with her. And it scared him shitless.

She let it go, reluctantly he could tell, and he almost wished she didn’t. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could tell her mind was racing with a dozen things she wasn’t saying.

“You gonna tell me where you learned to fight like that?” He studied her intently.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responded, looking as closed off as ever.

“I would, that’s why I asked the question.” The snark jumped out, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You were impressed,” she mused. “Noted. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

She handed him the bottle whiskey and hopped off the truck bed landing on her uninjured foot.

“Your turn,” she ignored his protest and grumbles, and he hopped on the bed in her stead.

The desert air was cool, and he watched the open shirt he loaned her rustle with the wind. He saw barely visible goosebumps across her skin. His nimble fingers buttoned her up while she cleaned up his lip and eye.

He flinched and whined at every turn, and she called him a baby, but he loved it. He loved the way her face scrunched up in concentration, the warmth of her breath against his face, the way she looked up at him, and her eyes were soft and caring beneath the brim of his hat.

His hand reflexively halted her movements after she dabbed alcohol on the cut along his forehead, and she shook her head, leaning further into the slot between his legs to blow on it.

When her eyes met his again, she gave him an arresting smile that made him inexplicably emotional. He turned his away to shake it off, but her soft hand was under his chin, compelling him to meet her eyes again.

“You good?”

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time someone cared for him like that, tended to him. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he let someone try.

“Good is not an adjective anyone would ever use to describe me, DeLuca,” he winked at her.

“You know you don’t always have to–”

“Snacks? He shoved a cellophane-wrapped package of cupcakes in her hand. "You should eat something. I got sweet, salty, and spicy.”

He bit into a spicy piece of beef jerky and took another swig of whiskey.

Her lips formed a tight line, but she let it go for the moment. He knew she would file it away for later, though.

She used him as leverage as she climbed into the truck bed. She scooted to the back and stretched out looking up at the stars.

He followed suit, unfolding the blanket in the back and throwing it over both of them.

They fell into a comfortable silence outside of the munching and swallowing, as they looked at the stars.

“I didn’t mean to get us into this,” he broke the silence.

“Driving to another state to steal something that definitely isn’t a car part and getting run out of town by an Aryan motorcycle gang after hustling three grand from them? What’s life without a little excitement and adventure?” Her tone was so nonchalant he wanted to laugh.

“I don’t get away from the Wild Pony much. It’s been a thrill,” she continued

“The last time you were out, it was pretty thrilling,” he teased, grabbing the bottle from her for another swig.

The lip of the bottle left her mouth with a pop, and she frowned at the loss and cursed him under her breath.

“Was it, though,” she posed.

“You certainly weren’t complaining. In fact, as I recall you were begging me to do that–”

She shoved a mini doughnut in his mouth, and his eyes lit up with mirth as he chewed and swallowed.

She shivered, removed his hat from her head and placed it beside her.

When she snuggled up to him, wincing along the way, he only pulled her in closer, his chin resting against the top of her head.

The last time they were like that, they were buzzed, and she told him he ran hot like a furnace.

“Desert, dirt, and truck beds, next time we should opt for a hotel room,” she grumbled.

“Oh, there’s gonna be a next time?” His tongue peeked out, as he bit back a genuine smile.

“You owe me copper. On that alone, it damn well better be one, but bless your heart for getting your hopes up, Guerin.”

He snorted. “I’d be okay. I can hold my breath well, but you know that already.”

He felt her face burning red hot against his skin. Mission accomplished. He waited for a snappy retort, but she fell silent again.

“So you knew there wasn’t a car part, but you didn’t say anything?” His voice was low and husky, hushed. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Did you want to tell me?” She whispered.

The long silence was answer enough. She didn’t know how much he grappled with telling her so many things.

“I figured if you really wanted to tell me, you would if you were ready. It’s important enough. Does it affect me?”

She sounded tired. And he tensed because maybe it did and maybe it didn’t.

“If it was important to you, and it didn’t affect me, it’s all I needed to know.”

His eyes stung with emotions he preferred to keep at bay. He sniffled, and she chose to ignore it. He was grateful for that.

He slid the whiskey from her fingers and put the top back on it. He used his foot to bunch the part of the blanket at their feet up as best as he could to make sure her ankle was elevated and pulled the rest snug around her.

He could sense a shift in her mood, but all he could do was ride the wave or wait it out.

“You always take care of me.” Her voice was small, hoarse, nothing above a whisper as if it cost her something to say it – like she trusted him with it but was afraid of how he would respond.

It was wonderous, like the mere thought– the concept was so foreign to her she couldn’t process it.

He recognized it as the thank you that it was.

“You always let me,” he whispered back.

This time when she shuddered, he knew it had nothing to do with the cool desert air.

She yawned, then hissed when the action caused her to ache, a litany of curses spilling from her lips to his utter amusement.

“Next time only call me if you’re robbing a bank,” she grumbled.

He scoffed softly but pressed his lips to her hair so lightly he doubted she could feel it. “Will do, Bonnie.”

“Go to sleep, Clyde,” she mumbled. Her soft snores following.

He didn’t, but she never needed to know that.

#roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #maria deluca #miluca #okay byyyye

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