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#trying to get home is hell because i needed the Victoria line and

maxverstepponme · 1 year

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Do you want an honest read of what I think is happening with Max and Kelly. This is going to be very long and I don’t believe this is 100% what has happened it’s just my opinion on what might be happening. I think Max and Kelly aren’t together anymore. Seems they actually broke up some time before Miami. Kelly going to a hotel by herself/with P was right after the breakup and then she went on the solo trip with P to NYC. I think she(yes Kelly nobody likes to get broken up with) needed time to clear her head and think so she took P on a trip. I also think the reason K isn’t acting like she did with Daniil is because Max is paying her off. I’m sorry but think about it. Ever since things have been obviously bad between them Kelly has been getting bigger opportunities than she ever has before. The PatBo thing Kelly randomly became a part of and now they’re besties. Working with together all the time, acting like this is nothing new when it is. Kelly has never hung out with Patrica or Dafne this much? Now they’re doing events together, hanging out, having dinners all the time, coming to races IN MONACO? The weird hug after Miami(no kiss) and Kelly spending almost non of Miami with Max. Max for the first time ever saying something about his sweet girlfriend, which very random. The fact that he’s the one who brought it up, like oh got to remember to mention I definitely still have a girlfriend. Then Kelly went to Cannes ALL WEEK. She had the works too. For once Kelly actually could pass as a model. Why now is Kelly getting this exposure? Suddenly Kelly gets to go to Miu Miu and LV events and gets to bring a LV guy to the GP to get her foot in the door further. Max is supplying Kelly all these amazing opportunities so she has a reason to not make their break up known yet. Kelly is playing along because wtf else is she going to do but I don’t think she’s happy about it.(Obviously like I said before nobody likes to get broken up with) Kelly looked uncomfortable when Max come to hug her(no kiss two races in a row. have they ever not kissed till this year?) and her pulling away first. Seems like the situation is maybe settling in that they’re over. The maybe mistake, maybe not, apartment listing. Him and his family trying so hard suddenly to make everything looks ok after months of silence. Also this is why I think she did the weird fish thing in the hotel before NYC was because it really hadn’t hit her that they were over. Her not really posting anything about him recently, her not liking his posts, and her literally never being home. In the pictures form the Monaco Gala they are literally standing a foot apart form each other. It’s so obvious that something happened and Max probably wants to wait till summer break to announce, but preparation are already being made. The mysterious apartment listing, verstappen.com is slowed down the Kelly posts, and the weird liking habits of Vic, Sophie, and Kelly, and Max is doing everything in his power to make sure Kelly doesn’t walk till he’s ready even if means dishing out money so Kelly can play pretend wag and milk all the publicity she can. Max somewhere a long the line released that Kelly and him weren’t going to work and ended it. He and Kelly come up with some type of agreement and that is what is playing out now. It was better to give Kelly what she wants for a few months and letting her set up her “future” so he doesn’t have to suffer the media hell.

ps: I think the big decider of him wanting to end it was them getting pap’d in St. Barth with Victoria and her kids. I think this really upset Sophie and Victoria and it was an eye opener/ final straw was his mom and sister being over Kelly and distancing themselves from both of them.

It’s definitely weird. The latest interactions are weird af, but only time will tell.

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melis-writes · 2 years

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Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – Omertà.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in 1956, during the attempted assassination on Michael and Victoria Corleone.

"You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria." / "She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà."

With bullets flying over you and Michael during an attempt on your lives, the worst night of your life takes a turn for the worst as Michael's long time enemy and rival–Alphonse Ricci–forcefully has you kidnapped and held for more than just a ransom as his backup plan. Under pressure and suspicion of who betrayed the two of you, every move Michael makes in tracking your location down and bringing you back home safely is critical. With enough blackmail to ruin your life and career, Alphonse demands answers and isn't a patient man, using threats, intimidation tactics and sadism to get you to talk. Time is running out with your life on the line as you realize just what Alphonse's grand plans are for not just your future, but that of your entire family's.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy & explicit violence / Gunfire & firearm use / Depictions & themes of kidnapping/hostage situation / Ransoming / Graphic depictions of assault & battery / Character deaths / Graphic depictions of injuries & blood / Sexual harassment [groping/kissing] / Sedative usage / Sexual assault [groping, kissing] / Knife wounds / Biting / Explicit depictions of death.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The highly anticipated, next oneshot is finally here!! 😅 Thank you to the anon who requested this action packed oneshot! I hope I've done it justice with 100+ pages of thrilling content from start to finish for you guys! 👀 We see Michael in action, angst, hurt/comfort, a sneak peek of Connie and Leonardo's marriage, more quality time spent with the twins, how Michael handles the stress and pressure of Victoria's ransom and a short lived, but full out mob war too. There's a lot to tackle in this oneshot! 🙏🏻 Because of its explicit/graphic manner, please don't forget to read the warnings above! ❤

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

[ Night of the attempted assassination at Lake Tahoe, 1956 ]

“Victoria!” Connie shouts out at you—her voice shaky with tears as she hugs her two sons close to her. “Where the hell are you going?! Sure as hell not out there—”

“Connie, it’s fine!” You shake your head, pulling open the French doors to exit the drawing room. “This isn’t the first goddamn time bullets have flown over my head before!”

“Are you insane?!” Connie hisses at you, “you know it’s not safe! Are you trying to get yourself killed after what Michael told us?!”

“Just stay put and with mama!” You point at Connie, then back at your mother weakly laying on the couch with Sandra by her side—ensuring her fresh bandages are on tight enough to stop the bleeding. “I need to find my brothers and Michael.”

“You’re insane, I swear!” Connie calls out behind you as you’re quick to storm out of the room and towards the study at the opposite end of the central family estate where your mother was hit.

“If Michael finds out—VICTORIA!” You can still hear Connie yelling out your name behind you but ultimately ignore her, knowing you’ve never been and never will be cowering back and waiting for others to finish the job.

Barefoot and keeping your steps slow and silent, you keep your eyes focused on all sides of your surroundings.

You continue to move towards the other side of the compound by getting closer to the study, realizing just how eerily quiet it’s grown on this side of the estate then suddenly being able to see the walls surrounding the study up ahead blown off in small chunks and riddled with bullet holes.

Moving through the study, you press your back against any solid wall you approach to avoid being detected out of the shattered windows now flashing over with lights from security outside.

Like a shadow, you slip out the back door of the central family estate—slipping on a pair of your kitten heels you left outside—and move towards you and Michael’s estate—just towards the front of your bedroom window where the first shots were fired.

Keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from any source of light, you can already make out three heavily armed guards of Michael’s lingering both inside and outside of your bedroom, checking around for any further evidence and safety compromises.

‘What the hell?’ You furrow your brows, knowing that the two bullets you fired off didn’t just go into the air and disappear, let alone reflect off of the walls of the estate, a tree, or anything similar. You heard it hit someone, not something.

Continuing to stay out of sight of Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows of your bedroom from a different angle, stepping back.

You can hear Al Neri, Rocco, and their men yelling overheard, guard dogs barking and the footsteps of security roaming hastily all over the compound which easily masks out any sound you could make.

‘If I had shot more towards the right, then I would have to stand here…’ You move back further, estimating the spot you assumed your bullet must have got to before your eyes land on a small pool of blood not far from where you remain.

‘My bullet didn’t fail me.’ A slight sense of relief washes over you as you begin to carefully track the little droplets of blood that lead a pathway outward to the drains.

It already strikes you that the drains are a perfect hiding spot as they’re almost always ignored by just about everyone except for the compound’s weekly cleaning services and after sundown from a lack of any light source natural or artificial, it remains almost pitch black inside and surrounding the outside.

‘I must have hit his lower body. His side, or perhaps his thigh?’ Normally as you’d assume, if someone got immediate medical attention or at least didn’t run around and move frantically, they wouldn’t bleed this much but clearly the assassins were in an obvious rush towards the drains and nowhere else.

You’re just about to follow the rest of the blood trail when you hear two sets of unfamiliar footsteps beginning to rush towards you.

Having spotted you the moment you made your way towards the blood trail, lurking in the shadows and analyzing your every step, Alphonse Ricci’s assassins hastily approach you to ambush you from behind.

Let into the compound from an inside betrayal of the family—a thought already in Michael’s mind but without certainty to pin the blame on Frank Pentangelli, Hyman Roth, Johnny Ola, or all three—you barely have any time to react to the sudden attack, just as planned.

Overpowered by the two men grabbing you from both sides knowing that if you were out here vulnerable and alone outside, it’d be the only chance they’d get.

Had Michael been in your exact position without men and away from any source of light, he would have been shot dead on sight, as per the men’s orders said.

While remaining in the darkness to avoid a lecture from Michael’s men or Michael himself that you’d never hear the end of, now the assassins grabbing you from behind by your neck and clasping a leather gloved hand over your mouth to stifle your screams are now used to their advantage instead.

Before you can fire the pistol you’ve already been able to grab out from the pocket of your nightgown, the guard who now grips your throat roughly pistol whips you over the side of the head with his own gun.

As a direct order from Alphonse wanting to have you subdued and taken quietly if all else fails—which it has—the assassins don’t have the intention to hurt you badly or leave a mark, but that’d have to wait until you’d stir from consciousness.

In that split second where the pistol is just about to collide with your temple, you’ve surprised both the assassins and yourself in a way by aimlessly firing your pistol straight into the stomach of the other assassin standing in front of you.

Hit at such a close range that the barrel of your pistol burns into the stomach of the assassin while you stumble back and crumple into the arms of the other, passing out.

The last thing you remember seeing is a dark figure in a three-piece, full black suit and a fedora tilted over his head to mask half of his facial features—the same man you’re not entirely aware you just shot.

Immense pressure and sharp feeling hit your forehead before you almost instantly lose consciousness before everything goes pitch black.

A trickle of blood drips down your temple and you’re knocked out cold before you can hear the second assassin you shot writhe in pain—forcing himself to stay quiet almost enough to bite his own tongue off.

“Shit!” The first assassin hisses, holding your limp body tightly in his arms. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Little bitch shot me,” the second assassin grunts, immediately applying pressure to his gunshot wound.

“Fuck, look—we’ll get that taken care of as soon as we can get the fuck out of here.” The first assassin gestures back with his thumb. “The faster you do this with me, the sooner it’s all over. Man the fuck up, for now, we’ve got a job to do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to walk if it was you, asshole.” The second assassin mutters in pain, following the first assassin scooping you up bridal style in his arms.

The assassins continue making their way through every inch of darkness and shadow they can find on the compound before carrying you into the sewer exit.

The betrayer had of course told the men whether it was deliberate or not that the sewers and the drains were not only an ideal hiding spot nobody cared much about, but it’s also filthy from top to bottom.

Alphonse strictly ordered there not to be a speck of dirt or any unnecessary injury done to you if it could be helped and even then, there’d be absolute hell to pay for orders not followed down to every letter.

The assassin carrying you remembers being yelled at well, but also thinking about the rest of his pay and making sure while he walks into the drains with the second assassin limping behind him that he’d rather be covered in mud, guck, and shit for a million dollars than get a tiny drop even on the trim of your silk nightgown.

“Fuck,” the second assassin grunts, slowly down and barely being able to pull himself into the drains. “This fucking hurts. Do you have to move so goddamn fast?”

“You’re fucking slowing me down, man, that’s what you’re doing.” The first assassin narrows his eyes. “I’m getting the fuck out of here with her one way or another, you know how this works.”

“F-fuck you.” Giving up entirely from the weakness the second assassin feels hitting every inch of his body from blood loss, the man trips down into the sewer and rolls onto his back.

The first assassin barely looks back over his shoulder at his partner in crime, continuing to carry you through the sewers and out back the way he came—knowing Rocco won’t be there to stop him from getting you into a car and out of Lake Tahoe.

Rushing towards the drains if anything had made the blood loss worse over a mere few minutes, the second assassin had that sense of hope in thinking he’d just make it is now replaced with the prospect of death which would normally strike fear in his heart as he lays in murky, filth filled waters.

Assassinations were easy jobs for experienced mobsters—buttonmen, capos, or otherwise—but the concept of near-guaranteed death was practically branded on their foreheads when they were told they’d be paid a million dollars each by Alphonse Ricci for assassinating you and Michael Corleone.

The second assassin knew he’d either die a miserably painful albeit short death or go home a rich man and as the first assassin quickly pulls open the car door out back in the forest and secures you next to him in the back seat, all the first assassin can think of is how and when his corpse is going to be discovered.

“What happened back there? You got her?!” The driver clutches onto the steering wheel tightly, looking to the backseat.

“Yeah.” The second assassin pants, out of breath as he carefully lays you down on the leather seats. “Just Victoria Corleone, her husband’s not dead—he’s not even hurt.”

The driver immediately starts up the car, looking around him frantically. “Shit, shit, shit, where’s—”

“He’s probably fuckin’ dead, just drive!” The second assassin shouts, referring to his partner assassin now bleeding to death in the sewers. “He barely got through the goddamn drains with me, now he’s drowning in shit.”

‘Nevada license plate…’ One of Al Neri’s men hunched over by the bushes sees the license plate of the car that’s driving you away just by the last moment—too far to shoot at the tires from but still left with crucial information.

What the buttonman doesn’t know from the time he was able to slip out towards the back of the woods when he made out the shape of a vehicle is that Michael Corleone’s wife is being kidnapped and taken inside of it.

“If there’s a mark on her, the boss is gonna fucking kill you.” The driver warns, picking up speed through the dirt pathway leading out of Lake Tahoe. “You knocked her out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The assassin rolls his eyes, glancing at the dried-up blood on your temple. “I had to pistolwhip her, I had no other choice.”

“Was that before or after Jimmy randomly fucking died in the sewers?” The driver scowls, making eye contact from the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, he got randomly fucking shot straight in the stomach by this bitch!” The assassin exclaims. “Had that tiny fucking pistol in her hands before we could see it.”

“The boss told us.” The driver attempts to calm his shaky breathing, driving faster. “She’s fucking dangerous and you need to treat her as such. We need to keep her incapacitated until we get back—no fucking exceptions.”

“I made sure she dropped that fucking pistol of hers back there, she’s not gonna pull that shit on us again.” The assassin reaffirms.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, man.” The driver shakes his head. “Armed or not, Victoria Corleone will scratch your fucking eyes out with her own nails if she gets the opportunity to. Do you seriously not know what the fuck we just did? Who we’re fucking with?”

“Yeah, I know what we just did.” The assassin attempts to relax his tense muscles against the leather car seats. “We became fucking millionaires, that’s what. So the job got a little dirty, better someone else kiss the dirt than me. Look at her now,” he gestures to your body. “Sleeping peacefully, still breathing, just fine.”

“Wipe that blood off her forehead at least.” The driver sighs. “I’m not gonna think about that money until I know I’m still alive by the time we get back to the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ruin your own fun.” The assassin reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a handkerchief and gently dabbing it over your temple to wipe as much blood off as he can. “We got in, we got the broad, we’re out. Now when we get back, have a fucking drink to calm your nerves, and then start counting your share of the bread. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

Connie, Sandra, and Esther remain in the drawing room as Michael asked, comforting the children and frequently checking on your mother who attempts to relax against the couch in a position that won’t press on her gunshot wound.

It’s only ten minutes later that everyone inside the compound’s estates begins to realize the noise of Michael’s men and guard dogs outside has started to grow quiet and is now replaced with the faint sirens of an ambulance approaching and Michael’s footsteps.

Connie tucks her boys in on the couches nearest to her with any blankets she can find in the drawing room, sitting on the carpet next to them and attempting to calm down.

While Esther and Ludovica seem relieved to hear the ambulance approaching the estate, Connie’s anxiety only grows further neither seeing nor hearing any sign of you since you rushed off.

Connie sniffles and wipes her tears off onto her blouse, watching as Ludovica is carefully laid onto a stretcher and taken out of the drawing room with Esther and a security guard following behind.

“Yes, Don Giuseppe will follow shortly…” Connie hears one of Michael’s buttonmen murmur but is unable to pinpoint who he’s notifying.

Sandra wipes the stray tears out of the corners of her eyes, sitting on the very edge of the couch Ludovica was laying on and remaining quiet.

Just before Connie can speak out to her, she hears another pair of footsteps growing closer and easily recognizes they belong to Michael, but Connie doesn’t hear yours following his.

The doorknob to the drawing room twists and Michael pushes open the door, stepping inside with some sort of expectation over his expression before it grows stone cold almost instantly.

Sandra immediately darts her gaze down, avoiding looking at Michael entirely as if she has something to be guilty for, but with the way Michael’s already realized you’re not in the drawing room as you were told to be, he now locks his eyes with Connie directly.

“Michael,” Connie whimpers, raising up her hand to him.

“Where is she, Connie?” Michael asks once, calmly. “Where’s Victoria?”

“I don’t know.” Connie swallows hard. “Michael, please.”

“Connie.” Michael’s tone of voice grows sterner. “I’m not going to ask you again. Give me a straight answer, now.”

“She said something about finding you and your brothers!” Connie bursts out into sobs again. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

“And you just let her leave?!” Michael glares, raising his voice so sharply that it causes Sandra to flinch. “What did I tell you?”

“I know, I know!” Connie protests, shaking her head. “I told her not to go, I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t have any of it! She just up and left!”

“And the two of you just sat here.” Michael points his finger back and forth at a sniffling Sandra and crying Connie. “Waited for her to come back the entire time, yes?”

“What else could we have done, Michael?” Sandra speaks out in a shaky tone. “Go out there and look for her while it’s dangerous?”

“We had no choice but to wait for her.” Connie’s voice cracks. “I’ve been dying just sitting here and waiting.”

“Don’t wait.” Michael loosens his tie, letting out a loud sigh. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Both Sandra and Connie say at the same time with wide eyes.

“Gone, she’s gone,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “My men and I combed the entire compound in and out—she’s GONE.”

“But Al and Rocco—” Connie begins.

Michael interrupts his sister. “What do you think Neri and Rocco were doing the past ten minutes? There isn’t a trace of her here unless one of you isn’t admitting to something?”

“Don’t be r-ridiculous.” Connie whimpers through her tears. “All she said was that she was going to find you and h-her brothers. Why would she leave the compound?”

“Rocco’s outside the compound searching the entire vicinity with his men and the dogs for anything—bodies included.” Michael glares at Connie and Sandra. “At this point, both of you can consider your sister-in-law missing.”

“Stop!” Sandra cries out, “you’re not implying—”

“Victoria DID NOT disappear into thin air, Sandra!” Michael yells at her, seething with anger. “Either she was taken out of the compound or went out of herself and is dead, do you understand me? If this is such a hard reality for either of you to grasp, start blaming yourselves as to why you didn’t stop her or call out for one of my men too.”

“She’s not dead, she can’t be!” Connie sobs louder as her sons peek out from under their blankets fearfully—having never seen their Uncle Michael this visibly pissed and stressed in their lives.

“I don’t want to tell my children we found their mother’s body outside of the compound.” Michael hisses, pulling open the door again. “And believe me, if I do, I’m willing to blame some of the people in this room.”

Outside by the blood trail belonging to one of the first assassins you shot, Al Neri crouches down to carefully examine the blood over the cobblestone path with a flashlight.

In his other hand, Neri clutches a tattered piece of silk cloth belonging to your nightgown, half stained with a muddy footprint from the men who overpowered you.

Unable to see any blood or otherwise on the nightgown but not entirely sure who the blood trail belongs to, Neri stands back and gestures to one of his men around him. “Stay here, keep the lights on the blood trail and keep the area clean. I’m going to get the Don.”

“When you don’t do as I say, Connie,” Michael pulls open the door, scowling at her, “when you blame everybody but yourself for your own actions or lack thereof, you disappoint me.”

Before Michael can continue, he turns his head towards the corridor where Al Neri quickly rushes in, calling out for Michael’s attention. “Don Corleone!”

“What is it?” Michael’s facial expression immediately relaxes. “Tell me you have some good news for once tonight.”

“I don’t know what to call it, sir.” Al Neri comes up to Michael, holding up the ripped piece of your nightgown. “I found a piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown torn off from a struggle.”

“Let me see that.” Michael snatches the piece of cloth from Neri’s hand, looking at it closely in the palm of his hand. “This was torn right off.”

“Yes, sir.” Neri nods, “there’s some mud and a bit of a footprint on it too. Looks like it was stepped on and ripped like that.”

“So there was a struggle,” Michael murmurs, quick to close the door of the drawing room behind him so neither Sandra nor Connie gets to hear. “Just what the hell happened?”

“That’s not all.” Neri hesitates to make direct eye contact with Michael. “Not too far from it we also found a small pool of blood, sir.”

“Show me.” Colour drains out of Michael’s face as he follows Al Neri back outside of the central family estate and over to the blood trail not far from your bedroom.

“Just here, sir.” Neri points to where his men keep their flashlights aimed towards every drop of blood, no matter how small. “This section of the compound avoids any kind of light almost immediately, yet we found both the piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown and the blood here.”

Michael crouches down towards the large splatter of dried blood, staring down at it directly. “This can’t be Victoria’s blood.”

“No sir, as it gets much heavier after this point onward.” Al Neri gestures with his finger towards the corner of the estate.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri, standing back up and immediately making haste to follow the rest of the blood trail leading to the drains.

“This kind of splatter,” Michael mutters under his breath, “it shows someone was shot at close range. It’s messy.”

“I agree.” Neri leads Michael and the rest of his men further. “It’s messy and shows signs that whoever was shot is bleeding out and could not make it far.”

Michael presses his lips down into a firm line, thinking to himself it’s either your body that gave out somewhere hidden on the compound and this is actually your blood, or it’ll be the only time Michael feels relief tonight.

Neri knows this is the only thought on Michael’s mind following his boss’ silence, and he purposefully avoids any kind of eye contact or talking until they all approach the sewers.

“It stops right inside, sir.” Rocco’s voice calls out as he jumps into the small murky puddle leading into the drains. “Whoever got in bled out very quickly and didn’t make it far.”

Neri takes a step inside the sewers as Michael waits outside surrounded by the rest of the men, and it’s only a few moments later that the sounds of a body being dragged back towards the entrance can be heard.

Michael can’t ignore the relief his heart feels to see Neri and Rocco pulling out a man badly shot in the stomach and barely conscious instead of your body of all things.

“Sir.” Rocco looks up at Michael. “This man is still alive and has a pulse.”

“Finally caught one of the assassins, did you?” Michael mumbles—disappointment heavy in his voice. “Congratulations. Fish him out.”

Careful not to manhandle the assassin too much from the state of his heavy wounds, Neri and Rocco take him out of the drains and onto the grass surrounding it—forcing the assassin to sit up.

“Ohhh, God…” The assassin groans out in pain, still insistent on clutching onto his stomach like it’ll spare his life.

“Out of state,” Michael notes, knowing this is no regular buttonman from Nevada.

“C-can’t even die a peaceful death, can I?” The assassin lazily tilts his head back to look up at Michael.

“Laying in shit and mud within the sewers is as peaceful of a death as it gets for a rat like you.” Michael pulls out his pistol from his suit pocket, aiming it directly at the bullet wound on the assassin’s stomach. “I can make it much quicker for you. You will tell me your name and who you work for.”

“I’m dyin’, Don Corleone.” The assassin lets out a hacking, bloody cough. “Does i-it really look like I’m in the position to answer your questions?”

“Answer him, now.” Rocco kicks the assassin in the side, causing him to howl out in pain.

“You can still talk, that’s obvious.” Michael cocks his pistol. “Don’t think this can be the end of you that easily. I can get that wound of yours patched up and then slowly torture you by pulling out the stitches myself. So start. Talking.”

“You’ll find o-out soon enough.” The assassin chuckles weakly. “Oh, you’re everything they s-said you were, Don Corleone. Threats and all… Can’t you see this is a-all a game?”

Drenched in the rancid scent of the sewers and completely soaked in mud, the assassin's clothes drip with waste matter as Rocco and Neri pull him up to his feet now.

“Taking my wife is some kind of game to you?” Michael furrows his brows.

“A-ah, that wasn’t me.” The assassin shakes his head. “T-that was my partner, of course. How am I gonna…gonna take out the pretty lady when she did this to me?” He gestures to the bullet lodged into his stomach. “T-that wife of yours sure is somethin’… Sure doesn’t go down without a fight but… Lookin’ at me now, I’d say she doesn’t go down without a murder.”

“If you don’t want that bullet pulled out of you right now you’re going to start confessing.” Neri threatens. “Tell us what your boss planned.”

“We were supposed to kill you.” The assassin smirks up at Michael. “But we always had a Plan B, as you can see… Take the wife if all else fails, you know? Hell of an aim that wife of yours has huh? Killing two of us.”

“I’ll take this body count off her hands.” Michael fires his pistol twice straight into the heart of the assassin as Neri and Rocco let the body drop out of their hands and to the ground.

“Sir?” Neri looks up at Michael expectantly for his next order.

“This isn’t a Plan B.” Michael holds his pistol up, examining it. “This was supposed to happen to begin with. They took Victoria.” He lowers his gun down to his side. “And unless I’m dead wrong, they have her alive and they want her alive.”

“Who?” Tom’s voice breaks out as he approaches Michael and his men, out of breath.

“Alphonse Ricci, who else?” Michael’s voice drips with venom just mentioning the name. “Get rid of the bodies—all of them. I want this place cleaned up, spotless as if nothing happened. You two—” he points at Neri and Rocco. “I want your men to search and investigate every inch of the entire compound and its surroundings. Seal up the estates with security at all times. And one more thing.” Michael specifically stares into Rocco’s eyes. “Keep an eye on your own men, just in case.”

Michael knows there’s a traitor within the compound, and he’s never going to shy away from settling for the idea that there may be more than one.

Having the dried-up blood on your temple from being pistol-whipped unconscious is the only courtesy Alphonse’s assassins give you for tonight.

While you’re still out cold and laying in the back seat, the assassin sitting next to you takes his time properly and tightly restraining your ankles together and your wrists behind your back.

None of Alphonse’s men are risking any further surprises or movements from you tonight.

Far off from Lake Tahoe now, the destination of the car is still within Nevada and the driver’s able to relax knowing for certain he’s not being followed from any side.

Thirty minutes further into the drive within the night and the pitter-patter of rain beginning to surround the car becomes full out, pouring rain.

Soft, quiet jazz music plays in the car for some peace of mind; the roads remain slick and muddy from all the rain and making a mess over the car from how fast the speed limit allows on the highway.

“She ain’t awake yet, is she?” The driver looks up into the rear-view mirror.

“No, thank God.” The assassin mutters, taking off his fedora and setting it on his lap. “I got her all tied up at last, though.”

“Good.” The driver sighs in relief. “Make sure whatever you tied on her is tight, so she doesn’t surprise us like fucking Houdini.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” The assassin chuckles, glancing down at his fedora before back at your body; his eyes begin to widen in realization at your belly. “Shit.”

“What?” The driver’s tone of voice grows alarmed. “What is it?”

The assassin pauses for a moment, placing his hand against your small—yet noticeable when looking up close—baby bump. “Shit.”

“WHAT?” The driver repeats, practically yelling. “Don’t freak me out up here man, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“She’s pregnant.” The assassin shakes his head. “Fucking shit.”

“What?!” The driver exclaims out in surprise. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yeah, man.” The assassin nods, pulling his hand back. “Uhhh, not far along from what I know with my lady but Corleone is definitely pregnant.”

“Did she fall when you—”

“I don’t know, man!” The assassin’s voice tightens from panic. “It all happened so fucking fast, I don’t remember! She fell right into my arms, she couldn’t have hit the ground or anything.”

“Goddamn it.” The driver hisses under his breath. “Have some fucking integrity with yourself. Pregnant or not, that’s still a woman and this is nothing but a surprise.”

“Yeah, I know.” The assassin mumbles, rubbing his face glumly. “Last thing we need is something to happen to that baby.”

“That’s Michael Corleone’s baby.” The driver clarifies. “That means more than one thing, for the boss too. She’s even more valuable now to us than you think. The boss said no harm should come to her at all unless necessary when restraining her.”

“Listen, man.” The assassin sighs loudly, getting fed up with the constant back and forth lecturing. “I KNOW. I know that.”

“Then let me remind you again, because it’s your ass on the line, not mine!” The driver narrows his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “My job is just to drive.”

“Uh-huh.” The assassin rolls his eyes. “Well, lucky you then. I guess we can’t all drive away from certain death and torture, away from dozens of security cards and Michael Corleone’s multi-million dollar home.”

“Listen, pal, I know I’m not that lucky, but that braindead brother-in-law of this broad got us in and he got us out.” The driver points out, “you wanna thank someone for being alive? Thank him. As I said, I’m just doing my job. I got a family to feed at home and we all have a part to play.”

“Don’t we all?” The assassin mutters out a rhetorical question. “My job is basically done. She ain’t hit too hard either and I cleaned up that blood. But she’s gonna catch a cold if we get her out of the car like this.”

“I have my trenchcoat up here in the front seat.” The driver gestures with his hand. “You can wrap that around her. Keep her warm at least.”

“That’ll do.” The assassin leans up, grabbing the trenchcoat off the front passenger seat. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night after all. I wouldn’t have expected her to be fully and warmly clothed in bed.” The assassin places the driver’s trenchcoat over top of you like a blanket. “She looks fine now.”

“As I said, man, we’ll let the boss decide that. Are there any visible marks on her forehead?” The driver asks, concerned.

“Well,” the assassin leans over to you for a closer look. “It’s not swollen or anything but there’s definitely a small gash.”

“Fuck’s sakes.” The driver sighs quietly to himself. “We could both get killed for this. Just keep it clean until we get there if you can. It’ll have to do for now. We’re taking two people to the boss now, not just one.”

Michael Corleone is the type of man who has both the patience, money and time to not only have his estate’s compound and the vicinity searched, but all of Lake Tahoe.

Nothing differs from the fact he got his mother-in-law an ambulance with a private doctor and Doctor Katherine for familiarity by Ludovica’s side, and repairs were done to the bedroom windows and walls at 3AM by private contractors.

While Leonardo remains inside the central family estate comforting a crying Connie and her two sons, Giuseppe, Vito, Matteo, and Alessio remain in the boathouse with their men increasing security and fully searching every dead body for clues.

Getting away from the thundering rain, Michael remains in the living room with Tom and Sonny, sipping whiskey on the rocks quietly and is on his third cigarette out of stress.

Tonight, nobody leaves or enters the compound except for the contractors who’ve been searched so thoroughly that Michael could pull out a list of their ancestry if he wanted to.

Everyone in your family and Michael’s is now aware you’ve been kidnapped. Your brother Matteo remains silent as he had been when he heard the news, while Alessio refuses to hide how distressed he’s felt throughout the night.

Giuseppe and Vito remain calm, but the distant and glum look on their faces shows that they too are concerned and deep in thought.

Everybody knows this kidnapping isn’t to kill or do something for the show. Everyone also knows Alphonse and his men will never get away with this, and those personal emotions must not be allowed to interfere in what must be done.

Such is true of Michael whose facial expression and body language have been unreadable to all except Connie this night. While he hides his emotions well as always, the anger swelling inside of Michael is immense.

As Michael finishes his third cigarette in silence, it’s then that Lorenzo walks into the living room—his hair still glistening wet from coming out of the boathouse and getting caught in the rain.

Nothing about Lorenzo reads ‘friendly’ or in the mood for conversation with the way he angrily approaches Michael and Tom by the fireplace, interrupting their silence. “Which one of your men do we have to kill for causing all of this, Corleone?”

“Hello to you too, Lorenzo.” Sonny rolls his eyes at the sudden show of attitude.

Michael looks up from his ashtray as if he hasn’t noticed Lorenzo coming in at all, and for Lorenzo’s sake, Michael chooses to ignore his tone of voice against him too. “If there was a quick fix to this situation such as putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, it would have happened already.”

“There’s never a quick fix with you, is there?” Lorenzo maintains his dance from where Tom and Michael sit.

“You can whine all you want, but it’s not going to change what happened tonight,” Michael says firmly as if he’s completely unbothered by tonight’s events.

“We’re not going to get anywhere if we don’t start from one place at a time.” Tom points out but is directing his words to Lorenzo. “We know who did this, but we still don’t know how or why.”

“Yeah, how the hell did they even get into the compound?” Sonny crosses his arms.

“It’s not an outside job, but those who’ve come inside physically have already been dealt with,” Michael replies plainly.

The room grows quiet as Lorenzo runs a hand through his hair. He silences himself from being about to speak out as the sound of Leonardo trying to hush a sobbing Connie comes out from the drawing room.

“Ignore her.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette. “She’s just hysterical.”

“You know you can’t pin the blame on Constanzia for my sister’s own independence. Victoria would never make a stupid or selfish decision, even if her life was on the line.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes at Michael.

Michael pulls out a cigarette from his pack and doesn’t bother to look up at Lorenzo nor answer him until he’s lit it and put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “You really aren’t in any position to talk about my sister when yours is missing.”

“That’s your wife too, might I remind you.” Lorenzo scowls.

“Believe me, I know.” Michael locks a cold gaze with Lorenzo. “I know. My pregnant wife was kidnapped. MY wife. An attempt was taken on my life, her life, and my children’s lives. Now your mother is injured and my wife is missing. This has more to do with me and my family than it ever has anything to do with you.”

“Lorenzo,” Tom clears his throat awkwardly, wishing to avoid another verbal confrontation between Michael and Lorenzo here and now. “What we really need to worry about now is if Victoria’s being taken out of state or not. We can narrow down our options and get this done and over with.”

“Do any of you think she’s being taken out of state?” Sonny scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Michael answers Sonny. “We have airports and the surrounding borders on high alert.”

“Everybody in Nevada knows Alphonse is in Nevada then. He wasn’t lurking around Las Vegas for no reason.” Sonny mutters under his breath in annoyance. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep Victoria there.”

“Exactly.” Tom sighs, relaxing in his seat.

“The goal has never been to take her far away, if anything Alphonse has done in the past has told us something.” Michael takes a short drag out of his cigarette.

“That rat is just doing what he can.” Lorenzo grits his teeth, attempting to calm himself down. “Anything he can just because he has the ability to do so.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a man with no real power.” Sonny snaps his finger. “And I swear if they harmed Vic—”

“There’ll be hell to pay regardless,” Michael adds, speaking in a calm and low voice. “His men were stupid enough to talk before they were killed. There’ll be a ransom as they hold Victoria hostage, no doubt.”

“Then Ricci is really as stupid as they say he is if he wants money.” Lorenzo turns his attention to the set of drinks on the coffee table. “He’s drowning in his family’s wealth as is.”

“It’s never been about money.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It can’t ever be that easy for him.”

“This is all some kind of sick game to him.” Tom frowns. “Kidnapping a pregnant woman.”

“The people who orchestrated this assassination and kidnapping have no idea we know as much as we do, and I intend to keep it that way.” Michael sets his gold lighter upward on the table before him. “Death is not going to be the release they think it is. They want us chasing them down in cars and infiltrating every hideout they have for information.”

“Yeah, they’ll expect it any minute now.” Sonny agrees.

“Well?” Lorenzo raises his brows, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“We’ll wait.” Michael brushes him off.

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo holds his glass up, staring at Michael in disbelief.

“As I’ve said before, we’ll wait.” Michael gives Lorenzo a nasty glare. “We’re not about to give them what they want like an instant reaction or there’ll be more unnecessary bloodshed and civilians involved.”

“Mike’s right.” Tom nods glumly. “There’ll be a whole shootout, damage to the city, and no proposition.”

“So what? You’re going to wait for Ricci and his rats to give you a call with a ransom, then act?” It couldn’t possibly be more of a mirror opposite than what Lorenzo would personally do.

“I don’t play into anybody’s hands,” Michael states clearly. “Nobody is getting in or out of this compound tonight, including you. Nobody goes after Victoria tonight.”

[ 3:30 AM ]

With everyone else finally asleep in the estate, only Michael, Sonny, and Tom remain awake at this hour as if they’re expecting further news.

In reality, nobody’s truly getting any real rest after tonight and Michael certainly isn’t going to be one to lie to himself that sleep will resolve the thoughts buzzing in and out of his mind, still keeping him alert and wide awake.

Tom examines the documents he’s taken from the study that he and Michael’s informants had gathered about Alphonse and the Ricci family over the past seven years—specifically looking for any criminal charges on his men and the fact you prosecuted his brother back in 1949.

Tom can’t stop himself from looking up at how crowded and littered Michael’s ashtray has become, let alone the fact Michael had a small glass of whiskey tonight to calm his nerves too.

Others may not notice or even care, but Tom knows this is the pinnacle of Michael being under stress even though he handles it well.

Sonny on the other hand couldn’t be any more different from Michael himself. Sonny can’t help but showcase all of his emotions, no matter how severe they are like Lorenzo—hence why Sollozzo referred to Sonny’s anger as his “famous temper” which may as well be infamous.

Had Sonny or Vito still been Don—Sonny may as well have been ripping Michael apart for refusing to act on getting his wife back right away, and Sonny may have run off after you himself.

Still, Sonny knows better than to argue with Michael or act against him, so he keeps his grumbles and opinions to himself only.

Sonny has to remind himself as he’s done so several times before that you’re just his sister-in-law, not his wife, nor will you ever be and he needs to care about you appropriately.

“Mikey…” Tom begins with a soft sigh, looking up at his brother. “You should really consider getting some rest now. It’s almost 4AM.”

“I’m aware of what time it is, thank you, Tom,” Michael murmurs through his cigarette.

“It’s not like anyone’s getting a wink of real sleep tonight.” Sonny stretches out his arms with a grunt.

“True, but what will sleep deprivation offer us tomorrow morning?” Tom frowns.

“We can only speak for ourselves,” Michael speaks up again. “You tell me what we learned tonight, what both of you think, and only then will I consider sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Tom clears his throat, taking another look down at the documents before him. “Well, we know Alphonse Ricci is behind this whole thing but he hasn’t personally left a calling card or any kind of physical evidence proving this. No ransom either.”

“It’s too early for that.” Michael taps off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “For all we know, he doesn’t have Victoria where he wants her just yet.”

“True.” Sonny checks the time on his wristwatch. “Probably still on the way to God knows where the bastard wants her taken to.”

“Hopefully, Victoria’s alive,” Sonny mumbles to himself.

“What about the twins, though?” Sonny asks. “I’m curious what you told them about all this, Mike.”

“They know that Doctor Katherine is at the hospital with their grandmother and so is Victoria. Isn’t that right?” Michael shoots both of his brothers a look, expecting them to keep up with the story should the twins ask.

“Yeah.” Sonny scratches the back of his head. “Of course.”

Tom nods, knowing obviously the twins can’t be told their mother is (potentially) hurt and kidnapped and nothing must hint at that in any way. “My question is why would someone like Alphonse want to transport a corpse to him? Err—” Tom’s quick to clear his throat, noticing the poisonous look in Michael’s eyes at the concept of you being killed by Alphonse’s men. “Ahem, what I mean to say is that it wouldn’t make any sense to hurt Victoria for Alphonse.”

“True.” Sonny tugs on his curls, nodding. “That stupid bastard always has had a bone to pick with the Ferrari’s—always will, always has. Don Ferrari’s men brutalized a lot of his own back in the day or so I hear; made a damn fool out of his father at times.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.” Michael could care less about how Alphonse feels. “A man who doesn’t respect himself will never have the empathy to respect others.”

Tom shuffles the documents over the coffee table around, taking a look at a different one detailing Alphonse’s family history. “And either Alphonse knows Victoria’s pregnant already or he’s going to find out… If he has a ransom of any kind, he could double it just for that.”

“The fuck?” Sonny furrows his brows in frustration. “Why the hell does that matter to him? It’s not like they took her with the baby in her damn arms.”

“Because it means Alphonse has taken two people, not just one,” Tom answers with a frown.

A scowl twists over Michael’s expression. “If the baby or Victoria is harmed in any way, I’ll make Don Ferrari’s supposed brutalization look like child’s play with what I’ll have done to Alphonse’s entire family.”

“Damn right.” Sonny chuckles quietly. “Just like how I would. It’s the right thing to do when it comes to that fucker.”

“I get that,” Tom lets out a shaky sigh, “but maybe that’s what he wants us to do. Maybe he’s hoping we panic and overreact.”

“It’s not an overreaction, Tom.” Michael clarifies. “It would be done much after Alphonse’s own death. He will not be alive to see it.”

“You’re right, Mikey.” Tom rakes a hand through his hair. “I uhh—I hate to say this but after looking at all the facts, I don’t see how this is any different from any other business negotiation but Alphonse has taken your wife from you. That makes it personal now, Mike. So that means personal actions and personal emotions come into play with things like this. We can’t afford to treat it as business.”

“I can and I will.” Michael reaffirms. “Let the ransom come to me and I’ll decide further.”

“If there is any.” Sonny points out. “Alphonse might just be doing this for fuck all.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Tom plops back down in his seat with a loud sigh. “He isn’t beyond doing things just because he can.”

“It’s because he doesn’t follow any code of honor.” Michael rests his chin over his fist, putting out his cigarette. “There’s a reason why civilians aren’t killed or involved, for one. If he has any common sense, then he’ll know if he hurts Victoria or does something stupid, all the crime families would turn on him and not just because they fear Don Ferrari. If they let it go by them that Victoria’s harmed or killed, all of our names would be smeared. Any one of us would have to kill Alphonse unless we want another full-out war and headlines that the government needs to crack down on ‘the mafia’ again.”

“Yes, it would also mean we’d lose considerable strength with the police force and they’d have to turn on all of us for an investigation that may come from the FBI. It gets very, very messy.” Tom rubs his temple tenderly, growing increasingly stressed.

“That’s really not a fuckin’ option for us at this point.” Sonny throws his hands up in frustration. “I doubt Alphonse would dig his own grave like that—“

“He already has.” Michael remains calm and unphased. “He just happens to have one foot in it already.”

“He’s definitely working with someone else.” Tom avoids looking down at the documents again. “Mikey, there’s just no way Alphonse has that kind of power or muscle to pull off something like this by himself—let alone that attempted assassination. It’s not like the old days anymore.”

“I assumed that much,” Michael replies plainly.

“I thought those old fucks Barzini and Tattaglia knew better than to join up with him again.” Sonny scoffs.

“They’ve never known better.” Michael moves his cigarette pack closer to him over the coffee table. “We will not underestimate them either way. Someone else is involved and I know it.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Sonny turns to face Michael.

“We’ll wait.” Michael gives the same answer as earlier tonight. “We’ll wait for a ransom or whatever comes further just as Alphonse will await a reaction. If he’s expecting me to go ballistic, however, then he proves yet again he doesn’t know me at all.”

“And as for Victoria?” Tom asks quietly.

“Do you not know who Victoria is at this point, Tom?” Michael sighs, looking up at his brother. “She’s not one to overreact, to begin with. I want to protect her and bring my wife back home safely, but when she’s there and we’re here still figuring out her location, I know she can handle herself—and she must. Every move we make is critical and this could cause her and the baby harm if anyone steps out of line. I won’t abide failure.”

“Yeah, Tom.” Sonny relaxes in his chair, patting the armrests. “She’s a Corleone wife, after all, ya know? Much higher status than before. She’s a part of the two most powerful mafia families in this country and their business. So she provides as many opportunities to Alphonse as Mike’s death would if everything went in his favor tonight.”

“They know exactly who Victoria Ferrari Corleone is.” Michael nods slowly. “Victoria is much more valuable alive rather than dead, unlike me. I want my wife back, Tom.” Michael looks up at his brother before redirecting his gaze to Sonny. “I want her and our baby she’s carrying back unharmed and safe at any cost. Any cost. I’ll personally make sure I do this, and I want my brothers by my side when it’s done because there’s just going to be more bloodshed now. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Sonny sits up. “I am.”

“Yes, me too.” Tom nods. “Anything you need Mikey, we’re here.”

Still well within Nevada, your destination straight to Alphonse isn’t in Las Vegas, Reno, or rather anywhere most people have even heard of, but a near ghost town called Silver City—forty minutes away from Lake Tahoe.

Alphonse himself can’t be seen anywhere near Reno or Las Vegas, let alone take you there now with Michael’s men on the lookout, crawling by the borders of the state too meaning California was never an option.

Alphonse is smart in the sense that he knows nobody will think twice about taking you to a sleepy little town and even then, it’ll be all the more entertaining for Alphonse to see you try and get to this empty wasteland before figuring out where exactly you are or what to do.

The rain stretches out the drive longer as expected, but as Michael was still talking to his brothers at around 3:30 AM, you arrived in Silver City by the same time.

Depending on where and how you look at it, Silver City can resemble nothing but a near ghost town and nothing else, an abandoned junkyard within a half-empty desert or beautiful in its own way.

Where you’re taken to in specific is nowhere near the rest of the scarce population in Silver City, but an isolated, old ranch-style manor—Alphonse Ricci’s only welcome place to hide in Nevada.

As the car approaches the manor, Alphonse’s men who maintain positioned strategically around the property shine their flashlights over the car immediately—causing the driver to brake abruptly to shield his eyes.

“It’s us, come on! Get that shit out of my eyes.” The driver sticks his middle finger up to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, asshole.” One of the guards calls out from the distance as the flashlights are only lowered to illuminate the path up to the manor which would otherwise be ensnared in complete darkness.

“Hurry up and get in here already.” Another guard speaks out. “Took your sweet ass time.”

The assassin in the back of the car with you rolls his eyes, thinking it’s not worth his time to even bother saying anything back.

He scoops you up into his arms carefully, still with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around you to keep you dry and warm before taking you out of the car. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“There was a damn storm if it wasn’t obvious.” The driver shuts the car door behind him as he steps out.

“Doesn’t matter.” A deep voice cuts in as one of Alphonse’s capos pushes steps out onto the porch. “As long as you weren’t followed and Victoria Corleone is unharmed.”

“She put up a hell of a fucking fight, I’ll tell you that.” The assassin grits his teeth, holding you tightly.

“Seriously?” The capo raises his brows in disbelief and disappointment. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”

“Yeah, why?” The assassin scowls, “you don’t see Jimmy with me, do you? What do you think she did to him, invite him over for tea?”

The guards with the flashlights by the front of the porch quietly exchange a glance with one another before the capo asks another question. “What exactly happened?”

“She fucking shot him last second, motherfucker bled out in the goddamn sewers before we could even get out.” The assassin huffs, glaring at your limp body.

The capo rolls his eyes, beginning to hear his men snickering in the back. “So at about 2AM, Victoria Corleone in nothing but a nightgown and a pair of heels killed one of you?” Before the assassin can come up with an answer to the rhetorical question, a wad of spit flies in his face.

“Fuck you!” You weakly pry open your eyes, struggling in the assassin’s arms.

“Oh, whoa!” The assassin grunts, “there she is—what perfect timing.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” The capo chuckles, motioning for his men to sit down as he can tell your wrists and ankles are bound so tightly you’ll be incapable of doing anything but flopping around like a fish. “She’s not as helpless as she may want you to think. Get her to stand up, I’ll let her walk.”

“Careful so she doesn’t dislocate your jaw with a kick.” The assassin mutters, forcing you down as the driver assists him.

“Don’t worry about me, kid.” The capo takes out a switchblade from his suit pocket, showing it to you first with a wry grin over his lips before cutting the ropes around your ankles with ease. “She knows when she’s outnumbered, isn’t that right? Ah, let me take a good look at her.” The capo rises back up to his feet, looking at you with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around your shoulders loosely. “Mhmm.” The capo tilts your chin up but is only met with a scowl from you. “You know,” he begins, “you can spit on my face all you want but it’s only gonna make your stay here a lot more uncomfortable.”

“Is that a threat?” You hiss.

“Yes.” The capo seems more irritated with the gash on your temple than your comments.

“You’re a bad liar.” You grunt, refusing to stay still.

“Yeah?” The capo raises both of his brows, pushing you inside the estate. “And how would you know?”

“If any one of you wanted to hurt me, you would have already.” You narrow your eyes, stepping inside the estate by force.

“You’re very smart, Corleone.” The capo chuckles to himself. “You definitely live up to that mythic reputation of yours, because a ‘smart man’ would have never come to underestimate a mafiosa like you. Now, WALK.” He gives you another forceful push.

“I’m walking.” You say through gritted teeth before purposefully jerking your ankle to the side—a risk to break your ankle but only doing so to dig the tip of your heel into the carpet and break it off entirely. “Ow, fuck!”

“For fuck’s sakes, someone take those fucking shoes off of her.” The capo rolls his eyes, pulling you back by the binds on your wrist.

Pretending you neither care nor notice you left a mark on the rug, you stand still as Alphonse’s men throw off your kitten heels quickly.

“Take her inside.” The capo points at a closed-door around the corner of the estate. “The boss has waited for her long enough.”

You look up ahead of you, having already used up much of the energy and strength you had since you awoke.

Now, drowsiness and weakness hit you from all sides as you remember just how hard you were hit in the head as you’re dragged into the room.

Alphonse’s men leading and pushing you further into the estate control all of your movements so you can’t even jerk your muscles if you wanted to.

From the moment you enter, you’re able to make out a well-furnished, large office room as your surroundings. Across from you is a fireplace crackling with a warm glow and the faint scent of fresh, burning wood.

A large, crimson patterned Persian rug adorns the maple floors and the wallpaper is in an old Victorian style.

The only painting on the wall is a large portrait of Niccolo Machiavelli directly behind the office table, but small sets of black and white photographs of the Ricci crime family dating back to the 1800s are scattered around on the office desk, on the ledge of the fireplace and on the coffee table to the right of the room.

It’s more than apparent to you that Alphonse has been running his operations here for quite some time. You can’t just call it a hideout or a dump—this may as well be home.

Just as you begin to process what kind of room you’re in, you’re left to stand in the center while Alphonse’s men take their seats by two leather armchairs near the fireplace like you aren’t in the room, to begin with.

You watch them light up cigars out of a gold-plated case, relaxing as Alphonse now enters the room as well from another door concealed within the wallpaper.

You turn your head to see Alphonse Ricci facing you directly—locking eyes in a deadly gaze as a sardonic smirk forms on his lips. “The beautiful Victoria Ferarri; I’m so glad you could make it all this way to come to see me.”

Alphonse only takes a few steps towards you from where he entered, and suddenly you feel two pairs of rough hands on you dragging you by your shoulders up to him directly.

Alphonse notices the pissed expression on your face and the drowsiness in your eyes, cupping your face gently. “Was it a rough ride coming here, darling? Or was it the time?” Alphonse raises his right arm to show you his glistening, gold wristwatch—the exact same 18k model Michael wears.

Your eyes widen in realization, giving Alphonse his first anticipated response of the evening.

“Ooh, that’s got you awake, isn’t it?” He grins. “But I’m far from being a rude host. I can see when my guests are tired. Maybe we should have that heart-to-heart talk I’ve been waiting years for later—when you’re settled in.”

You pull your eyes away from Alphonse’s watch as he lowers his wrist, saying to him, “fuck you.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh before shrugging his shoulders. “I expected you to say as much. Sweet dreams then, honey.”

He raises his fist, striking you harshly over the gash on your forehead which instantly knocks you out again; this time making sure you fall helplessly into his arms.

Once again, everything surrounding you has become pitch black as you fade into unconsciousness.

The longest night of Michael’s life passes by agonizingly slow with Michael laying in a half-empty bed, forcing his eyes shut and “sleeping”. His security and men remain on high alert now instructed to do so 24/7 in alternating shifts, knowing there’ll be no peace at the Lake Tahoe compound for as long as you’re absent from it.

Speaking of your absence, it’s what’s killing Michael on the inside. It doesn’t matter how many times Michael tosses and turns in the bed—he hates to turn around and see your side empty and cold, but at the same time wants to do so with some silly hope inside of him that you’ll be there.

Michael feels more bitter and frustrated now left alone with his personal thoughts in the bedroom he always shared with you.

To make matters worse, Michael can still smell your perfume and favorite body wash lingering on the sheets and your pillow.

Instead of trying to forget or get his mind off of you, Michael forces himself to face the direction of your side of the bed before squeezing his eyes shut.

‘I promise I’m going to get you back here safe and sound, Victoria. This’ll all be over soon, and everyone who has a part to play will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.’

Running on barely three hours of sleep, Michael is up first thing at 6AM with the rest of the family except the children who remain guarded inside, sleeping soundly.

Breakfast is brief and quiet, filled with tension as everyone knows today’s going to be about business and nothing else—especially as Giuseppe and Michael await a ransom.

Around 6AM, you too stir in your sleep as if your body’s attempting to wake you, but you can also hear hushed whispering around you.

For all you know, you think you’re still tied up and presumably laying on the Persian rug from where you must have fallen from that blow to your head, but you’re wrong.

Your wrists were untied and your body can tell it’s laying over a soft mattress of some unknown bed.

The reddened marks over your wrists and ankles begin to bruise overnight, so tender and sore to the touch that it could cause you to cry if someone touched them.

Still incapacitated and heavily drowsy, your vision is too blurry to see anything around you and you can’t pry your eyelids open to save your life.

You do feel a trickle of some liquid running down the side of your face; your gash hit by Alphonse on purpose, now darkened and mottled.

In reality, you’re completely unaware you’re laying next to Alphonse in his bed, tucked under warm blankets and over black, silky sheets.

Alphonse lays next to you half-naked, smoking a cigarette and leaning his back up against a propped-up pillow; a heavenly sight to you when it’s Michael in this position.

“Awake already, huh?” His eyes dart over to your exposed back from your nightgown, and when Alphonse notices your body twitching as if you’d awaken, he holds his cigarette between his lips and reaches for your binds on the end table next to him.

You whimper, feeling a stinging pain from your wrists being tied up behind you again but Alphonse keeps his movements as gentle and slow as possible not to hurt you.

“Sorry sweetheart, this is just for your own safety for a little while longer.” As soon as your wrists are secured to Alphonse’s liking, an injection follows next.

You have no idea what’s happening to you when you feel the prick of a syringe poke into your arm, but it instantly drugs you into deep sleep again.

“I don’t want you awake just yet, kitten.” Alphonse brushes your hair behind your neck, slowly pulling out the syringe and noticing your body going limp. “After I’ve had a talk with that pathetic excuse of a husband of yours, it’ll just be me and you. You’ll see.”

Just as expected, putting everyone on edge but relieving them at the same time, the telephone on Michael’s office desk begins to ring.

Sitting around Michael’s office are Tom, Sonny, Giuseppe, Leonardo, Lorenzo, and Vito—all exchanging expectant glances with one another as there’s no guessing who's making the phone call this early in the morning.

Michael’s expression remains cold and unreadable, and as he picks up the telephone and holds it up to his ear, Michael doesn’t even bother saying ‘hello’. “Alphonse.”

“Good morning, Michael.” Alphonse’s tone of voice is more amused than anything now that he finally has leverage over Michael. “I see you’re smart enough to figure out the rest here.”

“Cut the theatrics and bullshit.” As stern as Michael’s tone of voice grows, he holds back his anger and any indication of the frustration and stress mounting on him from last night. “I knew it was you.”

“So you did.” Alphonse chuckles. “That was the easy part, congratulations. Though if you didn’t assume it was me, I’d be questioning your judgment. What a rough night it must have been for you, Don Corleone.”

“On the contrary, I’d say the same for you.” Michael grips the telephone against his ear so harshly his knuckles turn white. “All of your men and the assassins you sent are dead, rotting away in the sewers of my estate.”

“Ah, yes.” Alphonse doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased by the death of his own men. “All except for the one who took your precious wife to me, right? You’re not gonna include him?”

“Doesn’t make a difference, does it?” Michael's eyes glare down at the burning tip of his cigarette; his voice completely drained of emotion. “I’ll kill him too and he’ll join the body count with you soon enough.”

“Bold.” Alphonse grazes his tongue over his front teeth. “I’ll believe it when I see a bullet lodged in the back of his head with my own two eyes. For now, he has a promotion, a big payday, and is enjoying his breakfast next to me. Speaking of, how does Victoria like her coffee? Oh, or does she prefer tea?”

“Don’t fucking touch her or do anything to my wife, do you understand?” Michael narrows his eyes. “Even you know you don’t need to touch her.”

“Victoria’s a sensitive topic, isn’t she? And all I asked was about tea or coffee. You’re killing my fun here, Michael. Touching her is half the fun. I don’t just have her here with me because I can, I have her by my side because I wanted to marry her, and do business with her and her family. That hasn’t changed. I have history with Victoria, hence why I’m actually eager to catch up with her here, but don’t worry—I’ll give her princess treatment. Victoria will be as safe and as sound, as she can be with me, provided she doesn’t do anything stupid. Then of course I can’t guarantee I won’t get a little rough with her.”

“You’re a sick man, Alphonse. You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria.” Michael grits his teeth.

“Please.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, looking over at you bound over the middle of his Persian rug on your stomach. “I have your wife bound like I’m putting her on a spitfire laying on my favorite Persian rug. It’s a nice view I can get used to—and I will. I have the fireplace on too, to keep her nice and warm considering she’s still in that dainty, sexy nightgown of hers. And I see you managed to knock her up again, huh? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I owe you no such justification or insight on my private life with my wife. I would have thought by now you could come up with more elaborate, believable lies. You can stop with the bullshit, I know you hurt her.”

“Well,” Alphonse drags on his words, “it’s not like she’d go to sleep if I asked her nicely too, so maybe I had to do a little something. You know I don’t like hurting women—especially pregnant women. Were you two planning on having another little Corleone or was this a surprise?”

“I know what game you’re playing.” Michael continues to speak in a monotone, calm voice. “You don’t need me to remind you again that when I find you, I’ll put you down like a dog. If you’re half the man you claim to be, you’ll know better than to hurt her or our baby.”

“I’ll take good care of her, bigshot.” Alphonse props his feet up on his desk. “Don’t stress yourself out so much, army boy. From now on, I’ll do you a favor. Whenever I want her to be asleep and unaware, I’ll drug her. You know I won’t lay my hands on her in that state. Actually, I’d prefer to see if she could fight me equally.” He laughs to himself, “I know she’s got a hell of an aim with a gun but unarmed, even my best men are afraid she’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“And you expect me to believe a word you say?” Michael exchanges a look with your father. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

“I’m a lot of things.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a man of taste too. You know…” He grins, quick to change the conversation. “Your wife looks good in that nightgown of hers, did I mention that already? It barely covers her ass or those thighs too. Tell me—what should I do to her next, Michael? Should I cut her? Make her cry? Or should I make her moan?”

“If you’re expecting some sort of reaction for me, prepare to be gravely disappointed,” Michael tells him.

“Awww.” Alphonse frowns. “I was hoping I’d get some kind of reaction. I’m telling the truth as I know it and see it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Also, thank you to your little friend for letting my men into your compound so easily. It’s quite unfortunate you’re still alive but I’m starting to think this backup plan of ours is worth much, much more than your miserable life. Look at you, you’re eating right out of my hand.”

“Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Revel in it, Alphonse. I guarantee you it will be brief; numbered like the days of your life.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alphonse brushes off Michael’s threats. “Why not just do this the easy way? You want your wife back and money isn’t a problem. I see a solution! I want twenty million dollars sent to me in cash.”

“You’re not getting anything, Alphonse, and I will have my wife back.” Venom drips from Michael’s words. “Try again.”

“You must be really stupid then.” Irritation crosses Alphonse’s tone of voice. “Why wouldn’t you just give up the cash if you want your broad back so badly?”

“I know you too well, that’s why.” Michael answers. “You have no intention of giving Victoria up. You made this personal.”

Out of anger, Lorenzo can no longer hold back his tongue. “You know what you’re doing is against the honor code of the mafia. All seven families will come for you and hunt you down.”

“Ooh, I even got the attention of one of the Ferrari brothers! This must be my lucky day. Sorry—Lorenzo, isn’t it? As much as I admire your handiwork, I was hoping to hear from your father instead. I bet he’s there with you now, isn’t he, Michael? In that case.” Alphonse clears his throat, raising his voice louder over the telephone. “It would have been avoidable, Don Ferrari, if you even bothered to give me the time of day. Now that I have your daughter you care about me? I always knew I’d get to you one way or another. Good thing this is between me and Michael and that I like Victoria’s company. Do you all want to kill me so badly? Come and get me, wise guy. Twenty million by 3AM tomorrow night, Corleone. Make it worth my while by coming tonight and I’ll see if I can lower the offer to twelve. Time’s ticking.”

“Or else what?” Michael scoffs. “You think we’re all quaking from your idle talk? Nothing but threats from a schoolyard bully.”

“Or else?!” Alphonse repeats, increasingly growing frustrated. “Or else you can face the fact I won’t provide any mercy to that knocked-up wife of yours. I’m not fucking around, Corleone!” With that, Alphonse slams the telephone down, hanging up.

In truth, Alphonse has no intention to kill or harm you and your baby. Regardless of being a sorry excuse of a mafioso—let alone a decent man—Alphonse’s feelings for you are still there and felt strongly.

Even if Michael isn’t reacting the way Alphonse is expecting him to, there’s no doubt that there must be some sort of hatred boiling in Michael’s heart deep down—especially after this telephone call.

If in some sort of way Alphonse can get Michael emotional, then it’ll provide the perfect opportunity to catch Michael off guard and subsequently have him killed.

As a result of that scenario, Alphonse would want and have you all to himself as his wife in return for sparing your family after killing the most powerful mobster on the continent. One way or another, he’d win like that.

Alphonse’s intention behind his every word and action is to kill Michael and only to kill Michael—it’s never truly been all about you, but at the same time, you’re still very dear and personal to Alphonse too.

You overheard some of the conversation while unconscious but you’re unable to make sense of much from the drugged-up state you’re in.

Alphonse on the other hand giving away he’s taken you somewhere in Nevada and expecting a ransom is done on purpose to get this over with as soon as possible, and by that he means finally killing Michael.

Unlike you, Michael is a lot more deadly alive than he is dead no matter his brothers or his men who won’t be able to lift a finger after Alphonse has Don Ferrari’s options narrowed down with you by his side.

Besides, Alphonse has had countless days and endless hours pondering just how he was going to orchestrate the attempted assassination on both of your lives, and if all else failed, he was going to make it a living hell with you as the example.

Alphonse hasn’t even bothered to have the phone call made to Michael from elsewhere; he no longer cares if his location can be traced or not because Silver City is no short car ride even in Michael’s best Cadillacs.

Alphonse has the advantage all around. He expects Michael at every moment and his men are prepared for his arrival anytime.

With the location of Alphonse’s estate in Silver City, there isn’t a single square mile Michael and his men can properly conceal themselves out in the middle of nowhere.

Having been in Silver City now for years, Alphonse has eyes and ears everywhere now and knows the place like the back of his hand.

There are no trees let alone any buildings anywhere near his estate to conceal any kind of ambush—let alone support it.

Even if Alphonse details all of this to you himself, it’ll never change your mind about Michael. You have the utmost confidence and trust in your husband that’ll never change—in a ghost town or not.

With the time limit of 3AM either tonight or tomorrow night depending on when Michael makes his move, Alphonse wants to spend as much time with you as possible.

After putting down the phone, Alphonse takes a deep breath and calms his nerves; his huffs of frustration turning into soft chuckles of amusement.

There’s a power to be felt in Alphonse’s veins from being able to get Lorenzo Ferrari’s attention over the telephone, at the very least.

‘Bingo.’ Alphonse knows your family is going to be eating out of his hand soon enough.

Taking his feet off his office desk, Alphonse rises from his seat and smoothens out his suit jacket.

As the capo nods and begins to exit the room, Alphonse slowly paces around before approaching you—still noticing how weak you are under the influence of what would otherwise be normally used to knock a patient out for a short surgery.

“It should have always been like this.” Alphonse murmurs, clasping his hands behind him/

‘I wanted her from the very beginning.’ Alphonse approaches you, kneeling down and caressing the side of your face—noticing you don’t stir.

‘Still a little heavy. This’ll last in her system for a little while longer.”

Alphonse eyes the reddened gash over your forehead. “You’re going to be the grand prize here, aren’t you? Although I wish you’d just make your own way to me. Hope you didn’t miss me too much, beautiful.” He runs his hands through your soft hair.

Alphonse is still wildly attracted to you; his feelings had never changed from when he first asked your father for your hand in 1948.

Now that Michael knows Alphonse had you sleep next to him in his bed for the night, Alphonse expects it’ll drive him off the rails if it hasn’t already—whether Michael wants to show it or not.

Alphonse pulls his hand away from your hair, still concerned with the gash on your forehead, but never regretting his own actions.

“Get someone to look after that gash on her forehead and clean it up,” Alphonse orders one of his capos in the room without raising his eyes off of you. “Then I want her back here, fully tied. I have some questions for Victoria Ferrari when she awakens from her beauty nap.”

Your father and brothers began to immediately track down the call from the moment Michael put down his telephone; remaining occupied with finding a location or at least a close proximity to wherever you may be.

Michael’s outside of the estate and by the docks to his yacht with Tom, Sonny, Neri, and Rocco by his side; silent as they listen to their Don.

“You two are my best men and assassins.” Michael eyes both Neri and Rocco. “I don’t need to remind you of that, however, if anything, last night was a grand disappointment for both of you. It was nothing but failure. If you make any of the same mistakes, get sloppy or let yourself go, then you’ll die with Alphonse’s men. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Rocco and Neri say back.

“Don Ferrari and his sons are close to tracking down a location. At the very least we’ll have that by today.” Michael directs his words to his brothers.

“It sounds remote.” Tom sighs quietly, crossing his arms. “No way Alphonse could be hiding out in a big city or populous town around here.”

“That’s almost for certain.” Michael agrees. “We will have the advantage of ground if he’s isolated somewhere. Nevada is filled with ghost towns, there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Sonny frowns. “We can’t be seen at all if he’s out in the middle of ass nowhere.”

“What do you think?” Michael raises a brow at Rocco, most of Michael’s disappointment and suspicion still lingering towards Rocco from last night.

“Difficult, but not impossible.” Rocco answers.

“Getting close and using the element of surprise will aid us well,” Neri adds. “It’ll cause just enough confusion for our men to get in.”

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we’ll also bring in our snipers from afar. None of our cars or men can be seen.”

“How will we know where to hold out ground?” Tom asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Tom,” Michael tells him sternly. “If we have to go in shooting still on the road, then so be it. Whether the vicinity is completely barren or not doesn’t concern me in the slightest. It’ll be done, I’ll be there to see it.”

Regardless of who this could have happened to, it’s almost completely unheard of to have the family’s Don present during guaranteed bloodshed and violence; the glances Tom and Sonny exchange with one another saying it all.

Michael’s brothers both know this can and will be dangerous for everyone involved, but especially Michael’s since he’s the prime target. Still, Michael’s word and decision are final—it can’t be argued with by anyone.

“Right after an attempt was taken on your life, Mike?” Sonny scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“We both know Alphonse is truly after me, not the money. Even if I were to do something as ridiculous as deliver him twelve to twenty million dollars in cash, that provides us no guarantee of Victoria’s life and safety. He won’t stop there either.” Michael narrows his eyes, looking towards the dock. “Even if he did let Victoria go, we’d have thrown money at the problem. Then we shouldn’t be surprised when a knife lands on our backs or more bullets fly over our heads upon his next move. If I don’t go—” Michael’s eyes meet his brothers again. “Alphonse will kill Victoria and take the money. I’m not having my wife’s corpse dragged out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. If Alphonse wants me, then he’ll have me—but not in the way he thinks. We won’t bring any money. He’ll know why we’re there.”

“I agree, sr.” Rocco points towards the parking area towards the outside of the compound. “We’ll take our best vehicles and scatter so we won’t be pinpointed together and we won’t be heard coming at the same time either. We’ll have to go at night though to get as close to some sort of stealth.”

“You know what you have to do.” Michael nods in approval. “Handle it with Neri. Once we’re inside, everything will come to a quick end. I will personally kill Alphonse, is that understood? None of you will incapacitate him unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Neri and Rocco respond back.

Michael, Sonny, and Tom’s heads turn to hear the door of the boathouse being pushed open; Lorenzo and Leonardo stepping out towards Michael and his brothers.

“Well?” Michael asks rather impatiently to the two.

“Silver City.” Leonardo looks up at Michael, shaking his head. “Alphonse has taken Victoria to Silver City. We know exactly where they are now.”

“A damn near ghost town just forty minutes from here,” Lorenzo mutters under his breath. “Just perfect. I expected as much.”

In reality, Alphonse expects Michael and his men to show up as soon as possible—no need to wait until tonight because Alphonse wants Michael to underestimate him.

Michael may have mentioned bringing his best snipers, but Alphonse already has his own positioned on the roof to ensure the best protection possible.

“Corleone and company will be here soon,” Alphonse smirks, smoking a cigar. “Instead of shooting out bedroom windows this time, we can have a lot more fun lodging bullets into each and every one of Corleone’s men—after him, of course,” Alphonse speaks loud and clear for not only all his surrounding men to hear, but you too—still tied up and laying on his Persian rug. “I’ll kill Corleone myself, otherwise where’s the fun in all of this?” He shoots a cautionary look at his men. “Disarmed at most by any one of you but not maimed, if I’m making myself clear. He deserves to be put down like a dog and I’m going to be the one to do it to him.”

Eyes squeezed shut but fully in consciousness, you can’t help but let out a giggle at Alphonse’s ridiculous comment.

Alphonse’s men exchange glances with one another before giving their boss a nod and exiting his office room—leaving just you and Alphonse alone in it.

Alphonse turns on his heel to face you laying upon the carpet, raising a brow. “I see Mrs. Ferrari-Corleone is awake now.” He speaks to you in a mocking and taunting tone as he walks over to where you lay.

Still, in pain from your throbbing gash which stings every time you move and raise your head, you can only tilt your head up slightly from the carpet—still letting out soft giggles.

“Is something amusing, sweetheart?” Alphonse stops right before you, looking down. “Or do you just enjoy being tied up like this?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” You breathe out, surprising Alphonse with your words. “Put him down like a dog? Please.” You let out another laugh.

“I’m glad you find this funny, considering the little predicament you’re in.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, crouching down to you.

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” You glare at him, “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Is that so?” Alphonse grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it roughly and causing you to yelp out in pain. “I could have assumed that much, knowing you’re a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife, but how many times can you say you’ve been in such ‘situations’ pregnant?”

Instead of answering, you simply giggle again, smiling up at Alphonse but only meeting a scowl from him.

“I’ll have you know I’m a patient man,” Alphonse warns you, letting go of your hair. “But even I have a limit.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are or what you are.” You mutter back. “You’re a f-fucking failure to me.”

“Even though I have you here?” Alphonse scoffs. “You can downplay it all you want if that comforts you, darling.”

“If you weren’t a coward, you wouldn’t have tied me up, to begin with.” You grit your teeth.

“Believe me, baby,” Alphonse runs a hand through your hair as you struggle to pull away from him. “I’ve thought about doing that actually, but I don’t want to get into a scrap with you. I have a habit of breaking a lot more bones than I initially plan to. Instead, I’d rather see you tied up like this in that sexy nightgown of yours.” Alphonse gestures to your back where your wrists and ankles are bound together with rope.

“Pervert.” You grunt out. “You’re sick.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse chuckles. “Then you slept rather soundly in this pervert’s bed last night. You know you could have just woken up and run off, right?” Alphonse’s taunts are nothing but an attempt to make you feel as he’d now describe like a ‘helpless whore’.

You rest your head back against the carpet—generally exhausted from trying to strain your muscles against the ropes. “I’m not stupid enough to do things that’ll get me killed. You know, considering I was unconscious due to a head wound or maybe being fucking drugged by something. Can’t exactly get up and leave when you want to.”

“Smart girl.” Alphonse stands upright, grinning at you. “You already knew what kind of state you were in, huh?”

“Do your worst.” You glower.

“Maybe I will.” Alphonse snaps back. “You’re in no position to be talking to me like this.”

“Michael will do anything to you that you’ve already done to me,” you breathe out, “and trust me—he knows how to make it hurt a lot more.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse crosses his arms. “That’s nice, sweetheart. I guess we’ll have to see in about an hour or so what that pretty boy husband of yours is capable of truly doing. I have the upper hand here—I have all the men. This time he can’t attack and blow up this entire estate; not unless he wants to scrape off the ashes of his dead, pregnant wife for a second time.”

“So confident.” You mumble, “much more than the average street rat.”

Instantly pissed from the insult, Alphonse crouches back down and grabs your face roughly, forcing you to face him. “I didn’t fucking bring you here to insult me, Victoria. I can make you stop talking.”

“Do it.” Your breath hitches. “You could, but you won’t because you love hearing me talk.”

Right then and there, Alphonse’s expression warms into a smirk. “Yeah? Now you’re telling me the obvious, baby.”

“I’m not your fucking baby.” You form a quick wad of saliva in your mouth before spitting over Alphonse’s face.

“Fuck’s sakes!” Alphonse grunts, flinching and immediately raising his hand up to slap you but stopping himself.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt, having not moved a muscle. “Can't do it?”

Alphonse looks into your eyes, still noticing there are definitely the effects of the drug he injected you with still inside you. “Don’t push me, Ferrari. I still have a lot to talk to you about after I kill your husband.”

“My last name is Corleone.” You correct as Alphonse lets go of your face and move away from you. “As I s-said—do your worst. I’ll still be lying here laughing when you fail.”

“Ha,” Alphonse says sarcastically, reaching back for his cigar upon his desk. “You know you can say whatever you want now, honey. I do love a good conversation before we have to get down to business. And like you mentioned, maybe I do like the sound of your voice a little more than I should, and I certainly do love everything else about you.” Alphonse’s eyes greedily dart to the way your ass and thighs look bound up with rope.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You scowl against the carpet. “Considering this is as close to a woman you’ve ever gotten in our entire life.”

“Have quite the smart mouth, I see.” Alphonse comments, checking the time on his gold wristwatch.

“Fuck you.” You tilt your head away from him, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Tsk, tsk. Be patient, darling, you’ll be able to do so soon enough.” Alphonse shakes his head at you, leaning back to relax in his seat.

He wonders to himself if true fear will actually hit you once the boldness of the drugs is out of your system and Michael’s actually dead. Then Alphonse knows you’ll talk and do anything to save your baby’s life and your own.

Michael watches the sun begin to set beneath the lake, melting into the hue of the orange and pink sky from the boathouse otherwise crawling with security like the rest of the compound and surrounding lake.

Day or night—security is tripled as if there’s an active threat as Michael’s insistent on finding an invulnerability within the compound itself and signs of betrayal.

While getting you back home safe and sound is Michael’s only goal and intention, it’ll mean nothing if there’s a way it can repeated at your own home again.

Michael’s seeing nothing but red just thinking about how this was done at his own home with you as one of the targets, and he hasn’t let the fact that there’s a traitor on the inside—whether it’s one of his own men or family—evade him either.

Michael can be a patient, calm and understanding man, but he despises it when his control is compromised.

Michael never came to believe he or any of his homes have vulnerabilities, but it’s not like he considers you collateral damage either.

While Alphonse believes all of this will provide him with the perfect opportunity to kill Michael and ruin the Corleone family name with it, Michael knows this will be the first major blood spill of an entire crime family and the worst since he had all of his enemies killed on his honeymoon with you in Sicily.

As a result, every action Michael takes will send shockwaves throughout the country to the other crime families, and consequences—if any—will be felt later, but devastatingly.

Now as Michael remains still with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the security boat roaming over the lake, his mind is on the twins who are with the governess and doing their daily studies for the day.

Niccolo and Verona are both still under the impression that their mother is by their grandmother’s side at the hospital and will be back soon; a promise Michael personally made to them.

Michael’s thoughts are momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door of the boathouse. He neither reacts nor moves a muscle, already expecting Sonny, Tom, your father, and your older brothers. “Come in.”

While Tom leads the way into the boathouse first, opening the door, he politely stands back and allows Giuseppe to enter first, then himself alongside everyone else.

No greetings are given nor is another word spoken; several pairs of footsteps can only be heard inside from the men as the door shuts behind them by one of Michael’s guards.

Visibly stressed and with no intention to hide it, Lorenzo’s been smoking a cigarette since before entering the compound. His only worry is about you as his sister—Lorenzo couldn’t give a fuck personally about Alphonse Ricci or any of his antics.

Lorenzo for one would like to strangle Alphonse to death himself, but he knows he has no power or influence whatsoever while in Lake Tahoe—let alone in this situation because of Michael.

All the men in the boathouse including Michael know very well that kidnapping a “civilian”—otherwise known as someone who is not involved in business—has led to devastating consequences for the mafia in general regardless of family or location and perpetrators have ended up regretting it in heinous ways.

Whether the other crime families speak out about what’s to come or verbally support Michael’s movements against Alphonse matters very little to everyone in the room; they’ll all come to thank Michael and be grateful in the end for putting the nuisance of Alphonse Ricci out of his misery.

Michael only turns back to face Giuseppe, shaking his father-in-law’s hand as Giuseppe enters.

Calm, cool, and reserved like Michael is, Giuseppe’s eyes still show he’s bitter and emotionally exhausted due to this whole sordid affair; a look Michael knows and feels well too.

As the men take their seats over the leather couches across from one another, Al Neri moves towards the bar quietly to prepare drinks.

Michael turns around to face his brothers and brothers-in-law only when he hears them sitting down comfortably. Michael’s the last to join them, taking his seat on the last remaining armchair in the midst of both couches.

“Don Ferrari,” Michael speaks softly, wanting to hear from him first.

“Michael.” Giuseppe clears his throat. “Simply put, my boys and I know what we need to do and how to do it.” Giuseppe’s attention redirects to his sons one by one. “Lorenzo will go in unseen after the initial ambush. Matteo has prepared the vehicles for all of our men, and Alessio’s snipers will take care of the rest from far. I’ll have my own men surround the place with yours on the lookout both inside and outside.”

Your brothers glance up at Michael for confirmation as Al Neri sets down a tray of iced whiskey for everyone on the coffee table.

“It’s best if we act as soon as possible—tonight before this ‘time limit’ Alphonse has given us,” Leonardo speaks up.

“We won’t,” Michael replies flatly, taking a drink off the tray.

Annoyance instantly twists over Lorenzo’s facial expression whereas Matteo and Alessio exchange glances with one another. Michael is just aware of how your father eyes Lorenzo to calm his temper, whereas Tom and Sonny haven’t spoken a single word until now.

“Mike,” Sonny raises his brows at Michael, perhaps the only one able to ask him such a question due to being his eldest brother, “are you crazy? We’ve got the muscle, the location, and the men—”

“We won’t go,” Michael repeats firmly, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not yet.”

Lorenzo puts out his cigarette, refusing to look at Michael. “And your reasoning behind that is?”

“Alphonse wants us there, and he wants us now,” Michael explains, holding his drink above his lap. “I’m not going to eat out of his hand and give him the benefit of the doubt.” Lorenzo’s opinions in general are unimportant enough to Michael that Michael’s barely ever bothered to even face him when speaking.

Giuseppe remains silent and patient, only wishing to listen to Michael as the rest of your brothers take their drinks just as quietly.

“We’ll go on my word or we won’t go at all,” Michael adds.

“Surely you don’t need me to remind you that my sister’s life is on the line, Don Corleone.” Matteo frowns, heavily disapproving of Michael’s plan.

“No, I don’t need you to,” Michael says back casually.

Tom clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Um, respectfully, Matteo, we have no reason to believe Victoria’s life is actually on the line.”

Lorenzo practically scowls at Tom’s words as Alessio adds his opinion. “She’s being used as leverage.”

“Correct.” Michael nods.

“I hate to think of it, but…” Sonny shakes his head. “If Victoria was going to be used as collateral damage to that fucker Alphonse, he would have most likely hurt her and we would have found out one way or another—on the phone or not. He would want us to know that.”

“So what, the best course of action is to just wait until that happens?” Lorenzo scoffs.

“Who said that?” Leonardo frowns at his brother, nudging him. “Come on.”

“What if Alphonse sends us her fucking ear or a vial or her blood? Make her scream over the phone? Some macabre shit Alphonse has always been into?” Lorenzo continues, narrowing his eyes. “We need some sort of gruesome proof my sister is being tortured in order to act?”

“Idle threats will be made. That’s the least to be expected from a man like Alphonse.” Giuseppe sighs deeply, “And perhaps they’ll be made so believable they would spring any man into action immediately, but that is where none of us will make that mistake.” Giuseppe specifically eyes Lorenzo as he continues to speak. “Alphonse would not have done this if he feared Michael. He does not, and he doesn’t care about his own men dying at the hands of Michael either. He’s selfish. While the may suit him personally as a Don, it would be his own undoing if he had a shred of credibility to his family name.”

“Father’s right.” Leonardo agrees. “Alphonse resents Michael. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that’s all he’s consistently done over the past few years anyway. He wants to get a personal reaction out of Michael beyond what he’s seen already.”

Giuseppe raises his drink up to his lips. “He wants to see how Michael will react, nothing more. This is all some amusing little game to him.” He takes a small sip of his whiskey, savoring the taste on his tongue. “The real reason why Alphonse hasn’t tortured Victoria or done anything ‘gruesome’, is because of me. Our family. He fears me out of his fear and ‘respect’ that Alphonse claims to have for me despite kidnapping my daughter and more than likely hurting her in the process. I never had to say a word, I never had to raise a finger.” Giuseppe sets down his drink—his expression darkening. “Alphonse is showing me he feels this way about me because this is business with me but personal with Michael. Victoria’s his wife, but she’s my daughter. This is the truth.” Giuseppe gestures down at the table with his finger. “Alphonse has a lot on the line—a lot he can lose and he knows this. Right now, all he’s done is place himself in a limbo of instability. He can lose everything or I can guarantee his wins. He’s gambling with the life of my daughter but he shows how to make the cogs in his little machine work, otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The room remains silent except for the clinking of whiskey glasses and cigarettes being lit as everyone continues listening to Giuseppe. “Alphonse bought Barzini and Tattaglia’s respect with money and luxury he never worked for. His father bought him the very red carpet he trampled his own dirt on years later. But after he fell out with two of the most powerful Dons at the time and with the Corleone’s shift of power, Alphonse lost everything. Right now, what he’s regained he can lose again. It’s nothing but money and his life. For as long as Victoria is Michael’s wife, Alphonse cannot lose her either. He can’t lose what he’s never had.”

“All he did was grow up the eldest son to a mobster who actually made his bones in New York and Sicily.” Matteo rolls his eyes. “His father was a real man—that I could respect.”

“But being born the son of a Don doesn’t make you a mafioso.” Giuseppe relaxes against his seat. “There’s nothing credible to show Alphonse has even made his bones. When and how did it happen? Questions I don’t personally care about.” He holds up his hand, shaking his head. “Alphonse thinks he’s in our world and that he’s one of us, but he’s never seen it. He’s never tasted what it’s like to be a mafioso. People mistake Alphonse regularly for a buttonman a con, a spoiled son of a dead man so he’s desperate to fit into a world that never had the mold for someone like him, to begin with. He behaves foolishly and erratically yet at the same time you cannot blame him because he never entered our world, to begin with. He doesn’t respect or abide by our code because he doesn’t know the code. The only thing I can give Alphonse credit for is that he’s a goddamn phoenix. He rises from his own pitiful ashes no matter how bad the last downfall was. I know men who would have killed themselves after that humiliating stunt with Barzini and Tattaglia. He carries on, however. He knows I can change his life, and bring him into my world. Only I can do that alone.”

“So then if Alphonse takes Michael out of the picture…” Sonny begins, “then I guess he’d really have ‘made his bones’.”

“That’d make him a true gangster to be feared, yes,” Giuseppe replies. “Unlike Alphonse, I have a choice. I don’t grant out mobster titles or redemption—this isn’t charity work. I’ve seen types like him before all my life, albeit much quieter and bigger failures. I’ve dealt with them all the same. I prefer they disappear. This all goes back to Michael’s plan.”

“So,” Matteo clears his throat, folding his hands on his lap. “If Victoria isn’t some sort of ‘collateral damage’ to Alphonse, then mother was certainly a target.”

“Shut up.” Alessio nudges Matteo harshly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Michael raises a brow, his curiosity growing. “I’m interested in what made you think that.”

“She was shot and now she’s in the hospital getting a poisoned bullet out of her body,” Matteo says sarcastically. “I think that’s quite obvious.”

“Your mother wasn’t targeted.” Al Neri suddenly speaks up by the bar.

Heads turn towards Al Neri who first glances at Michael, seeing approval to speak further through his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Matteo scowls. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion here.”

“I’m the one who secured the study.” Al Neri continues, ignoring Matteo outright. “I found out just how your mother got shot, so I believe I have more than enough authority to speak on the matter. Your mother wasn’t targeted in the least bit, Matteo. She was the collateral damage.”

Lorenzo appears just as offended as Matteo, but both give Al Neri silence as their response.

“Is that what you really think?” Lorenzo licks off the whiskey from his lips.

“It’s what I know.” Neri reaffirms, taking a step out of the bar. “I saw and picked up the fragments of the bullets scattered in the study.” Neri specifically emphasizes the plural of ‘bullet’. “They were all shot out in a panic of trying to shoot Don Corleone and Mrs. Corleone because the assassination attempt was fixated all on the first floor. Mrs. Ferrari simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was never a target, and the bullet never directly hit her. It skimmed her side and left a fragment.”

“Yes, all of that is correct.” Giuseppe glumly agrees. “It’s tragic, but it’s separate from what’s happened with Victoria. Believe me,” he shoots a look at Matteo. “Those who were involved with your mother’s injury will pay dearly regardless. For now, we can only hope she heals and recovers well with the best doctors in Nevada looking after her. Now, if you would excuse us.” Giuseppe gestures for his sons to leave the boathouse.

Matteo puts his arm over Lorenzo’s shoulder as they rise from their seats, making their way out of the boathouse in silence. No further words are spoken until the door shuts yet again.

“Michael,” Giuseppe faces his son-in-law. “You’re a smart, young man. I trust you as my son-in-law and as my favorite business partner. I always have. I know you won’t ever let any harm come to my daughter and you don’t trust that viper’s words when it comes to her either.”

“I knew you’d seen it my way, Don Ferrari.” Michael forces a small smile at his father-in-law. “This is no longer just about Victoria, but our baby too. It’s two people we’re protecting; my wife and the future of this family. So we’ll wait.”

[ Afternoon Hours ]

Time, silence, and lack of inaction all speak for themselves. The afternoon is halfway over and Alphonse is more than aware he’s heard nothing from Michael or his men whatsoever, let alone have him rush into Silver City to come to get you.

Michael’s not coming for you. Nobody is, no matter what you keep assuming.

Your lack of appetite doesn’t surprise Alphonse who offered you numerous gourmet meals periodically throughout the day, but you’ve accepted water as the only kindness from him.

Still, while you weren’t thinking about hunger for yourself, you were for your baby. As disgusting as it was to basically have Alphonse literally spoon-feeding you, at least it was a brief moment in time where Alphonse wasn’t irritating you with the sound of his voice.

You’re still relatively unharmed except for a bloody gash upon your forehead which only appears more prominent and fresh looking after it's cleaned; something that only pisses Alphonse off further with his men.

After leaving you bound up on the carpet to enjoy lunch with his men, Alphonse enters his office room with a refreshed look on his face—stretching out his arms.

Appearing very relaxed and content, Alphonse turns his attention to you upon the rug almost instantly. “Hello again, darling. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Leave me alone.” You grumble, forcing yourself not to move as much as possible from how heavily the ropes dig into the bruised rings around your wrists and ankles.

“Ah, come on, sweetheart.” Alphonse pushes an armchair over to where you lay, sitting down on it and folding one knee above the other. “Mm, that’s much better. You know, last night could have been so much more fun if your husband just showed his face.”

“Fuck you.” You scowl up at Alphonse.

“Nice to see you too, baby.” Alphonse chuckles. “Relax. Everything’s going to be all over soon.”

“If by ‘all over’ you mean with your death, then by all means I await it.” You rest your cheek against the Persian rug. “Otherwise I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Alphonse gazes down at you, fake pouting. “Don Corleone was supposed to be on his way to rescue you and ‘exact revenge on me. How tragic.” He bursts out into laughter, “yeah, for him it is at least. It’s a no man’s land here, baby. All desert. Empty. No trees or anything for miles and miles, and I know this place like the back of my hand.” Alphonse points at the back of his hand, giving it a pat.

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes back at him. “I can tell this place is a forgotten wasteland without even having to look outside, so who would be surprised you’re here?”

“Please.” Alphonse scoffs. “I could say I’m not surprised by your attitude either but it’s fine, I’ll let it slide because you’re going to become a widow tonight.”

“Funny joke.” You speak against the carpet. “Too bad it’ll never happen.”

Alphonse gives you a wink, smiling warmly. “I like your optimism, baby. It’s going to turn me on a little bit breaking your heart tonight.”

‘And if this disgusting bastard’s plans actually worked out? Then what…?’ You think to yourself, staring up at him. ‘He’s so confident.’

“Word will spread like wildfire that your husband is dead, first of all.” Alphonse pats the armrest of his seat. “That’s going to be a hell of an afterparty we, unfortunately, don’t have too much time for. Your father will want to see me negotiate business that’ll now be completely unavoidable to him, so,” Alphonse pushes his seat back, crouching down in front of you. “You won’t have to worry about a thing, baby. I’m going to take very good care of you.” He brushes back a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “Just like how I would have if you married me back then. It’s okay, though.” Alphonse gently rests his index finger against your lips to silence you. “We all make stupid decisions, but at least you won’t regret this one. For starters, never will your life be in danger ever again.”

You jerk your head away from Alphonse, sneering. “My life is in fucking danger right now because of you, asshole.”

Alphonse laughs, shaking his head. “Aww, baby. What danger? You lying on the ground on my favorite Persian rug is called ‘being in danger’? You and that little baby growing inside of you are just fine, protected by all my best men. If I know you well—and I do—” Alphonse leans in closer to your face, “you like danger. And that was all last night.”

“What are you going to do then, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, nothing.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “Just that first you’ll marry me and I know your father will be supportive—if not extremely eager to do so. Then I’ll adopt those twins of yours from the goodness of my heart and erase that Corleone name off of you three. It’ll take some time but the twins will call me their father soon enough.”

You force yourself not to headbutt Alphonse directly in the face, almost shaking with anger now. “That’ll never happen, you sick fuck.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes, pulling back. “Where’s your optimism now, darling? You’d rather I put a bullet in you and Michael’s heads and let your children become orphans?”

“Yes!” You snap back.

Alphonse stifles back a laugh, grinning at you with wild amusement. He cups your face forcefully before directly kissing your gash—causing you to cry out and pull your head back. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Victoria, but with a big bump like that on your head, I know you can’t think clearly. It’s okay.”

Alphonse nudges your head back down to the carpet. “It’ll all make sense to you in a few days. This is pretty big, I understand, and as for that baby of yours…” Alphonse slides his hand underneath your stomach, forcing you to flip onto your back. “Uh huh…”

You tense up from the sudden movements but for the sake of your baby’s safety and health, you don’t bother to fight or move back; your lack of response is noticed and approved by Alphonse.

“He or she will grow up knowing I’m their father, but the next time you get pregnant, it’ll be our child.” Alphonse smiles, admiring your tiny baby bump. “And well, we’ll have a few more too. One big happy family, as they say.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard!” You snap out, squirming back down onto your stomach. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if my life depended on it.”

“It just might if you keep talking like this.” The smile fades off of Alphonse’s face as he nudges your gash harshly.

“Ahhh!” You cry out in pain, trying to pull your head away from him.

“Be nice to me, Victoria.” Alphonse’s voice begins to grow low and demanding. “I won’t have to hurt your feelings and break every bone in your body if you’re nice to me. Now.” Alphonse pulls back to sit back on his armchair. “We have much to talk about, you and I, and you’re going to give me the answers I want, right?”

“And if I don’t?” You grit your teeth, still squirming in pain from your throbbing head.

Alphonse sighs loudly, crossing his arms. “Baby, you already know what’s going to happen to you yet you ask me to repeat it. You like hearing my voice, huh?”

“Nothing about you is clear or certain.” You shudder over the carpet. “Considering your repeat history of failures.”

“Yeah?” Alphonse raises both of his brows. “I guess I don’t mind repeating myself to you about what I’m going to do if you don’t talk. Let me put it this way, sweetheart.” Alphonse pulls out a switchblade from his outer suit pocket before kneeling back down in front of you, aiming it for your face.

You neither flinch nor react when the blade snaps out and almost brushes up against your face—impressing Alphonse tenfold. “Uh-huh, I see. Father taught you not to be afraid of knives either, huh? Well, how about like this, then?” He points the switchblade to your baby bump, causing you to flinch.

“Bingo,” Alphonse smirks, moving the switchblade back up to your face. “Now, you start talking and giving me answers, and in return, I won’t make you cry and carve up your baby or that pretty face of yours. Shall we get started?”

As you feel the side of the cold, sharp blade pressing up against your cheek, true fear hits you from the possibility of Alphonse quite literally harming your baby and killing you in the process with his sick mutilation teasing.

‘Where are you, Michael?’ A single tear rolls down your cheek out of fear as you swallow hard. ‘Where are you, my love?’ But what you don’t know is that Michael isn’t coming for you.

Seeking comfort and solace from last night in the garden with her husband, all Connie can do is bring herself to tears again and again—unable to stop herself from crying.

Connie sits on the rattan garden bench she’d always share with you while the two of you tended to the garden, now next to her husband Leonardo comforting her.

Leo holds Connie in his arms, rubbing up and down her arms to comfort his wife but letting her release her emotions and cry out without stopping her.

Tears spill down Connie’s cheeks as she clutches onto Leo for comfort, feeling his warm lips kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“B-but it’s my fault.” Connie hiccups, still unable to live with her guilt. “It’s—”

“Nobody’s fault, baby.” Lorenzo gazes at Connie’s red, splotchy face from sobbing as he shakes his head. “Absolutely none of this is your fault. We’re going to get through this together, and Victoria’s going to be back safe and sound before any of us even know it.”

“But I-I should have tried harder to keep her there!” Connie cries out, unable to push out the blame on herself after Michael practically embedded it in her with his shouting.

“Baby, baby.” Leo cups Connie’s face gently, looking into her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. I know my sister well and when Victoria has something on her mind, nobody can stop her. Not me, not you, and not even Michael no matter what we’d be inclined to believe. Nobody’s words would hold her back.”

Connie sniffles, pausing for a moment as tears roll down her cheeks. “Sounds like Victoria, alright… She’s a f-fighter.”

“She is.” Leo agrees.

“I just hope…” Connie lets out a weak sigh, “I just hope Victoria’s fighting now and that she’s okay.”

“Believe me, honey,” Leo wipes off a stray tear from Connie’s cheek with his thumb. “If anyone’s fighting, it’s her. Victoria’s going to be okay and all of this will be over soon. I know how you feel—I’m much too impatient myself and I can’t stop thinking about it, but we’re going to get Victoria back. No exceptions.”

“Y-yeah but Leo,” Connie hiccups, “Victoria’s pregnant too.”

“I know, but so are you.” Leo places his hand over Connie’s month-old, small baby bump. “And I hate to have you and our little baby too stressed. I want to comfort you both.” He leans down, kissing the bump.

Connie smiles weakly at her husband, lacing a hand on Leo for reassurance. “Theresa was saying the same thing all morning.”

“How’s she taking it, baby?” Leo leans back up, holding Connie’s hand.

“Not well either.” Connie shakes her head, clearing her throat. “You know… That Sollozzo guy took Tom back in 1946? Theresa…she thought she would never see Tom again. And well, you know what happened to Sollozzo after.”

“Same thing is coming for Alphonse and is men,” Leo murmurs, planting a soft kiss over both of Connie’s hands. “Trust me.”

“That relieves me, strangely enough,” Connie admits glumly. “I really don’t want to be a part of whatever Michael’s doing, ever, and I didn’t want the same with papa either. But maybe I’m too harsh on Michael.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Leo continues gently rubbing over Connie’s baby bump.

“Sometimes I think of Michael as insufferable.” Connie shrugs her shoulders, glancing down at her baby bump. “Because of the man he’s become but I think he’s just trying to be strong for all of us, you know? It’s not easy. And now… Michael’s pregnant wife is kidnapped and as much as I don’t want to think about it, they probably hurt her, Leo. I know she wouldn’t just let anyone lay a finger on h-her without putting up a fight.”

“Exactly, I know.” Leo nods, frowning.

“I’m just worried for Michael.” Connie’s eyes meet up with Leo’s. “I-I don’t know what all of this will do to him. He’s… He’s always so cold and serious, so stern. Nothing gets past him, he refuses to be any other way. Now, this is getting too personal. I don’t think it matters if Victoria’s alive or not at the moment, Michael’s never going to recover from this. His humanity’s never going to recover from this.” Connie’s voice begins to shake as her throat tightens. “Because t-that’ll be three women in Michael’s love life that are dead or hurt in some sort of way because of him.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Early Evening Hours ]

With a perfect view of his yacht docked by the boathouse and the beautiful, glistening lake before him, Michael watches as the last of the sunlight begins to melt into the sky from his patio table.

Since Verona had an accident where she slipped off the deck in the past, Michael’s made sure now that both the docks and the edge of the lake are properly secured for safety.

Michael remains alone, drinking a cup of black coffee as best as he can “enjoy” it—only doing so to push aside how physically and mentally exhausted he’s been for the past two days.

Michael hasn’t diverted his gaze from the lake since he’s sat down, raising his coffee cup to his lips then back down again and again—completely unhappy and numb of any emotion.

Verona steps outside of the central family estate—just having finished her one-on-one studies with the governess.

The sight of her father just across by the docks, dressed in a three-piece navy suit is one Verona will always be able to happily spot.

While Michael doesn’t notice Verona’s presence out on the estate grounds, Verona excitedly makes her way over to her father and calls out for him. “Daddy, hiiiii!”

Michael turns his head at the sound of his daughter’s voice, noticing Verona waving at him as she skips up to the docks.

Michael waves back at Verona, watching now as she slows down her pace as she approaches the docks and begins to walk the rest of the way over to her father—remembering the little accident she had there before.

“Hi, daddy.” Verona greets Michael again, happily standing by the table.

“Hi, darling.” A faint smile forms over the corners of Michael’s mouth as he sets down his coffee cup. “How were your studies?”

“Good, goooooood.” Verona tightens the silk ribbons in her hair. “I just finished!”

“Done for the rest of the day?” Michael rests the side of his face against his fist; his elbow propped up against the armrest of his seat.

“Yeah.” Verona lets out a soft sigh, still smiling at her father. “I miss mama. I wish I could see her for my break time.”

“Me too, honey. Me too. But she’s with a great doctor and your grandmother right now.” Michael lies.

It’s not that Michael hates lying, but he prefers not to do so to his children unless necessary. He’s so used to lying at this point that he doesn’t feel anything towards it anymore—it doesn’t even feel wrong.

Verona nods back at her father, completely understanding. “I bet there’s a lot of great doctors just like Doctor Katherine there.”

“Without a doubt.” Michael straightens his posture over his seat, gesturing to his lap. “Come here.”

Giggling, Verona eagerly gets up on Michael’s lap as he wraps a protective arm around his daughter—seeing how interested Verona grows in Michael’s coffee cup upon the table. “Ooooh, daddy is drinking that coffee stuff again.”

Michael chuckles quietly. “Yes, but there’s no need to wonder about the taste.”

“Why not?” Verona asks curiously. “Is it not that…aaaah, ‘decaf’, no anti-sleepy time coffee?”

“Not this time.” Michael shakes his head.

“Why, daddy?” A frown immediately breaks over Verona’s face. “That stuff in coffee is bad for you, and this too!” She points at Michael’s cigarette pack on the edge of the table. “All very, very bad!”

“True, you’re very right. My apologies.” Michael pushes aside the cigarette pack, gesturing to the coffee. “What about my coffee? Can I still have it?”

“Hmm…” Verona ponders the question as Michael takes another sip of his coffee, looking at her for approval. “Daddy works too hard and looks kinda sleepy.” Verona giggles, facing her father. “Today you can have some of that coffee stuff.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Michael hides his smile behind his coffee cup, taking another sip.

“I wanna make sure everyone’s happy and healthy.” Verona snuggles up to Michael’s chest, hugging her father. “Allll the time.”

Michael puts his empty coffee cup down, kissing Verona’s forehead. “Looks like we definitely have a future doctor here, don’t we?”

“Maybe one day.” Verona gives her father a beaming smile. “Would you support me, daddy?”

“Of course, I would. Your mother and I will always support both you and your brother without a doubt.” Michael tells her.

Verona giggles to herself and hugs Michael again. “Daddy, I have a secret to tell you.”

Michael can sense the eagerness in his daughter’s tone of voice. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you.” Verona whispers, leaning up, but before Michael can wait to hear her say anything in his ear, Verona smooches her father’s cheek instead. “There. A kiss for daddy.”

A rare, full smile crosses Michael’s lips as he looks back at Verona. At the very least, Michael knows his children are still safe and happy, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think Verona’s optimism—whom she very clearly got from you—isn’t giving him a semblance of hope.

“I love you lots, daddy.” Verona hugs Michael’s arm, resting her head against it. “Lots and lots!”

“I love you too, honey,” Michael tells her as he tilts his chair to fully face the view of the lake with Verona.

“Lots and lots?” Verona’s eyes wander over the beautiful, glistening waters of Lake Tahoe before her.

“Lots and lots.” Michael nods, relaxing his muscles against his seat and watching the flow of the lake.

Verona enjoys the view next to her father for a few moments; feeling a warm breeze flowing through her hair and giving a sense of pure relaxation to the two of them who can’t possibly feel its full effects considering the circumstances at hand.

The gentle grasp Verona has while hugging Michael’s army begins to grow shaky a few minutes later, and six-year-old Verona can’t stop her eyes from tearing up while thinking about just how much she misses you, and how she’s worried for the health of her grandmother too.

Without having to look down and see her tears, Michael can already sense his daughter growing upset in his arms.

He neither blames her nor does he call it out, knowing Verona’s feelings are valid and if anything, he’d prefer her to cry and express her sadness than keep it all inside like Michael does personally.

Michael strokes Verona’s hair gently, soothing her until her tears come to a stop. Being in her father’s presence and looking out onto the calming view, Verona feels safe, protected, and comforted by Michael—watching the day slowly come to an end.

While Michael can think of nothing but you, especially from Verona’s resemblance to you, his heart remains firm in decision that he’s not going to come to get you just yet, nor has he sent out the men for tonight. He will continue to wait for as long as he feels necessary.

[ Silver City, Alphonse Ricci’s Manor]

Aware of the time himself, Alphonse cuts to the chase by revealing one of his main intentions and priorities for kidnapping you in the first place; questions he demands answers to that only you can give.

“Hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you?” Alphonse chuckles to himself, once again sitting before you and admiring the way his switchblade looks up against your skin.

You shudder from the touch of the cold metal over your cheek, not in fear for yourself but only for your baby.

You think to yourself that a sick fuck like Alphonse will no doubt only try to scare and threaten you with his switchblade, but then hit your actual vulnerability—your unborn baby inside of you or at least around it; a fear tactic your father taught you.

Had you not been pregnant, Alphonse may have just already stabbed you in your back or somewhere you’re neither expecting nor able to protect from how you’re tightly bound.

You know these types of intimidation tactics well—basic mobster wannabee actions that are mostly talk and the rest hope.

You already know that if a real, powerful Don actually wanted answers out of you, you would have already been severely hurt by now and how is another question of gruesomeness you don’t want to think about right now.

“Is that supposed to be a question or what?” You force yourself not to roll your eyes back.

“It’s a good thing that your pretty little mouth is moving so I don’t have to do things the hard way,” Alphonse replies with a smile.

“I thought this was the hard way.” You eye the blade held against your cheek.

“You flatter me, honey.” Alphonse smirks wryly, “but I’ve gotten a little too used to teasing you with my favorite blade, and since you’re being such a good girl and cooperating…” He pulls back the switchblade.

“Don’t call me a ‘good girl’ or any of that shit.” You narrow your eyes.

“Maybe I won’t as long as you can keep that attitude to yourself.” Alphonse cautions you. “Now, you know how this works. You answer my questions and—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You grunt out, “save your speech. I know what you want.”

“Do you?” Alphonse raises his brows. “Must have been waiting then, huh?”

“The element of surprise really isn’t your advantage here.” You scowl.

“Ah, that’s funny.” Alphonse stretches out his arms with a grunt. “The last time I checked, you were taken here in the blink of an eye before you could suspect anything. Seems like a hell of a surprise if you ask me.”

“Sure, if we think about the technicalities.” You tilt your head up to look at Alphonse. “But everyone knows you did it, so where’s the fun in that? Was your intent really to get caught so quickly? Or did you think we’d blame another mobster?”

Alphonse sighs dramatically. “I’m going to be the one asking the questions, darling. This is about you, not me.”

You roll your eyes at Alphonse’s response out of irritation, but he notices immediately. “You know I can make things a lot worse for you right here, right now.”

“I find it amusing that you think you have the power to ruin my life.” You snap back.

“Oh, don’t I?” Alphonse points at his chest. “I’m a walking blackmail machine, baby.”

“Great.” You reply, “then you must know just about everything on anyone, huh?”

“That’s right.” Alphonse grins.

“That’s a fantastic way to get yourself killed.” You tell him. “What mobster would want someone like you alive?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it back upright before pointing it between your eyes. “Because the Barzinis and Tattaglias gave up on me a long time ago thanks to your fucking husband. What he doesn’t know however is that he actually did me a favor. Let’s hope all that power hasn’t gotten into Michael’s head because the crime families fear him more than they admire him. Nobody’s going to rush to Michael’s rescue if something happens to him. Everyone will be sitting tight and watching just as they’re all going to do so tonight. Nobody’s going to kill me, Victoria.” Frustration grows in Alphonse’s voice. I have the upper hand here, otherwise, you’d be dead already.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise your head up shakily, revealing your gash between peeks of your hair. “Why the hell am I not dead yet?”

“Honey, if you have a death wish, that’s your own personal problem.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it upright. “If I want to kill you, I’ll do it my way; fast or slow, and not when you request it. You’re more useful to me alive than dead right now but I have been known to change my mind.”

“Not a generous man, are you?” You say back sarcastically.

“I’m many things.” Alphonse gazes at you. “And you can get to know me all you want right here, right now.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You spit out.

“No, you don’t.” Alphonse smiles sardonically at you. “And the more you learn about me, sweetheart, the less I need to learn about you because I know exactly who you are. You’re not just a mafia wife, you’re a whole lot more than you give away.”

“You don’t even know where to begin to figure me out.” You say through gritted teeth.

“You’d be surprised as to how much I know about you.” Alphonse leans in closer, lowering his tone to a husky whisper. “I’ve had pictures of you all over my walls since 1949.”

“You’re sick,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him.

“You call it sick and depraved, I call it admiration.” Alphonse reaffirms. “You’re a beautiful woman, you know that? You haven’t even aged a bit. I know you take care of yourself very well, even after two kids and now on your third… Yeah.” With his free hand, Alphonse tilts your face to the side, but his eyes land on your baby bump instead.

You pretend you don’t notice Alphonse’s steady gaze, fearing you’ll only give him the reaction he’s looking for to harm your baby in any kind of way.

“You have that motherly glow,” Alphonse murmurs quietly. “Barely pregnant, but it’s there.” He pulls back his hand. “We’ll see it again when you carry my child. That’s when you’ll be the most beautiful, you know. As beautiful as any cold-blooded killer can be.” Alphonse’s eyes flash with amusement. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same question?” You breathe out.

“Maybe.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “I can call myself a lot of things but you’re too cocky to admit you’re a murderer. You’re not just a killer, but you’re a corrupt lawyer. You negotiate in deals men don’t expect you to be in and then you get them all killed. You make damn good blood money and you move all the chess pieces around without anyone suspecting a thing. Nobody can do or say anything about you. I’ve already figured how well you play this role of supportive wife and dedicated lawyer, but you’re a true gangster.”

You keep your eyes locked on Alphonse, neither confirming nor denying the truth.

“It runs in your blood.” Alphonse rises up to his feet, clutching his switchblade and moving behind you.

You remain as perfectly still as you can and shiver yet again to feel the cold metal of Alphonse’s blade pressed up against one of your veins on your wrist.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Alphonse asks, running his hands over your skin.

“I’m nothing like you.” You wince, feeling your gash beginning to throb once again.

“Oh, of course, you aren’t.” Alphonse lets out a laugh, walking back over to face you directly. “I’m not the one with Ferrari blood running through my veins now, am I? Our children will be lucky in that regard since they will. All I’m saying is that your little secret is out, Victoria. I’ve seen you in the pictures.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You swallow hard, trying to ignore how badly the ropes tied around your wrists and ankles practically burn into your bruises.

“Like hell I don’t.” Alphonse scoffs, sitting on the carpet right in front of you. “The photographs speak for themselves, honey. I’ve seen them. You’re all dolled up next to that Corleone, then hidden just as Don Ferrari’s daughter, or so they say. You’re seen one day, then never again the next. I call bullshit on that. I recognize you like the back of my hand.”

“And what the hell are you going to gain for it?” You raise your voice, thoroughly sick and tired of hearing his.

“Everything. I have all the facts and information to not only bring your career to a fucking end but to imprison you for life. You’d never see your children again and you can give birth in a cold, shitty prison for all I care. Better yet, be put in the worst prison Nevada has to offer, like the shit hole you locked my brother up in.”

You burst out laughing, unable to take any of Alphonse’s words seriously. “Your brother was a dirty fucking street rat. He was messy, he got caught and I prosecuted him. It was nothing personal, you entitled piece of shit. Is his incompetence my fault?”

“Better wipe that fucking smirk off your face before I do,” Alphonse warns you, holding out his switchblade.

“Poor little boy.” You pout, mocking him. “You keep flaunting around that tiny shaving razor to threaten me but won’t MAN THE FUCK UP AND USE IT!”

In one swift movement, Alphonse pulls his hand back and slaps you across the face—causing you to squirm onto your side with a grunt.

“I can hurt you in a lot of other ways before giving you a painful death if you don’t do what I tell you to fucking do!” Alphonse shouts.

You crack a smile, laughing weakly. “Oh, you’ll have to do a lot more than that, I’m afraid. Did you really just bring me here to reminisce about the successes of my life and the failure of yours?”

“No, you know what you’re fucking here for!” Seething with anger, Alphonse is in no further mood for games.

“Yeah, yeah,” you force yourself back onto your stomach. “Fucking enlighten me then so we can get this over with.”

“I want to know about the Tropigala.” Anger flashes in Alphonse’s eyes as he slows down his speech, making sure you hear every word carefully. “I want to know who made the deal, who signed it, and why that hotel was taken from me without a single word even though my family’s name was all over it. I want to know who paid off the license, where the money went, EVERYTHING! I want to know the shareholders name by name.”

You remain quiet for a moment, unphased by Alphonse entirely. Your eyes dart back down to the carpet out of disinterest as you simply say, “omertà.”

Alphonse raises both of his brows at you, repeating, “omertà? You think this is some kind of fucking joke?”

“Omertà,” you repeat, louder.

Omertà is the cold silence amongst Mafiosi; a code of honor. No questions or information of any kind about the family business is ever uttered, no cooperation with outsiders, authorities, or men like Alphonse for that matter.

Nothing is given but silence, and you will never give Alphonse the answers about what Michael did with the Tropigala even if it means your death.

You swore the code of silence to yourself and your family when you made your bones as a mafiosa and you understood it far before you were even involved in the family business.

“You know about Michael’s deal, Victoria.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Maybe.” You smile up at Alphonse innocently. “But that’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Won’t talk, huh?” Alphonse eyes the reddened mark growing over your cheek from where he slapped you. “Maybe that Corleone slaps you so much in bed you actually enjoy it. I’ll have to try something else.”

“’Cause, you’re a wife beater?” You scoff. “All that talk about marrying me and putting a baby in me but all you want to do is bruise and hurt me. How’s that going to look in any publicity photographs?”

Alphonse blinks at you in confusion, shaking his head. “You’re the one making me do this.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” You gesture down to the carpet with your chin. “I’m laying here on your favorite Persian rug. I’m exhausted, starving, my body aches all over and you’ve bruised and hurt me. I’ve been like this since you brought me here, so tell me what I’ve honestly done to you from down here that’s intimidated you so much?”

Alphonse lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He gazes at you momentarily, noticing your expression has softened from bitter to exhausted once again.

“All really good questions.” Alphonse reaches out his hand towards you, caressing your face gently. “I have the time to answer them, you know. No point in trying to make this quick, and you know why?” A smile breaks out on Alphonse’s face before he bursts out in laughter, startling you a little. “Because!” He throws his hands up in the air, “that husband of yours isn’t coming here for you after all! My men have this place cornered and he’s still nowhere to be found, baby. Don’t you know what time it is?”

“What?” You shudder out, feeling dread beginning to trickle inside you from realizing Alphonse is right.

“I’ve given him a deadline and he didn’t even bother to show yesterday.” Alphonse pats his gold wristwatch. “No sign of him today either on his last day, so Michael is most certainly not coming to get you, honey. So, what do you say?” Alphonse snaps his finger, gesturing to one of his capos.

The man who mocked you at the front door and shoved you in here in the first place rises from his seat by the fireplace, pulling the telephone off of Alphonse’s office desk and over to him.

“Let’s give Don Corleone a courtesy call, shall we?” Alphonse takes the telephone from him, setting it down. “He forgot to pick up his own wife!” Still laughing, Alphonse begins to dial the number. “Maybe I’ll even let you talk to him.” Alphonse winks at you. “We’ll give him a call to remember.”

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Evening Hours ]

“Soooo many fishies in the water, daddy!” Verona points towards the lake, spotting the silhouette of a lake trout not far from the docks. “Look!”

“That’s right.” Michael looks over into the water with his daughter sitting on his lap. “Now you know why your uncles don’t go anywhere else to fish.”

“There’s no need.” Verona giggles. “Not with this many fishies! What kinds are in there, daddy?”

“Well, lake trouts for sure, like that one right there.” Michael points out one of the fish. “But there are also rainbow trouts and brown trouts—”

“Rainbow trouts?!” Verona gasps, her eyes beaming with excitement. “Are they really colorful like that, daddy?”

“Not exactly.” Michael chuckles, “but up close you can definitely discern them from other trouts.”

“Wowie.” Verona claps her little hands together. “Uncle Fredo always goes fishing here on the docks, daddy. He says it’s his lucky spot.”

“Mhmm.” Michael relaxes back in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Do you have any interest in fishing, sweetheart?”

“Hmm.” Verona ponders the question, shrugging her shoulders. “Maaaaaybe. I like watching Uncle Fredo teach Niccolo because he really likes fishing, but the fishing stick thingys they use look so heavy!”

“It’ll be easier to get a hold of them once you two both grow older,” Michael tells her. “They’re very durable.”

“For the best of the best fishing trips!” Verona exclaims. “Maybe when I’m done my swimming lessons I’ll go fishing with them.”

“That sounds like a plan, darling.” Michael’s eyes wander to one of the boats his security pace along the lake, still on the lookout for any potentially suspicious activity.

“Do you fish, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father.

“No.” Michael shakes his head, “I don’t really have an interest in it.”

“But daddy, you like seafood, right?” Verona pokes Michael’s arm.

“I do.” Michael gives Verona a faint smile. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Verona nods, “fishies can be very tasty. I bet those fishies there are tasty.” She points again at a different fish disappearing into the depths of the lake.

Just as Michael redirects his attention back to the lake with Verona, he already hears a pair of very familiar footsteps behind him, and an instant annoyance settles into Michael. “Considering everything, Santino, could you not leave me to a moment of peace with my daughter?”

Verona’s eyes widen, surprised Michael heard Sonny approaching them in the first place. As she turns around, she immediately smiles at her uncle. “Hi, Uncle Sonny!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Sonny forces a warm smile at Verona before raking a hand through his curls.

Michael can already tell Sonny’s very stressed by his body language alone, and can already guess what the premise of this conversation is going to be about.

“Sorry, Mike.” Sonny clears his throat. “But A—” Sonny cuts himself off, knowing he can’t be giving away any detail of what’s really happening to Verona or any of the children for that matter. “Uh, Mr. Ricci is on the phone and he says it's urgent.”

Michael doesn’t budge, still keeping his gaze over the lake. “Alright. I’ll be there. Keep him on the line.” Only then does Michael glance over at Verona. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s got some business to attend to again.”

“It’s okay,” Verona says, completely understanding as she hops off of Michael’s lap. “I can go wait inside, daddy. Maybe you can teach me to play chess again?”

“Absolutely.” Michael leans over, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, daddy. See you inside!” Verona happily rushes back off towards the estate as one of the security guards follows her at an appropriate distance just for the sake of safety.

While Sonny’s already halfway back towards the boathouse, Michael follows behind calmly with both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

There isn’t the least bit of concern or visible stress over either Michael’s facial expression or his body language; rather he appears more numb and unhappy than anything else as he follows Sonny back inside the boathouse.

From the moment Michael enters, he sees Tom across from him in the room holding up the telephone to his ear appearing unnerved and in a state of distress.

Even as Michael makes eye contact with his brother, Tom isn’t relieved in the slightest but looks all the tenser and burdened.

“Look,” Tom gives out a sigh, “he’s here. You can talk to him now.” Tom holds out the telephone to Michael, almost desperate to let go of it.

Michael walks up to Tom and takes the telephone from him, holding it against his chest to silence any outgoing sound first. Michael doesn’t say a word to Tom but looks at his brother with expectant eyes that read: ‘is Victoria alright?’

Tom understands the look in Michael’s eyes, but he shakes his head and mouths back, “this is getting worse.”

Michael raises the telephone up to his ear, remaining silent a moment longer before finally speaking out. “This must be the only social interaction you’ve had all day. Why are you still calling me?”

Alphonse bursts out laughing on the other end of the phone, completely relaxed and even overjoyed in a way. “Did business get in the way, Don Corleone? You forgot to come get your precious wife.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Michael says back sarcastically. “Who said I ‘forgot’ to do anything?”

“So are you aren’t coming then?” Alphonse’s irritating laughter comes to an end as he angles the telephone over his ear in such a way that you can also hear everything being said on both sides.

“You’re a dead man either way.” Michael reminds him. “And you’re not getting anything you want. The sooner you accept this, the easier it’ll be for you.”

“Rather confident for a man who can’t reach me.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, speaking in a taunting tone.

“You’re not untouchable, Alphonse,” Michael replies calmly, unphased. “You went through all this trouble to reach the line just to tell me you miss my presence after all.”

“Oh, please.” Alphonse snorts, sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug. “I’m just getting bored is all. You hear this, Corleone?” Alphonse flicks open his switchblade again, grazing the tip over the wooden floors next to him. “I know all sorts of ways to get your attention, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say.”

“You thought wrong,” Michael replies, listening as keenly as he can to make out any sign of your presence next to Alphonse.

“Well then, let’s see when you come out of your little lair and face me like a real man. Since you’re taking your precious time, I might just have to show you how much fun I can have with your pretty life wife laying on the ground here next to me. She’s in that sexy nightgown, might I add—it flatters my switchblade.”

“Petty threats still aren’t beyond you, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes, still unmoved as he expected you to still be secured with Alphonse.

“I’m a man of my word and I’d hate to look like I’m all bark and no bite—unlike you—so I thought I’d give you a call and prove how serious I am.” Alphonse lets his switchblade drop from his hand and onto the floor. “When I have you dead, your wife will be widowed and then with the great Don Ferrari’s blessing, I’ll marry her right away so she doesn’t have to spend one day grieving over your sorry ass.”

Tom rubs his temples gingerly, lowering his gaze as Sonny stares down at the ground, listening to the phone call as if they’re both still recovering from something else they heard on the telephone before Michael arrived.

“But for that to happen,” Alphonse continues, “I need you to actually be here so I can kill you. I’m not a fan of damaging my favorite things, Corleone, but unfortunately, my future wife here has a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and this is all your fault of course. If you had just died last night, she wouldn’t have to be roughed up.”

Michael narrows his eyes, beginning to glare down at the telephone. “You were the one who made the choice to hurt her, Alphonse. Nobody else made that decision for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just collateral damage.” Alphonse brushes Michael off. “You know she put up a hell of a fight, so getting her here was like wrestling a goddamn grizzly bear with your own hands. That’s what I’ve been saying to her too, you’re a hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you baby?” Alphonse roughly grips your face, giving it a shake.

You cry out in pain from how violently Alphonse shakes your face, applying pressure to your cheekbones and jaw on purpose just to hurt you.

Your voice immediately alerts Michael and gets his blood boiling from anger in a split second; Michael’s knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips the telephone. “Don’t fucking touch her, Alphonse. I hate repeating myself.”

“What’s that? Hmm? Huh?” Alphonse lets go of you, continuing to taunt Michael. “I don’t think I heard you, Corleone. I don’t think Michael heard you say goodbye to him loud enough either, darling. Use your words.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out to Alphonse.

“Ah, there she is.” Alphonse sighs deeply.

“You’re never going to get away with this, you bastard!” You shriek at him.

“Mhmm, you’re talking, baby, but you’re not saying what I want you to say.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, picking up his switchblade again and pressing the tip of it against your gash.

“Ah!” You wince, bursting into tears from the stinging pain as blood begins to spill from your gash once again.

“Yeah, don’t like that, do you?” Alphonse grips your face so tightly as he continues to poke the tip of his switchblade over your gash that even if you tried to jerk your head back or move away, you’d end up having your entire forehead deeply cut into.

On the verge of frustration and pure rage, Michael begins to see nothing but red—speaking through gritted teeth. “Stop. It.”

“Should I?” Alphonse chuckles. “Yeah, maybe I should. She’s bleeding all over my favorite Persian rug.” Alphonse lets go of your face but not before slamming it down on the rug to hit your gash once again.

You burst into tears from the pain but force your body to remain steady on the carpet to lessen the pain.

Tom takes in deep quiet breaths, knowing that Michael’s not going to be able to hang up or brush aside anything Alphonse is saying or doing now over the telephone as he’s practically torturing you.

“Ah, I do applaud you on one thing though, Michael.” Alphonse sets his bloodied switchblade down. “Regardless of how all of this is going to go, you’ve benefitted my future so much. My future wife here definitely doesn’t talk; she doesn’t give away anything. A Ferrari alright… She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà.”

‘Omertà.’ The word buzzes in Michael’s mind as a familiar one.

“She still won’t budge,” Alphonse mutters. “Giuseppe taught all his children not to talk, huh? I’ll have to ask my future father-in-law more about it. It fascinates me. Unfortunate for Victoria though, considering she’s still your wife at the moment. I’m going to have to rough her up real bad since she won’t talk, Michael. But don’t worry.” He adds in quickly, “she’ll heal from everything in my arms. I always kiss and mend after I hurt.”

“You’ve nothing but an agonizing, slow death waiting for you and every one of your little hired mercenaries, Alphonse. Never forget this.” Michael hisses.

“Is that so? In any case, don’t try anything smart now, Corleone. Stay on the line, won’t you? Unless you want me to really hurt her, that is.” Alphonse sets the telephone down facing upward so Michael can hear both you and Alphonse clearly.

“Listen closely now.” Alphonse crawls behind you, hovering over top of you; his knees around both sides of your body. “I’m going to make her purr like a kitten.”

Michael slams his fist down against the table with such force that the telephone almost shakes off it completely. “What the fuck are you doing to her, Alphonse?!”

“Listen closely and you’ll know.” Alphonse chuckles, still hearing you whimper quietly in pain. “Once more chance, baby.” Alphonse hikes your nightgown up towards your ass, letting his gold-adorned hands roam down your inner thighs. “Answer me. Who sold the Tropigala to Michael Corleone? Tell us both, darling. Michael’s listening.”

“Omertà.” You groan out.

Michael presses his lips down together, seething with anger and barely able to keep still anymore.

“Still nothing?” Alphonse squeezes your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’re lucky you’re so beautiful, more so than in those photographs. The camera doesn’t capture your real beauty. You better tell me if that Corleone ever even bothered to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He leans down, giving each of your thighs a warm kiss. “With everything you’ve done and with who you are, you deserve to eat on diamond plates.” Alphonse continues to let his hands wander around your legs and thighs. “Dinner parties, meeting politicians. You’ve got all of Nevada eating out of your hand and New York kissing your feet. I don’t have to tell you Corleone doesn’t deserve someone like you. Now…” Alphonse rests his hands over your ass. “Tell me, was it Senator Geary who sold Michael the license to the Tropigala? Who was behind that deal? Tell me.”

Instead of bothering to answer anyone, you jerk your leg back up swiftly and kick Alphonse directly in the face; the heel of your foot colliding over the bridge of his nose.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Alphonse grunts, clutching his bleeding nose.

Sonny grips into the leather armrest of his seat so hard that his fingernails almost rip through it entirely.

Tom gasps a “oh my God” to himself and immediately looks towards the door of the boathouse—needing some air.

“YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR FUCKING PLACE WITH ME!” With blood still dripping down his nose, Alphonse pins both of your legs back down and leans right over, biting as hard as he can into your thigh.

You let out a howling scream of pain—feeling your lungs burn and blood dripping out of the bite wound from Alphonse’s teeth breaking your skin.

Alphonse’s breath hitches as he pulls back, wiping a mixture of his and your blood off of his mouth—tasting your blood off of his teeth.

“MICHAEL!!” You shriek again, clutching weakly onto the fibers of the Persian rug as your thigh twitches from the pain.

Just as Alphonse leans over to speak onto the phone once again, Michael grabs the telephone—his hands shaking violently with anger as he throws it across the room and lets it smash to pieces against the wall.

“We’ve got to fucking go.” Sonny springs up to his feet, out of breath from his own anger.

“Get up!” Michael gestures to Tom, Neri, and Rocco. “Completely disregard our previous plan, there’s going to be no snipers, no speaking in. Alphonse is fucking torturing her. We’re going to Silver City now and we’re going to kill every single one of them on sight, instantly. DO I MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR?!”

Leaving you whimpering on the floor, Alphonse scowls down at you as he moves off your back. “I’ve been real nice and considerate with you, darling. I could have let your fucking throat dry up or hooked you to the wall like a piece of meat.” Alphonse rises to his feet shakily. “I let you sleep in my bed comfortably and I didn’t knock the sense out of you every time I had the chance, did I? But you…” Alphonse snarls, rubbing the bridge of his nose cautiously. “You weren’t considerate at all. I can make your life a miserable fucking hell in here, darling, and the fact I have to keep reminding you tells me a lot.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You grunt out against the carpet. “You don’t even have the ability to make my life a ‘miserable fucking hell’. You already live in one.”

“Good thing I’m going to share it with you then.” Alphonse glances at the smeared blood over his hand. “You did this all to yourself, you know.”

“Yeah, and you deserve everything that’s come crashing down upon you since your father was put down like a pest.” You hiss. “Ever heard me cry out for mercy here?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Alphonse grit his teeth, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Don’t you ever talk about my father like that again.”

“Your father was a fucking miserable little weasel obsessed with money and whores.” You raise your head up, glaring at Alphonse. “Your family stood out from the others since your father’s time and I see you’ve changed nothing.”

“You’re not the least bit intimidating to me, I hope you know that even though you try to fucking piss me off.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Funny.” You let out a weak chuckle. “Your men shit themselves in my presence, why don’t you talk about that?”

“That’s because these men respect you.” Alphonse gestures back to his capos who have otherwise been practically invisible in the room from silence and their backs turned to you. “One day you’ll respect them because they’ll be protecting you with their lives.”

“How worthwhile is that protection if I can take them all down by myself?” You scoff.

“Is that why you cried like a little slut when I put you in your place?” Alphonse kneels in front of you. “Hmm?”

“Please.” You ignore Alphonse’s eye contact with you. “I’ve felt worse pain, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed having your nasty mouth on me.”

“Felt worse pain, huh?” Alphonse watches your thigh still trembling and trickling with blood from his deep bite mark. “Made your bones like crazy, but you and that baby inside of you are going to go out real sad if you don’t start talking.”

“You can do whatever you want to me.” You breathe out, “but you leave my baby the hell alone.”

“You think you’re special because Michael came in you?” Alphonse rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. “I’ll be doing that to you tenfold myself. That ‘baby’ inside of you—it’s like what? Not even the size of a grain of rice yet? If anything ‘happens’ to it, it’ll be your fault. But it won’t be much of a loss at this point anyway, you can always try again.”

“You know there’s one thing about all of this that I’m really going to enjoy.” You let out a deep breath, trying to avoid the vicious pain in your thigh.

“What part?” Alphonse rests his back against the leg of his armchair. “The part where you marry me or I impregnate you?”

You ball up a wad of spit in your mouth before letting it land on the Persian rug. “It’ll be part where you die. I’m no sadist but I think I’m going to enjoy watching it happen.”

“Long time coming, huh?” Alphonse leers at you.

“You have no idea.” You grunt.

Ignoring your comment, Alphonse reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, taking out the handkerchief and wiping your forehead with it without taking extra care around your gash.

You grit your teeth in pain and silence yourself, taking it as Alphonse smiles at the blood stain over his handkerchief when he pulls it back. “There, there, pretty baby. I’d think you’d come to be exhausted from talking like this all day, hmm?” Alphonse trails his thumb over your bottom lip; admiration replacing the otherwise pissed look in his eyes. “Beautiful lips… Hate to see them shaking like this in pain.”

You remain completely still, fearing that if you attempt to move out of the way or try anything against Alphonse again, this time he won’t hesitate to hurt your baby directly even if it doesn’t look like it.

In reality, you could practically vomit over Alphonse’s face from how nauseous and disgusted you feel from him even laying a hand on you, but you force it all back.

Acting as if you’ve given in to him, you remain quiet and calm which only pleases Alphonse further.

“Easy, baby.” Alphonse tilts your head up with both hands gently, causing you to whimper. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” Alphonse leans in; his nose tracing around your jawline and neck as he inhales the faint scent of sweet, floral perfume over you.

From the way Alphonse has your body raised against his, pressure is applied to your legs and the bite mark over your thigh practically feels as if it’s on fire.

You hold in the pain but cannot manage to stay completely silent. Alphonse hears your soft whimpers and takes them as a sign of weakness before pressing his forehead against yours.

Without saying a word, Alphonse inches closer and closer to your lips, and all the “don’t do this!” screaming in your head stops nothing as his lips collide with yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust so as not to look directly at him as Alphonse gives you a full-mouth kiss. You don’t return it nor do you part your lips against his, simply remaining completely still and hoping for the kiss to come to a quick end.

“God,” Alphonse murmurs softly as he pulls away from you. “That love bite will heal, baby. I want to almost forgive you just from that kiss alone. Does Michael make good use of that mouth, I wonder.”

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at the carpet, knowing it’ll be no use to tell him to let you go or do anything else.

“You’re very beautiful, Victoria.” Alphonse strokes your hair gently, noticing your glassy eyes filled with tears. “Even when you cry. You’ve always had that Ferrari fire in you, but it’s unfortunate it got you hurt today. It’ll raise the Ricci family to newfound heights, and on a personal scale…” Alphonse caresses your face with the back of his hand. “I can’t wait to start a family with you and sleep next to you every night.”

It's that comment that sends you over the tipping edge, and you can no longer hold back the disturbed look on your face.

“What?” Alphonse chuckles. “Don’t act so surprised, darling. Isn’t that what happened to your sister-in-law?”

“W-what?” You say weakly.

“Constanzia Corleone,” Alphonse tells you. “Married one street rat mobster wannabee, right? That Carlo Rizzi or whatever his name is. That didn’t work out, so what did she do? Well, I hear she was a very, very smart girl to go and marry a man like Leonardo Ferrari. One doesn’t work out so onto the next, real mobster it is. She secured her future with a very powerful man whose also fathering her sons, right?”

“D-don’t talk about Connie.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Never talk about my sister.”

“Relax, baby.” Alphonse gives you a playful grin, “my eyes are only for you, but you know what I’m talking about. If anything happens to that brother Lorenzo of yours—who I’ve no doubt will finally meet with me today—then Leonardo will become the Don. What’s going to be the difference between you and Constanzia then? She’ll be the wife of the second most powerful mobster on the continent, after me.”

Before either of you can speak further, you notice Alphonse’s eyes instantly widen in shock, and in a split second, he pins his body down to the floor.

Immediately after, a hail of dozens and dozens of bullets making the attempt on your life look like child’s play begins to hail through the mirror—hitting every corner, every angle, every wall and shattering the windows to smithereens.

There isn’t even time for Alphonse’s capos to respond as their bodies can barely drop to the floor with constant gunfire riddling holes through them.

“That motherfucker finally came, huh?!” Alphonse keeps himself flat on the floor.

You burst out in hysterical laughter, no longer able to control yourself or hold back. You know Michael and his men are here and that this has all come to an end; it couldn’t possibly be more amusing than how it already is to you right now.

“Go to hell, go to hell!” You say through your laughter as Alphonse pulls you up into his arms, attempting to protect you.

All you can hear are the sounds of men hollering outside, bodies falling, and screams of pain accompanied by consistent, rapid fire.

“I’m taking you with me, darling.” Alphonse’s eyes glance up to the ceiling as he keeps you up against him, hearing the sound of a heavy thump before watching the body of his sniper falling right off the roof. “SHIT!”

In truth, Alphonse’s men have grown lazy and sloppy after realizing Michael neither came yesterday night nor at the time Alphonse expected him to today either.

As a result, a vast majority of his men drop dead from being unprepared, unable to shield themselves from the bullets fired against them.

Alphonse grunts, struggling to pull out his pistol from the inner pocket of his suit. “They know what they’re shooting at, huh?” Alphonse yanks a fistful of your hair, pulling you up onto his lap and pressing the barrel of his gun up to your temple. “Then they won’t get to you or me now.”

“Do your worst if you can.” You breathe out, grinning at the window.

It wasn’t hard for your father to have all the roads leading to Silver City cleared and kept that way an entire day before, sending assassins in the best cars available with no exceptions.

Your brothers went sent off to Silver City with Michael and your father’s best men, but Lake Tahoe isn’t left unprotected either.

Giuseppe himself stayed back with his capos, Alessio, Tom, Fredo, and tight security both in and around the estate complex including every pathway and road leading up to it.

Neri and Rocco have personally accompanied Michael who drove himself, surrounded by the cars of his security on every side of the road for protection should Michael approach any vehicles of Alphonse’s men or have bullets littered over his trail.

Neri sits in the back seat with Rocco next to him, fully armed. Ritchie Nobilio is in the front passenger seat by Michael, aiming out the window with two pistols in both hands—ready for anything.

Michael is armed to the teeth himself, calm but ready to kill. Everyone knows blood will be spilled today, marking a new mob war between the Corleone and Ferrari families versus the Ricci’s.

Michael will not rest until he personally kills Alphonse and confirms his death and he will only consider you safe when he sees you unharmed in person unless it absolutely can’t be helped; the last resort Michael has made sure all of his and your father’s men are very well aware of.

The vehicles surrounding Michael’s that drove up front shot off the snipers with silencers and any of Alphonse’s men scattered around the vicinity of Silver City, so neither Michael nor any of his and your father’s men were even heard approaching Alphonse’s Estate as nobody was alive to raise the alarm beforehand.

Neri was the one who took out Alphonse’s sniper and one of Michael’s men easily took his spot, blending into his surroundings.

Michael and Giuseppe’s men parked their vehicles on every side of Alphonse’s manor to surround his men completely, relentlessly shooting and circling around.

Although taken by surprise, Alphonse’s men snap back into action and prepare to shoot back—taking as much cover around the manor as they can find.

Michael’s vehicle is hidden behind a blockade of others, and he easily steps out without being seen and crouches against the car next to Ritchie.

Both Michael and Ritchie glance up towards the roof of the manor, seeing Matteo perched up top and taking out the remaining men outside the front. After firing another shot, Matteo signals the area is clear for Michael and Ritchie to enter.

If you knew it was your brother hiding up on the roof and picking off Alphonse’s men like mosquitos in the vicinity, you’d neither be impressed nor surprised.

Matteo was always skilled with firearms, and he was the one who taught you all about accuracy, aim, and bullets all those years back.

Lorenzo and Sonny remain with their men towards the back of the estate, back to back, and move towards the garden as stealthily as possible while taking out Alphonse’s men.

“Fucking bastards.” Sonny hisses, firing a bullet into another guard’s chest and watching him topple into the swimming pool—seeping blood into it.

“That’s the last of them.” Lorenzo huffs, moving towards the entrance of the garden and reloading his pistol. “I like your fire, Corleone. They never had it coming.”

“These assholes don’t stand a chance with us, brother.” Sonny gives Lorenzo’s shoulder a pat as both men press their backs up against the entrance door. “Ready to give ‘em hell?”

“Never been more ready in my fucking life.” Aiming his pistol toward the door, Lorenzo kicks it down and doesn’t hesitate to fire a few rounds in immediately.

“What’s wrong now, huh?” You breathe out, noticing the storm of bullets has come to an end, leaving no intact door or the protection of windows. “Nothing to protect you anymore.”

“Nice sudden, but will be short-lived confidence, Victoria.” Alphonse keeps his pistol on you, firmly holding you in his arms. “I’m a lot smarter than you think. If they want to come here and corner me, they’ll have to do so knowing your life is now on the line too, darling. I can shoot out your brains and redecorate my Persian rug with another shade of red whenever I want.”

‘Michael… Michael, where are you?’ You let out a shaky breath, keeping your gaze to the windows in case one of Michael’s men or Michael himself spot you and know your exact location within the estate.

Rocco moves to defend around the back where Lorenzo and Sonny’s men begin to rush in after them, and Neri remains close to Michael at all times.

Michael stands by a pile of bodies by the front door, examining the blown-out windows around him but keeping his back away from it just in case.

From where Michael and Neri stand, both of them can clearly hear shouting and gunshots coming from the side entrances and almost exclusively upstairs.

It’s never once eluded Michael that one of the men he’s brought here to protect him and subsequently secure you back home may be the very traitor who helped Alphonse orchestrate the attempt on his life in the first place, hence why Michael couldn’t care less now if either Neri or Rocco dies tonight.

‘This is life or death.’ Michael thinks to himself, keeping completely still as he can hear one of Alphonse’s men now rushing towards the door he’s standing by.

As soon as the front door pulls back, Michael takes a lunging step back and fires his pistol directly into the head of the assassin.

Brain matter and blood splatter over the shattered pieces of the windows, other dead bodies, the front door, and Neri; narrowly missing Michael with the mess but still staining his navy suit with droplets of blood all over.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri before nodding at him, beginning to move inside the estate and take cover underneath the closest staircase.

Neri shakes his head, seeing the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the room leading up to the same place upstairs; dozens and dozens of rooms. “There’s too many to infiltrate all at once, Don Corleone.”

Michael holds his index finger up against his lips, ushering for Neri to remain quiet. “Listen.”

The two remain silent for a moment, listening so keenly that Michael would be expecting to hear bugs crawling in the corners of the estate at this point.

Sounds of a struggle and gunfire only come from some of the rooms upstairs and downstairs, but others remain completely quiet.

“Soundproof,” Neri whispers, figuring it out.

“Exactly,” Michael whispers back.

“Our men can go into each room, but we can’t,” Neri tells Michael. “Mrs. Corleone could be in any one of these rooms.”

Michael’s eyes dart from the doors upstairs over to a piece of something he spots over the carpet on the other side of the foyer.

Michael stealthily moves to the other side of the room, noticing what looks to be a snapped-off piece of a high heel.

Crouching down, Michael points out the piece to Neri, watching his eyes widen.

Michael reaches his hand down to pick up the broken piece of your heel, but not before analyzing the way it’s scraped and dragged over the carpet—pointing to a specific direction down the hallway.

“Victoria’s high heel.” Michael holds up the piece in his hand. “Make no mistake about it.”

“And the mark.” Neri murmurs, following it on the carpet. “This was done on purpose.”

“Victoria left us a little message.” Michael’s eyes fixate on one of the soundproof rooms the marks lead to. “Unless I’m dead wrong—” Michael cocks his pistol, pointing it towards the door. “Someone in specific is armed to the teeth in that room.”

“The angling of the room, Don Corleone.” Neri reminds Michael. “From where our men shot, that was one of the first rooms to be cleared with initial fire.”

“Regardless,” Michael glances back at him. “Going into that room without knowing what exactly we’re facing is suicide.”

“Wait for my signal, sir. I can confirm it from the outside since the windows are completely shot through.” Neri says, beginning to move back.

“Fire a warning round if it’s just that fucking rat in there. Two if it’s fully armed.” Michael orders, beginning to make his way to the door as Neri exits out front.

Neri army crawls over the trail of dead bodies by the porch, remaining out of sight from any of the rooms and windows regardless of whether there’s sound coming from it or not.

Neri’s able to raise his head just a little bit towards the window pane to make out you being forcefully held in the corner of the room in Alphonse’s arms with a gun pressed up to your head.

Although Alphonse remains highly alert and still alarmed, he manages to keep calm with you as the bargaining chip for his life.

Neri also notices both of Alphonse’s capos have bled out to death; the cause being quick shots to the heart with the other holes in their bodies as décor from Michael’s men.

Neri angles his gun towards the inside of the room and holds his breath, firing the one shot to the corpse of one of the capos right by Alphonse.

“There you are, fucker!” Alphonse grunts, firing his pistol three times in the direction of Al Neri.

Narrowly missing, Neri still fakes out a loud cry of pain and throws his body down with a thud onto the other corpses beneath him as a tactic to show Alphonse he’s dead, but in reality, Neri will be waiting there to kill Alphonse himself if anything happens to Michael.

You wince from feeling the heat of Alphonse’s gun firing close to your face, but Alphonse had surprisingly shielded your ear closest to the pistol just before he fired.

As soon as Michael hears a single gunshot, he kicks open the door and aims his pistol directly at Alphonse’s head.

Alphonse is quick to aim his gun right back to your forehead, bursting out in laughter—bordering near insane. “Welcome, Don Corleone! We missed you.”

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of Michael standing in front of you; his suit dripping with fresh blood.

Your semi-relieved, partly stunned expression is immediately noticed by Alphonse. “Ooh, finally the reunion we’ve all been waiting for, huh? Missed this pretty little thing?” Alphonse pulls harshly on a fistful of your hair, causing you to wince in pain.

Michael makes eye contact with you only for a split second, but it’s all that takes for you to tell that behind those cold, emotionless eyes of his that Michael’s more than just relieved to see you.

Alphonse or anyone else for that matter making you cry would be more than enough reason for Michael to kill everyone here, but he’s also noticed your tear-filled eyes and the bloody gash over your forehead with just one, brief look.

“Let her go and face like a man, coward.” Michael places his finger over the trigger of his pistol.

“No, I don’t think so and you won’t persuade me otherwise. I have leverage, can’t you see?” Alphonse gives your face a rough shake. “I had a lot of fun with this pretty wife of yours, but you already know that.”

“You talk too much.” Michael takes a step closer, keeping his gun aimed directly between Alphonse’s eyes.

“I’m already loaded and ready.” Alphonse runs the pistol over your head and through your hair. “And I’ll kill her faster than you can put me out, I guarantee you that.”

“I could have made your death much quicker if you did what I said.” Michael scowls.

“Ha.” Alphonse snorts. “I could say the same for you but here you are, blood on your new suit and no ransom money. I should just kill Victoria because I can—take her to hell with me. Look, seen this yet?” Alphonse pushes the hair out of your face aside, revealing your gash clearly to Michael.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You grunt out.

“I played with her a little too hard and made a bit of a mess, but don’t worry,” Alphonse smirks sardonically. “I kissed it better, see?” He lets his free hand roam up your bare thigh, revealing a peek of your panties in the process to show Michael the bite mark.

“I’m going to enjoy putting you down like a dog just like I did to your own men.” Michael keeps himself calm and steady despite the pure rage he’s never felt before growing inside of him like a wildfire unchecked.

“You don’t even know who you’re talking to!” Alphonse spits out. “I could kill this pregnant bitch and still find a way to take the rest of your family down with you.”

“What I find more amusing is that you expected me to believe you’d give all of your sickest fantasies up for twelve to twenty million dollars?”

Alphonse laughs again out of breath, continuing to hold onto your hair. “You know me so well, Don Corleone. I want Victoria so fucking bad you have no idea. So,” Alphonse aims his pistol back at Michael’s head. “Maybe I should kill you instead, then fuck her in front of your corpse to celebrate!”

You scream and attempt to jerk around in Alphonse’s arms, but it’s much too late. He squeezes his finger around the trigger and fires his pistol…only to hear it click empty.

“What the fuck?!” Alphonse tries firing again and again, but the pistol still clicks empty.

Out of fear, Alphonse’s face drains of color as his hands tremble and the pistol falls to the floor. “You were lucky!”

“I don’t believe in luck.” Michael fires his gun at one of Alphonse’s kneecaps, causing him to let out a blood-curdling scream and let go of you.

Even with a completely shattered kneecap, Alphonse attempts to crawl towards the fireplace after practically throwing you off of him.

Michael quickly pulls you up to your feet by your arm, exchanging a glance with you that shows his relief again, but this time mixed with his own fear that Michael was under the belief he could have lost you.

You can’t even begin to fathom the relief you feel in your heart seeing Michael again, and although there’s never been any doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t, you feel as if with everything you’ve gone through these past two days without Michael’s love and safety is enough to cause you to faint on the spot.

The split second of horror you felt breaking your heart the moment Alphonse attempted to fire his pistol is now replaced with a horrible wave of anxiety as you could have just possibly witnessed your husband’s own death in front of your very eyes.

Without a word spoken to one another, Michael’s quick to throw off the ropes from your wrists—not struggling the least bit with the ties and refusing to take his full attention off of Alphonse now clutching his bleeding knee and attempting to move towards the fireplace to grab the fire poker.

“I had unfinished business with you, Alphonse. Face me when I fucking talking to you.” Michael turns to Alphonse once again, this time shooting his other kneecap and causing Alphonse to scream out and burn his hand in the process.

With your hand binds off, you quickly work the ropes off of your ankles—gritting your teeth and taking in sharp breaths from how badly bruised both your wrists and ankles are; sickening shades of mottled violet.

“E-even if I was going to die from the start, it was all worth it.” Alphonse pants out, unable to move any farther from his broken kneecaps. “J-just to… Just to get you like this is worth my life any day.” He weakly points up at the pistol in Michael’s hands. “And whose the coward now? Facing an unarmed man with a gun. W-where’s your honor, you dog?”

“What the fuck would you know about honor?!” Michael shouts, his voice resonating throughout the room in bitter anger. “Man to man is the way you want it? That’s never been a problem with me.”

Michael tosses his firearm towards you and you quickly reach your hand up to catch it mid-air, clutching it to your chest and still trying to catch your breath.

As you weakly move towards the smashed window before you, you still aim the pistol steadily in case of any further threats or danger.

“Then who would I be if I denied you the opportunity to have your bones broken with my bare hands?” Michael speaks through gritted teeth, pulling Alphonse up to his feet by his shirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Neri pretending to play dead on top of the bodies of Alphonse’s men, and you sigh out in relief seeing he’s personally fine.

“Y-yeah, you’re nothing to me but another fucking army punk.” Alphonse coughs, sneering at Michael.

You can’t nor would you ever distract or stop Michael now, but you know you’re not going to remain in this God-forsaken room any longer like a helpless hostage still.

“Bold words from someone who will never walk, let alone see the light of day again. You were going to kill me and marry my wife? Shame I wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, right?!” Michael snaps back sarcastically.

Before you can even turn back on your heel to look back at Alphonse and Michael, one of Alphonse’s injured assassins makes a break towards the porch but not before you aim and shoot directly at his throat.

“Nice shot.” Neri grunts, leaning up against the house wall.

“T-thanks.” You say back shakily. “No excuse.”

“I’m going to kill you just for thinking about her, you know that?” Michael snatches the fire poker out of Alphonse’s loose grip, raising the pointed edge up to his throat.

Alphonse can barely breathe from the pressure Michael holds over his body, only needing him to make one wrong move to squirm free and kill himself in the process if Michael doesn’t plunge the fire poker into Alphonse’s throat already.

Although Michael doesn’t pay direct attention to it, you, him and Neri are aware gunshots have grown completely silent in the house.

“Jesus fuck!” You hear Sonny’s voice as he and Lorenzo burst into the office room. “There he is! Mike’s got the bastard at last, huh?”

“Victoria!” Lorenzo’s eyes widen when he spots you by the window and his eyes only continue to grow in worry at the sight of your injuries.

“I’m fine, Lorenzo. Really.” You swallow hard, showing Lorenzo the pistol in your hand.

Your brother scowls at Alphonse practically being crushed under Michael’s hands before he runs up to you but hesitates to embrace or touch you. “God, you’ve no fucking idea how glad I am to see you alive and well.”

“Need privacy, Mike?” Sonny smirks at the sight of Alphonse whimpering and wincing under Michael’s grasp.

Michael doesn’t take his eyes off of Alphonse for a second, drawing blood from his throat by continuing to push the tip of the fire poker up into Alphonse’s neck—listening to him grunt out in pain. “Watch me do this and you’re not going to smile for a long time.”

“There isn’t a thing this motherfucker doesn’t deserve and we’ve made this place a house of corpses.” Sonny signals out the doorway for his men to start following out. “By all means, do what you need to do. I’m going out to bring the car over.”

“Make it quick, Mike.” Lorenzo forces himself to stay back, wanting nothing more than to tear Alphonse to shreds with his bare hands if he had the chance to. “Then we’re blowing this shit hole to pieces. We’re leaving nothing behind.”

All Michael demands back is, “take Victoria out. I don’t want her seeing this.”

“Victoria,” Lorenzo gently takes your arm, wrapping it over his shoulder to support your weight and help you get out of the manor considering how deep the bruises are welted over your ankles and with your thigh still quivering from the bitemark it sustained.

You clutch onto your brother like your life depends on it, utterly and completely exhausted but still holding onto your pistol and insistent to get the hell out of here.

“Nobody will bother to even utter your name because they’ll remember what I did here.” Michael watches as Alphonse’s blood begins to drip down the fire poker. “I hate repeating myself, but I’ll never tire of repeating how much I’ve enjoyed taking every single one of you out like flies.”

“Y-you would have never even gotten here if it wasn’t for me.” Alphonse smiles weakly. “I’ll f-face my death like a man if it’s coming to me. Who turned y-you into a bloodthirsty sadist? I did. You’ll have to thank m-me sometime—tell your kids sometime.”

“Give Luca Brasi my best in hell for me.” Michael grunts, gripping the fire poker as tightly as he can in his hand and impaling Alphonse through the eye with it, killing him instantly.

Out of the manor and having seen nothing but heard enough, you almost collapse of exhaustion by the front porch before Lorenzo scoops you up into his arms carefully.

Alphonse’s body drops to a thud as Michael lets go, only pushing the fire poker further through his head.

Alphonse’s corpse remains sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace—his suit jacket wrinkled and turned over revealing a small photograph tucked within the inner pocket.

Michael leans down to quickly take it out of his pocket, examining the photograph to see it’s a recent one taken of you at the Tropigala last month.

The photograph shows you sitting on the edge of a grand piano, wearing a draped, short white dress that hangs off your shoulders, giving a peek of sexy cleavage and flattering your figure.

You had one matching white stiletto loosely dangling off your right foot and barefoot on the left; your hair styled in loose curls, soft smokey makeup over your eyes, and scarlet lipstick.

Michael glances back at Alphonse’s body in disgust, although not the least bit surprised he’d be holding a photograph of someone else’s wife in his pocket.

Michael keeps the photograph for himself, tucking it into the pocket of his dress trousers and walking out of Alphonse’s Silver City manor like he just came out of a dull business meeting—not a massacre leaving over fifty people dead.

“Daddy, daddy!” Michael can already hear the voices of his children ringing out in his head, desperate to return home and reunite with his family safely. “Daddy’s my hero!”

“Where are you going, daddy?” Michael remembers Niccolo asking as he was just about to drive off to Silver City. “Are you going to get mama?”

“I love you, daddy, be safe! Drive super safe!”

The peace and serenity Michael finds in remembering his children’s voices and the memories you and he have made with them is interrupted as Michael can’t get the sickening sound of Alphonse’s hysterical laughter chiming in his head like a broken record.

Michael’s distressing thoughts and remorseless bitterness only fade off his expression once he sees you safely laying in the back seat of his Cadillac; your thigh carefully propped off the seat so as not to touch the bite wound.

“Michael!” You cry, extending out your hand as he approaches the vehicle you’re in.

Michael notices Al Neri is sitting in the driver’s seat next to Ritchie, starting up the car and waiting for him to get in.

Michael pulls open the door and gets inside swiftly; the car takes off amidst the others as soon as Michael shuts the door behind him.

“She’s gonna blow, boss.” Ritchie glances back, opens the window of the vehicle, and gestures with his hand once you’re all at a safe distance to detonate the dynamite set up inside.

Michael cups both hands over your ears tightly as explosions go off in the estate, swallowing it up in raging flames.

You can’t hear Michael speak to you, but you can read off his lips that he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Michael holds you tightly in his arms, careful not to touch any of your bruises or the otherwise horrific-looking bitemark over your thigh—just relieved to have the love of his life back in his arms relatively safe and sound.

Not once did you think about your own life and safety while held ransom with Alphonse. Your mind always went back to the children and the unborn baby inside of you—even Michael, but never yourself for one moment.

The very thought of having to live without Michael or your children for one kills you and as much as you want to stop thinking about it, you know the idea won’t stop haunting you until you’re out of this Godforsaken ghost town.

As Michael holds you in his loving and protective embrace, you can’t help but burst out sobbing in his arms.

“Easy, baby. It’s all over now.” Michael murmurs, slowly pulling back and examining the gash over your forehead before placing one hand over your baby bump. “My God.”

You whimper, feeling your knees grow weak from exhaustion as your thigh continues to tremble from the insisting, stinging pain around the bitemark.

“Jesus Christ, he’s a fucking animal,” Michael mutters under his breath as he notices just how badly Alphonse bit you. “How bad does it hurt baby? We’re going to get you medical attention immediately at home.”

“It’s…” You hiccup, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Not the worst thing in the w-world, believe me.”

“Whole place is on fire.” Al Neri glances at the rear-view mirror, noticing the bellowing smoke trailing behind them back at the estate.

“Let it burn.” Michael scowls, his expression only softening when he gazes back at you. “Baby, you have to tell me what happened in there—not now, but I have to know.”

“Nothing.” You sniffle, looking up at your husband and clutching onto his arms for balance. “Nothing happened.”

“What?” Michael furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean nothing—”

“Omertà.” Your voice quivers.

Al Neri and Ritchie stare at each other for a moment, remaining quiet after hearing you utter the word.

“Omertà,” Michael repeats softly.

“I’ll never talk.” You wipe the tears off your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. “And I never did, even if it would k-kill me.”

Once you arrived back at the Lake Tahoe compound surrounded by dozens of guards and security both in and out of cars, you had no intention of upcoming any of the lies Michael had told the twins other than you were at the hospital with your mother who is still recovering.

The fresh, throbbing gash on your forehead, the deep aching bruises over both your wrists and ankles let alone the deep teeth marks over your badly bruised thigh would never live up to some sort of fantasy-based tale about what “happened” in a hospital.

You’d be upfront with the twins, telling them you and Michael “got rid of all the bad guys” and you got hurt in the process, but that it was nothing serious and you’d heal over time.

You didn’t want the twins to worry about you and just the thought of seeing their little eyes water up as they cry seeing their mother injured would be enough to break your heart for two lifetimes.

You’d have to convince the twins just like how you convinced yourself that you're fine, and all gashes, bruises, and injuries of any kind heal with time and care—something you desperately need.

When Michael scooped you up into his arms gently to bring you inside the compound, you refused to be anywhere else or with anyone else but your husband.

Since you also didn’t want anyone at home to see you before getting medical treatment, your arrival was kept a secret from everyone except your father.

Michael took you inside the boathouse—a pinnacle of privacy—and brought Doctor Katherine in to clean and tend to your wounds. It was a relief to hear from Doctor Katherine after a full examination that your baby was fine too.

You were given some painkillers to help subside the pain from your head; the gash on your temple was now bandaged along with your thigh.

You felt fine, mostly numb with achy muscles just grateful to be free of those tight bounds after being forced to lay down tied up like an animal being brought to slaughter.

It was the bitemark over your thigh that hurt the most because you thought Alphonse was going to tear a chunk of your flesh off of you from how hard he was biting.

The gash being poked open with a switchblade was agonizing enough, but the feeling of having someone’s entire mouth over your thigh biting in with full force is a different type of pain you never want to feel again.

As soon as Doctor Katherine left the boathouse to give you and Michael some privacy, your husband pulled you up on his lap gently where you cried in his arms until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Michael knew what you needed then wasn’t reassurances, but his presence and him alone. He remained quiet, he gently caressed your skin, gave you little kisses, and let you sob your heart out.

“Michael,” you croaked out as you wiped the last bit of tears from your eyes. “You know I could have l-lost you today.”

“Baby, do you hear yourself?” Michael frowned at you. “We could have lost you. Don’t think about me—”

“How couldn’t I?!” You hiccupped, your eyes glassy and filling with tears again. “All I could think of was you and our babies! Our babies…” You put a shaky hand over your baby bump. “Forget me, but not our family—not you.” You narrowed your eyes at Michael and cupped his face weakly. “You scared me half to death back there! Michael, he had a gun held up to your face! How could you approach him like that?!”

“He didn’t have any bullets left in his gun—” Michael began to tell you before you interrupted him.

“But what if he did?!” You burst into tears yet again. “He would have killed you—WHAT IF?!”

“Baby, listen to me.” Michael placed both hands over your shoulders firmly. “I already thought of all that before I came in there to find you. The first thing I looked at was the pistol in his hands—Al and I listened to him firing shots. I would have never approached Alphonse the same way if I knew he even had one more round in that pistol.”

“S-still.” You shook your head and hugged your husband tightly. “I w-was so scared, I don’t even want to think about it. I-I had to at that moment and I just—I can’t. I can’t!” Sobs rack through your sore and aching body. “I was so scared that I would lose you and our babies.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Michael embraced you tightly and comforted you. “I’m here with you and our children. Everything’s going to be alright. That is never going to happen to you ever again.”

Your tears soaked into Michael’s dress shirt and as much as you believed everything he told you and how Michael and Michael alone could relieve your heart of any pain and suffering, you still could not get past the fear of losing your husband forever.

“I-I don’t know what I would do without you. Never being able to see you again, or seeing you d-dead.” You dug your fingernails into Michael’s suit jacket and raised your head up to face Michael. “Never scare me like that again, never! I don’t care what’s h-happening, never do that to me.”

“Never again, darling.” Michael cupped your cheeks and gave your lips a gentle kiss as he felt you whimper against him. “I promise you this. Just the way you want it to be. You know I love you too much to ever think about a day where I can’t be with you anymore, Victoria. Do you know how I felt since you were gone?” Michael’s eyes darted over yours. “I’ve had no peace, not a single moment’s rest and I lied to our own children to protect us but I promised myself I’d get you back and I have you now back with us, safe. I made that bastard pay for what he not only did to you but to all of us.”

“A-always the hero.” You sniffled and weakly smiled at your husband. “I-I knew you’d come. I never doubted you, my love. E-everything you do has a purpose, that’s why I love you, Michael. That’s why I trust you with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine.” Michael lowered his tone to a whisper and spoke softly to you. “I love you and only you so much, Victoria. That is never going to change. Anyday, anytime, I would take a bullet for you and our children gladly. I would die for you, never forget this. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you and our children. The rest of the world can burn for all I care, but they will not have you.”

“I love you, I love you.” You whimpered out weakly and kissed Michael’s lips. “C-can you please just hold me? Everything hurts and… And I just want to be held.”

“Yes, baby, of course.” Michael rubbed up and down your arms, letting you snuggle onto his chest. “For as long as you want, you can lay here in my arms.”

‘This is the life I’ve chosen, the life I’ve lived and continue to live with no regrets, no remorse.’

The last of your silent tears escaped your eyes as you felt the strength, love, and trust in your husband’s embrace; one of the only moments of peace you’ve felt since you returned home knowing everything is finally over now.

‘This has always been about life or death.’

You’re safe, you’re loved, and you’re back home with your children. You’re right where you want to be and nowhere else and you wouldn’t want it differently.

‘Omertà.’

#the godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather xreader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x oc smut

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sourwulf · 3 years

Note

hii i love ur writings! can i request an imagine where the reader is allison’s cousin who moved to beacon hills and stiles has heart eyes on her since the first time he saw her? thank you!

༄ word count — 1.2k

፨ characters — stiles stilinski

☓ tw — none

⊹ cw — none

✎ masterlist

─

you roamed the halls of your new school, searching for your locker. 1108 was the number you were looking for, and when you found it, you let out a relieved sigh. you looked at the paper in your hand at the combination of 18 - 24 - 10, hanging your backpack on the hook inside.

moving halfway across the country to california wasn’t on your agenda for the year. you had to leave your friends, your house, and everything else for “your protection”, which you knew was bullshit.

being an argent, you knew moving was always something you’d have to do. when things got complicated or you and your mom became targets, your dad would pack up all of your belongings and drag all of you to somewhere far from where you were.

this time, it was beacon hills. but this time, it wasn’t just you and your parents. it was the three of you and your uncle chris, aunt victoria, and cousin allison. you were close with allison, and she offered to eat lunch with you every day until you made some friends.

you hadn’t even been at your locker for a full minute before you felt a pair of eyes on you. you looked to your right and didn’t see anyone looking at you, but when you looked to your left, you spotted a boy standing at his locker, staring right at you.

he had a buzzcut, and he was cute. he had his backpack thrown over one shoulder, and he was wearing a flannel, jeans, and a pair of converse. he looked kind.

when you noticed him, he got nervous, his body stiffening. he gave you an awkward smile before quickly closing his locker and shuffling away, meeting a friend at the end of the hall.

you chuckled to yourself and stared down at your schedule, seeing you had biology first period.

—

you sat on the bleachers during your free period, the sunlight making the cool air more bearable. the lacrosse team was doing try-outs, and the boy from earlier was there, although he was on the bench.

you were sat next to allison and her new friend lydia, who made it very clear that she was dating the team captain, jackson.

“who is that?” allison asked, looking at the goalie.

“him? i’m not sure who he is. why?”

as if he could hear them, he looked your direction.

“he’s in my english class.”

ignoring their conversation, your eyes shifted back over to the one with the buzzcut. you’d heard the coach call him ‘stilinski’, but you still weren’t sure of his first name. he groaned as his friend hit the ground after being struck in the face with a ball.

as he began catching the balls, cheers of ‘yeah!’ and ‘woo-hoo!’ left stilinski’s mouth, and he jumped to his feet when he caught jackson’s shot.

he looked around and yelled loudly, “that’s my friend!”

you laughed as everyone cheered, meeting his eye contact.

—

you stood outside the boys’ locker room, waiting for the kid who you knew only by ‘stilinski’. it took a few minutes, but eventually he stepped out, freezing in place when he saw you.

“oh, hey,” he said nervously.

“hey.” you smiled softly and gripped the straps of your backpack. “your friend did good out there.”

he nodded. “yeah, i think even he was surprised.”

a couple of seconds of silence went by before you spoke again. “y/n.”

“stiles.”

“can i ask why you were staring at me earlier?”

his eyebrows raised and his mouth opened as he tried to think of something to say. “uh... i... i didn’t recognize you, i was trying to figure out if you were new.”

“yeah, i am. i just moved here.”

“oh, where from?”

“south dakota. my dad packed us up and moved us here last night.”

“i could give you a tour of the school. i mean, if you want to.”

you broke the eye contact and chuckled to yourself. “i think i’m okay. thanks though.” the bell rang and you looked at the stairs to your right. “i should get going. i’ll see you around, stiles.”

as you walked off, he shouted after you, “are you sure you don’t want that tour?”

“i’m sure,” you responded, not looking back so you could conceal your smile.

—

you stepped into your last class, where you immediately spotted stiles. he was scrambling to finish his homework, an extra pencil stuck out both sides of his mouth.

you chuckled to yourself and walked over, sliding into the seat right next to him.

“oh, hey,” he said, pulling the pencil out of his mouth.

“did you forget to do the homework?”

he nodded. “i got busy last night.”

you reached over and grabbed his paper, which was full of math problems, all of his answers wrong.

“what’s your grade in here?”

“bad,” he stated simply, which made you laugh.

“i can tell. all your answers are wrong.”

he groaned. “do you know how to do them?”

“yeah, i got an a in this class last year. i have to repeat it because i’m new.”

he lit up, adjusting his posture. “well, maybe you could... tutor me.”

you looked at him. “tutor you?”

“mhm.”

“now why would i do that?” you asked sarcastically.

“i don’t really want to repeat this class.”

you nodded. “alright. we can study in the library after school.”

his eyes went wide, almost as if he didn’t expect you to say yes. “wait, seriously? you’ll help me?”

“why not?”

—

“and just multiply the x by two and you’re done.”

he wrote down the answer, still visibly confused. “um... okay.”

“you still don’t understand, do you?” he reluctantly shook his head. “that’s okay. it’s the beginning of the year, i think you’ll be fine.”

he leaned back in his chair and checked the time on his phone. that was when both of you realized it had gotten dark outside.

“shit,” you said to yourself, pulling your phone out of your pocket to see texts from both of your parents asking where you were. “i have to go home.”

you gathered your books in a hurry and shoved them into your backpack, stiles doing the same. he followed you back out into the hallway, walking quickly beside you.

“are your parents overprotective?” he asked, making conversation.

“god, you have no idea.” when you got out to the parking lot, he stopped you. “i really need to get home.”

“i just... i liked hanging out with you. even if we were doing math.”

you smiled. “i liked hanging out with you, too.”

just then, your phone rang again. you looked at the screen to see ‘dad’ displayed across the top.

“hello?” you asked, lifting the phone to your ear.

“where the hell are you? i called and texted you a thousand times.”

“i’m sorry, i was tutoring a friend. i’m on my way home.”

“we’ll talk more when you get here.”

the line clicked, making you roll your eyes.

“i have to go. i’m sorry. i’ll see you tomorrow?”

you pushed yourself on your toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making him go red.

“uh, yeah, tomorrow. yeah. tuesday. school.”

you laughed at his awkwardness. “bye, stiles.”

he gave you a goofy smirk and waved.

you may have just spent hours with him, but you planned on hanging out even more in the weeks to follow.

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nightwishesworld · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing and if you do take request, might I ask for a family night (including Heisenberg) playing Monopoly please? (OC is already in a loving relationship with Alcina and the girls love her)

Oh boy anon, this was by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever written. It’s not my best cause I know zero about the game so I had to try and work around it. Hope you enjoy anyway!

It's that time of the week again in the Dimitrescu castle. The most sacred and anticipated time of the week; not hunting, not harvesting, not even wine tasting... it's game night.

As soon as the sun sets the girls swarm in the drawing room to ready the space for the night's antics. Daniela digs out the game while Sorine opens all the curtains, letting the warm light of the moon shine through, and Victoria lights the fire and torches. It became a ritual not long after you moved into the castle. The girls often confided in you how they wished to spend more quality time with their mother on more than one occasion. Hunting maidens and harvesting their blood was fun, but they've been doing that forever! It was no longer as thrilling as it once was, not it felt more like a chore that needed to be done. And you can't count how many times Alcina admitted to feeling guilty about not giving her daughters more of her time. So when you pitched the idea of a routine game night, you got very little pushback.

The only one who hesitated was Daniela, and only because she insisted on inviting Uncle Heisenberg, which was totally fine. You get along rather well with the werewolf and enjoy his visits. Getting in touch with him was rather difficult though. Most of his visits were spontaneous reasons to see his favorite nieces, while the other few were strictly business-related held by Alcina. It took her some time to locate her brother, but it also gave you some time to make your way back down to your old home in the village to gather your collection of board games and puzzles. Some were missing a few pieces or cards, but they would have to do for now. Worst case scenario you just buy new ones.

When Alcina finally got ahold of Heisenberg he eagerly accepted and promised to start making his way back to the castle; the girls were thrilled. After all, it wouldn't be proper family bonding time without good ol' Uncle Heis.

In the beginning, it was decided that everyone took turns deciding what game they were going to play. The cycle started with you of course, since the whole thing was your idea, then went from oldest to youngest. Everyone had a blast playing against each other and laughing at one another. You can't remember a time you'd seen Alcina laugh so hard, she was almost brought to tears. Everything was just peachy until Victoria, ever the mischief-maker decided you should play Monopoly. The poor Dimitrescu's had no idea what brand of hellish gameplay awaited them. Only an hour and a half in and Daniela had successfully bankrupt her own mother. The proud look plastered on the girl's face would have been more amusing if it weren't for Alcina losing her temper. That was the one time you couldn't wait for the night to end, and hopefully, never play it again.

Much later that night in bed with Alcina curled up on your chest you woke with a chill running down your spine. It's Daniela's turn to pick the game.

Which is how you ended up lounging on your favorite chair by the fire watching Daniela and Heisenberg setting up the board and organizing the money. Again.

Alcina is sat on the floor next to you leaning comfortably against your chair sipping her third glass of wine. "Why are we doing this again?"

You give her a sympathetic smile. "You know why, dearest, it's game night."

She only rolls her eyes at you. "You know what I mean, draga mea. Why monopoly?"

"It was Dani's turn to chose the game. It'll be fun, don't worry Al."

"Yeah Mother," Victoria giggles. "What's wrong with monopoly?"

"You mean other than how overly competitive and childish you all become?"

You were about to open your mouth when Heisenberg started to laugh. "You say 'you all' as if you aren't just as bad."

Alcina chose to ignore him in favor of her wine.

"Ah! Mother's just upset cause she knows I'm gonna make her go bankrupt again," Daniela smiled as her sisters snickered. "I forget, what did you say you were going to do to me, Mother?"

This caused the chorus of giggles to erupt into laughter. "She said she was going to disown you!" Sorine choked out.

"Forging an alliance against your mother is just plain rude! And you-" she points to Heisenberg, "you stole my companion!"

Laughter erupted in the drawing room. You leaned against Alcina's arm as you lost the ability to breathe. "I did not steal them," Heisenberg handed you both your starting $1500. "I was in a financial bind and y/n was willing to make a deal."

"And just like that our alliance was born." You lean forward and fist-bumped the werewolf. "Let's let Al join us tonight, Heis, now we'll be even against the girls."

He ponders for a moment before noticing his sister's golden eyes burning into him and hastily shakes her hand. "Welcome to the team, sis."

Alcina sighed and accepted his hand in a near bone-crushing grip. You tried not to notice the man wincing. "About damn time."

You shot Alcina finger guns with a wink and "pew pew" and she full-heartedly laughs. "What on Hell's earth was that?"

"A dumb human thing, don't worry about it."

"Horray!" Daniela grinned. "Now Mother has a fighting chance."

"Now girls," you chided. "Let's try to keep this friendly tonight, ok? As funny as it was, and it was," Alcina glares at you from behind her wine glass. "We're going to let it go now. No more ganging up on your mother."

The girls gave an innocent smile, "of course y/n."

"Wouldn't dream of it, y/n."

"Cross my heart hope to die!"

Wait, aren't they already dead? You shook your head. Doesn't matter.

"Are we using the same pieces as last time?"

"Might as well," you saw before Daniela can get a word out. "We were all happy with our tokens last time, yes?"

Daniela huffed and crossed her arms. "I want to be the dog!"

"Aw come on, Dani," Sorine says. "I think it's only fair Uncle Heis gets to be the dog."

"Since, ya know, he is a dog," Victoria smirks.

To say the atmosphere of the room was intense would be an understatement. But, you couldn't be entirely unhappy with the course of events either since your alliance was winning. Victoria is bankrupt and Daniela has been sitting in jail for the past three turns. Alcina refuses to sell her Get out of Jail Free card. Oh, how the tables have turned. Daniela, much like her dearest mother, is far too stubborn for her own good. She refuses to pay Heisenberg the $50 to get out of jail and Alcina simply refuses to bail her out. Petty revenge, but entertaining nonetheless. It's after midnight now and you're finding it difficult not to doze off against the vampire's arm. Heisenberg is awake pacing around the room as he lost interest in the stalemate already. He was nice enough to take his heavy boots off so he wouldn't disturb Sorine and Victoria's slumber. His repetitive pace was starting to lull you to sleep. You allow yourself to close your eyes for a minute, listening to Alcina's breathing and Heisenberg's hushed stomping circling around you.

The fire was reduced to crackling embers and you were left shivering under Heisenberg's coat. Out of desperation, you kiss the top of Alcina's gloved hand. "Nu putem termina în dimineața? Hai să mergem la culcare." You know she loves it when you talk in Romanian to her. Hopefully, it will give you the advantage you need to end this ridiculousness.

"I've got her cornered, y/n. A little while longer and she'll crack."

Daniela only squinted her eyes and hissed.

You were about to give up and let yourself fall asleep on Alcina when Heisenberg came stomping over, pure anger painted on his face, and kicked the coffee table over. Sorine and Victoria were startled awake by the crashing sound and snowfall of cards. It was honestly the most magical thing that happened all night. He shouted something along the lines of "Go to bed!" but you couldn't make it out over Daniela and Alcina's screams. They pay you little mind as they chase Heisenberg out of the room and down the corridor, the sounds of vases and antique decor crashing following them as they go.

Sorine stands over you looking at you through bleary eyes, extending her hand to help you up. "Bed?"

A lion's yawn overcomes you and you smile. "Bed."

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady alcina #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #tall vampire lady #lady dimitrescu #monopoly broke me

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toms-cherry-trees · 4 years

Text

Different Is Okay || Victoria Shelby

Summary: Sometimes all a little girl needs is cuddles and reassurance.

Word Count: 1835

Warnings: None

Author’s note: So I originally wrote this with the elder brothers but then I realized that when Victoria was this age they were in the war and even though no one would know that, I knew and I couldn’t get away with lying to myself. So it didn’t turn out quite like I wanted it to but is good enough I suppose. I didn’t check for misspellings because no. Also I got the gif from Google

Taglist: @caelys @carryonmyhomoson @pendragonpants

Let me know if you wanna be in my taglist

When you live amidst tragedy, and you fear picking up the mail in the morning, dreading the arrival of an official letter from the war office, you try and do your best to find joy in the smallest of things, anything to keep you going; to help keep the spirits up and get you out of bed in the morning. For Polly, her little joys included hearing the laughter of her family when they arrived home every afternoon, or when Finn and Victoria brought her little bouquets of flowers picked from the school’s backyard. Just a fleeting moment reminding her that not everything was tragedy in this world and there were still reasons to smile.

One particular afternoon she was just finishing in the betting shop when she heard the front door fling open. Two sets of footsteps stopped right in the entrance, while the third ones passed by in a rush, hurrying up the stairs, followed a few seconds later by the slam of a door. This came as quite a shock, since it was the first time someone missed the chance of sneaking into the kitchen and trying to take out a snack behind her back. Determined to get to the bottom of it, she went to the living room, where she found Ada and Finn sprawled in the sofa, his school bag and her vegetable basket clumsily dropped by the door. Both of them immediately straightened up when Polly walked in

“What happened to Vicky?” Was the first thing to fall off her lips, brows creased with concern. There had been so many changes in her life in the last year, her emotions had been all over the place and every now and then she would have an outburst

“I don’t know. She didn’t want to tell me, but I heard from a boy that the teacher smacked her with the ruler” Finn looked down at the tips of his shoes, almost as if he was expecting to be scolded for not protecting his sister, even though he had no control over that. He promised to be the man of the house while his brothers were in France and look after his sisters.

Pol pursed her lips so hard; they almost disappeared into a thin line. Whenever these little devils stepped out of line, she was the first one to pull out the wooden spoon; but when it came to someone else laying a hurting hand on Finn or Vicky, that was totally unacceptable. She was their guardian and therefore the only one allowed disciplining them, even if Victoria had tried to set the damn schoolhouse on fire.

“Did she tell you why it happened?” If she was about to raise hell in the director’s office she might as well know why.

“We couldn’t get her to talk. Not even when I offered to buy her a piece of candy” Ada chimed in, finally standing to hang her coat on the hook and get the fresh food into the kitchen “Maybe you can get her to open up”

And that was exactly what Polly planned to do. As silently as possible, she climbed up the stairs and pushed open the door to the kids’ bedroom. Victoria was curled up on her bed, head stuffed under her pillow and still wearing her school dress. Normally, Polly would scold her for not taking off her clothes and let them wrinkle, but at the moment she knew better than to push it. Carefully, she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand motherly rubbing the girl’s back in circles. She had the softest spot for Victoria and hated to see her like this

“What happened sweetie?”

“Go away” The trembling in her little voice was a clear sign that the sadness hadn’t stopped; it was odd for Victoria to hold bitterness for such a long time.

“Come on poppet. Tell auntie Polly what’s wrong” Since her niece seemed adamant in staying hidden, Pol had no other choice but to pull her out by her legs and sit her in her lap. The six year old girl’s eyes were puffy, her lower lip pushed out in a pout as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves.

“Leave me alone” She tried to slip away, but her aunt was quicker and secured her arms around the girl’s waist to keep her steady. Her soft hands pushed away some dampened strands of hair and wiped away the still spilling tears with her thumbs.

“Finn said your teacher hit you today. Is that true?”

“I hate her. She’s horrible and I don’t want to see her again. I don’t want to go to school ever again”

Those words caused Polly to sigh. Victoria had just turned six a few months ago, and transitioning her from her sweet life in home to school had been hard; especially because her brothers had promised to walk her into her classroom in her first day and pick her up every day. She had taken the promise so seriously that poor Ada had to drag her by the sleeve down the streets while the child kicked and screamed that she wouldn’t go without Arthur, Tommy or John. It still hurt her to think how much the boys had missed out and would continue to miss on their younger siblings growing.

“Now now, why don’t you tell me first why did she hit you? Did you do something naughty? I promise I won’t get mad if you tell me”

Vicky opened her mouth to speak, but quickly became choked on her sobs again. Whatever had happened clearly had distressed her. After a few minutes of gentle rocking and back rubs, the girl pulled herself together enough to reach into her bag and pull out a crumpled piece of paper, which she handed out gingerly.

“The teacher said we had to draw our family with our mama and papa. She said my drawing was wrong and threw it in the bin. I yelled at her and she got angry”

The explanation didn’t quite make sense to Polly until she smoothed out the paper in the bed. The drawing was clumsy, with thick strokes and some spots where the lines had been blotched by tears. There were seven people holding hands, each one with their names underneath. In the middle were Vicky and Finn, with Ada grabbing onto Finn’s other hand. In the other side came Polly and the boys, with the eldest brother hand in hand with Vicky. It was the tags written underneath which made Polly’s throat tighten.

Papa Arthur, Papa Tommy, Papa John, Mama Polly.

All the names were surrounded with clumsy little hearts. Even without the writing, Polly would have recognized each one right away; obviously Victoria would never forget that Arthur was the tallest of them all, or add Tommy’s cigarette and John’s toothpick. Polly had a nest of curls on top of her head, and Ada had high heels and her handbag.

Pol swallowed thickly, not sure how to continue. The subject about Mr. and Mrs. Shelby was never touched in home, especially not around the kids. Curiosity was bound to get the best of them someday, and Victoria had been asking questions for a while that the family had managed to the best they could. They all truly hoped for her own sake that she would just settle with what she had been told and move on with her life.

“Poppet, why… why did you say that we are your parents? You know Arthur, John and Tommy are your brothers and I’m just your auntie” The woman tried to be as gentle as possible with her explanation, sitting Victoria on her lap and smoothing back her hair.

“Because you are my mommy and daddies too!” She explained, obviously not seeing any flaws in her logic “Arthur carries me over his shoulders like the dad from next door did with the twins. Tommy tucks me in and tells me stories like Mary’s dad. John gives me sweets before dinner and tickle’s me like George’s dad. And you brush my hair and dress me in the morning like Gwen’s mommy”

Vicky had obviously been feeling this way for a while. Ever since hearing about the stuff her school friends did with their parents, and comparing them with what she did with her family, the little girl came up with the obvious conclusion that all her elders were her parents, and in her opinion there was nothing wrong with that.

Polly had to admit she was touched by this, in a beautiful but bittersweet sort of way. It had been so long since anyone called her mum… And knowing her niece felt that way about her somehow filled in a bit of the emptiness that had settled inside her heart years ago, while also making the longing and sorrow a lot more painful. She had to blink away a few tears and clear her throat to find her voice again.

“You know sweetie? I think your teacher is wrong. Families can be different and that’s okay. Some kids don’t have a dad, and some have one. You have three dads and that is okay too. Is just a little different. And there is nothing wrong with being different. She bumped her finger against Vicky’s nose, eliciting a giggle from her “Don’t you ever forget that”

The girl’s mood had clearly improved with her aunt’s approval, and tears no longer clouded her childish, innocent eyes. All she needed was a little reassurance and love from her mama/aunt “I think having three dads makes me special. Because that means I get extra love. And when you have extra you can give more love to others like Ada and Finn and you” Victoria jumped into her aunt’s arms, holding tightly onto the woman’s neck, clinging to her just like a toddler would do.

Polly couldn’t help but laugh. Even in the gloomiest of days, this little ball of joy could get a smile out of her, either with her adorableness or her mischiefs. Some nights she wondered what would have become of this family if Victoria hadn’t been around during their hardest times.

“That is just right poppet. You have so much love to give, that we have to give it to everyone in the family. You know what? I want you to make more drawings like this one, so we can send them to your brothers while they are away. Would you do that for me? I’ll even buy you some new coloured crayons to make it extra pretty”

At the idea of getting the new crayons she had been asking for weeks, Victoria jumped up in excitement, peppering her aunt’s face with little kisses before rushing downstairs to tell Finn the good news. The little solitude gave Polly some time to wipe off her tears before following her niece down.

Sometimes the bests of joys require shedding a little bit of tears.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #shelby sister #peaky blinders x sister oc #victoria shelby #polly gray #polly shelby #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #my work #my writing #shelby sister oc

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vague-and-aloof · 3 years

Text

GETTING TO KNOW YOU CHAPTER 3 - SNEAK PEEK

Well, I promised you guys a sneak peek of the next chapter, and here it is! Hope you’ll like it!

———

Mistoffelees had never invited another cat home before, not even as a kitten. When he started going to school his father had already started to tell him that magic scared other cats and this had resulted in him not even trying to make friends or get too close to other cats. So asking any of his classmates if they wanted to come with him to play at his house was never an option. So he wasn't quite sure what to do as he led Tugger into his house, unlocking the door to find the house empty.

"Looks like father isn't home yet." He said as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat hanger and toed off his shoes. "And Victoria was going to be with Plato after school, so we have the house to ourselves."

"Lucky us." Tugger said a little vaguely as he shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it next to Mistoffelees' before taking another good long look at the hallway with wide eyes. "Wow, this place is nice. Like, really, really nice." He turned back to Mistoffelees, kicked off his boots before placing them by the other shoes. "Your dad must be seriously loaded if you can afford living in a damn mansion! I mean, my dad's pretty well-off too, but not like this."

Mistoffelees smirked cheekily and shrugged. "I don't know if I'd call it a mansion, but yeah, I suppose it is a pretty nice house."

Tugger whirled around and stared at him, very much like how Plato had stared at Victoria the first time he had come by their house. "Pretty nice? Understatement of the decade! When you said that your dad makes millions of pounds a year, I thought you were exaggerating."

Laughing softly, Mistoffelees shook his head and started to lead Tugger further into the house. "Well, in a way I suppose I was and wasn't. Father comes from a very wealthy family, so he already had a big sum of money to his name. But he also owns a lot of very popular and upscale clubs in the city, which makes him a lot of money every year. A big sum of that money goes back into his clubs, in order to keep making those big sums of money. But he still gets to keep-" He paused to think for a moment. "Hm, I believe about 50 percent of it. So if he makes 5 million pounds in one year, he still gets to keep 2.5 million."

Tugger's jaw looked like it was close to falling off his face as he stared at Mistoffelees. Then he blinked and started to quietly mumble under his breath and counted on his fingers, then his eyes widened. "Dude, that's still 200 000 pounds a month! What the hell does he even do with that much money? Your bills can't be that much!"

Laughing again, Mistoffelees held up his paw and started counting on his fingers. "Cleaning staff, personal chef, tuition and school related costs, top of the line dancing gear and instructors for me and Victoria, his own personal parties... food." Mistoffelees sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. "Lots and lots of food. It's all very good food, the best he can find, but it's all a bit much. Especially since Victoria and I don't eat anywhere near as much as he does."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "There are cats starving in Africa and here we are, buying enough food to feed an entire army for months every week. It's sad, really." Then he shook his head again and turned back to Tugger with a small smile.

"And of course he gives me and Tori an allowance every month. But he only gives us a small amount, I don't think he's ever given us more than a hundred pounds each. He says he has no problem paying for school and the things we need or make us happy, but he doesn't want us to rely on him for everything. He values hard work and working for your success and doesn't want to spoil us to the point where we expect him to hand us everything in life."

Tugger nodded and tilted his head to the side. "Hm, that's pretty smart. Don't want to spoil your kids so they end up like Amaryl."

This made Mistoffelees laugh and he covered his mouth with his paw. "No, you really don't." He took a deep breath and licked his lips. "My father and I have different views on a lot of things, but I respect that he has always wanted to teach us the value of hard work and encouraged us to find our own success rather than lean on his wealth."

They entered the dining room and Mistoffelees placed his bag in one of the chairs, prompting Tugger to do the same. "Let's sit in here. It's the most comfortable place to do homework in."

Mistoffelees, still very unsure of what to do, remembered how his father usually treated his guests when he invited his friends over and made his way towards the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, by the way? Water, tea, coffee?"

Tugger grinned widely. "Yeah, can I have some fur dye in my coffee?" Both of them started laughing for a good long minute before calming down.

"Well, I don't think we have any fur dye in the house at the moment, unfortunately, but I can go and get some of my father's fur tonic if that's alright." This got them laughing again before Mistoffelees waved at him to come with him into the kitchen.

"It's probably best that you make your own coffee, so you can pick what you want for yourself."

Their coffee machine was very nice, made out of metal and black plastic with a touch display showing several different kinds of coffee you could have. From regular coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte and much more. The Deuteronomys' had a similar one back at home, but the one they had could only make coffee, espresso and cappuccino. Tugger tended to make two cappuccinos at once in a big cup, which was fairly similar to a latte but not quite the same. This was a bit more luxurious, that was for sure.

He looked up at Mistoffelees, who was rummaging around in a cupboard for tea bags. "I thought you said you weren't a big coffee person."

Mistoffelees paused in his rummaging to turn and look at Tugger, one eyebrow raised and his mouth a straight line. "Oh, yeah you're right, I'm not. I suppose we really should just get rid of it then, since there's no one else in this house who likes to drink coffee." He turned back to the cupboard and took out a box with tea with a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, what a waste of two thousand pounds."

At first Tugger smirked and turned back to the display, but then his words registered in his brain and he whirled around to stare at Mistoffelees. "Your dad bought a coffee machine for two thousand pounds?!"

Groaning loudly, Mistoffelees turned around to Tugger with a large tea mug in his paw which he placed on the counter before filling it with hot water. "Yes, that was my reaction too. I couldn't believe that he'd spent that much money on a coffee machine when there are so many others out there at a much more reasonable price. But he and Victoria both really love coffee so they wanted the best they could find." He poured a little milk into his tea and then turned back to Tugger. "Me, I'm fine with just sticking with tea and the occasional cup of coffee. Never saw the appeal in it and I still don't."

Tugger kept staring at him for a good long minute before he finally blinked and turned back to the coffee machine, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. "The life of the one percent." Which prompted a small chuckle from Mistoffelees.

His own family was far from poor, they were limited to one income since it was only their dad working to support them all. Munkustrap had a part-time job at a bookstore and was able to pay for some of his things himself and though Tugger had tried to find a job too, he'd had no luck yet. So while they did have money, they did not have this much money that they could throw on a coffee machine.

"The day I become rich," He said, accepting a mug from Mistoffelees and pressed on the screen to make himself a latte. "I am going to buy myself a house like this and fill it with all of the expensive stuff, just because I can. And I'll commission huge paintings of myself that'll hang all over the damn house! Screw all of that typical rich-cat facade, I'll have five rooms with instruments, video games, an actual movie theatre in the living room and a damn bowling alley in the basement."

Mistoffelees snorted and shook his head. "You act as though there aren't rich cats out there in the world who have all those things."

@uppastthejelliclemoon @soh-da-meatball @storyweaverofgondor @whitmerule @demandra @i-overanalyze-musicals @rainbowratsstuff @rainbow-donkey @tigerstripes-and-leopardspots @tigertail94 @roxycake @roselessart

#jellicle arts for jellicle cats #cats the musical #cats musical #my writing #fic #my fic

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pacific-rimbaud · 3 years

Note

27 - panville (lets pretend its after their wedding) (lets also pretend this isnt me trying to extend bright objects epilogue in every way I can) (but just because you are the real queen of this ship)

Drabble #27: “I’m pregnant.”

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Neville Longbottom

Tags: WWII AU, unplanned pregnancy, hospital, brief mentions of war

Wiltshire, May 1944

“I’ve had a letter.”

Lavender’s voice dipped to a conspiratorial low, as though a letter was a secret Pansy both had an interest in and ought to be party to.

“From which one?”

Pansy shut off all attention to Lavender and inspected the label on a bottle of morphine tablets. Finding it sound, she filed it away in the back of the second shelf from the top in the medicine cabinet, and made a sharp graphite tick on the inventory form.

“Lieutenant McLaggen. The fellow from Dunfermline. Oh, thank you.” Lavender received a wrapped bundle from one of the laundry girls, and set it down on the center of the table on the opposite side of the room. “He’s going to be in London next month, and wants me to come over on the train.”

Ticking at her form, Pansy fitted away a third vial, made another tick, and then filed a fourth in a martial row moving forward in the cabinet.

“You need to be careful with all that,” she said.

“Oh, I am.” Lavender checked the tag on the laundry. “I might seem silly, but I’m not daft.”

Pansy scraped her pencil so hard against her form that it tore a small hole in the page.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You alright?” Lavender asked, hand paused at the task of untucking the edges of the bundle.

“I’m fine.”

Lavender laid out the edges of the cloth wrapping, removed a stack of cloth face masks, and set them on the shelf in front of her. “It’s only you look a bit flushed, Pans.”

Pansy tightened the aperture of her attention down to a ruthless diameter, wide enough for nothing beyond the minute detail of dates printed on pasted labels and the tick of her freshly sharpened pencil.

Once the old bottles were secured at the front of the shelf and the new ones filed behind them, Pansy closed the cabinet doors and brushed her hands against the cotton of her pinafore.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said, her shoulder nearly glancing against Lavender’s on her way out the door.

“Alright, love,” Lavender called after her. “I’ll tell you about the letter I’ve had from Second Lieutenant Creevey when you’ve come back.”

For a long while, Pansy had thought of the hospital as a cheap robe hung on the exalted bones of Thornwood Abbey. The war would end, and it would fall away as immaterial and disposable as the wrapping on a parcel.

No stain, no echo, no vibration of its requisition would be left behind.

It would be her sanctuary once again, and only hers, free to take her tea in solitary silence by the large window in the drawing room, watching the mallards dabble in the lake.

As it was, the drawing room was filled with men who sent up prayers to God if they woke with a headache from the anesthetic.

Day by day, Pansy felt the memory of her home drain away, replaced as it needed to be by the urgent and essential now.

She passed Daphne in the hall outside the room where her servants used to eat their dinner. She intended to keep up her pace and offer nothing beyond a tip of her head, but Daphne slipped her hand into the crook of Pansy’s elbow.

“Your captain is looking for you,” she said quietly. “I’ve tried to deflect him, but I think he’s gone to Pomfrey already and knows you’re here.”

A voltaic shimmer traveled down the surface of Pansy’s skin and back up again.

“Fucking hell.”

Pansy turned around and stalked off in the other direction, abandoning the idea of a turn around the rose garden.

She nearly escaped to the nurse’s dormitory that was once her own, solitary boudoir.

But naturally he recalled the narrow service stairs in the east wing, and opened the door to descend just as she arrived at the top.

“Pansy,” he said, almost breathless with a sort of half-panic. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Neville.”

He held his hat at his side, pinched between his spare, muscled fingers.

His hair was never fully tamed, and the impacts of having put his hat on his head and then removing it again made themselves clear.

Pansy flattened herself against the wall of the confining stairwell, grasping her own forearms in her palms behind her back.

“Well?” she asked. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, fluidly performing the impatience and imperious nonchalance that constituted the entirety of her personality as far as most people were concerned.

“I’m leaving.” He breathed in, an intake of air meant to fortify and compose. “Today. Just now, actually.”

His dark eyes scanned her own, but her vision caught on the pink line of scar tissue running from below his left ear, over his cheekbone, through the outside third of his left eyebrow, then turning back to end in a jagged half circle at the hairline at his left temple.

The scar and a Victoria Cross he kept folded in a handkerchief at the back of his top bureau drawer were the only mementos he had been given for a wound that had done everything in its power to end his life.

The desire to trace it with her fingertips flooded her with so much force that she pinched the skin of both her arms hard enough with her fingernails that she sucked in a breath through her nose.

“I wish you all the luck, then, Captain,” she said, leaning hard into the clipped tones of her breeding to mask the quaver in her throat.

“Pansy, please.”

She might have persisted—would have persisted—had he been any other man, but his hand was at her hip, and then his elbow was crooked behind her nape, and she was in his arms, sighing against the mouth that had been mercifully spared of injury for her own selfish, covetous, unappeasable use.

“I’m going to write to you,” he muttered against her jaw.

“I told you. I won’t read them.”

“I don’t care.”

Pansy took his hand in hers, and folded it over her breast.

She might have known better. Should have known better.

He made her mindless with want.

His hand closed hard, in the way that she liked best, over her too-tender breast, and she gasped with the pain of it.

He pulled back instantly, skin flushed and lips heated for her, and stared at her with an expression of hurt and confusion that she hated, instantly and forever.

“Pans, I’m so sorry. I—”

She prayed, earnestly, fervently, for his stupidity.

But there was only one time she’d known him to be a fool.

His thinking was both careful and thorough, and after a moment his skin paled.

“You’ve been avoiding me for a week,” he said.

She wouldn’t tell him.

She refused.

He would go, and meet the enemy at the door with nothing to remind him of her except the knickers she’d folded into his pocket on the afternoon he’d first taken her, breathless, his scar still red, against the grass bordering the rushes at the edge of the lake.

He would go, and there he would be stupid, beating back disaster with the hard brick of his self-sacrificial love.

Maybe he would come back to find her Miss Parkinson of Thornwood Abbey, sitting in her drawing room with a cup of tea.

Maybe he would come back to find her another man’s wife.

Maybe he would come back with no desire to find her anywhere.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.

“Pansy.”

She was hard as flint.

She was so soft.

She could have told him the hour of the disaster with devastating precision.

Lying on her back, a prohibited object in his bed, she’d been lost with him moving in her, bleary eyes half closed, muting her voice against the sweat at his shoulder, heels at the small of his back holding him tight to her as she gasped out that she loved him.

She had hoped he hadn’t heard, but outside the borders of her own unbearable arc of sensation, she was aware that he’d finished inside her.

If she’d moved immediately after, it might have been possible to have done something, but she couldn’t care about anything beyond how it felt to be held in his arms.

In the dreary dark of the stairs, he studied her with dogged and patient intelligence.

And then his fingertips stroked down her belly, and flexed over the secret below.

He moved quickly then, ducking down and tossing her over his shoulder, and marching with singular purpose up the stairs to the second floor.

Below her, the familiar carpet of her ancestral hall streaked away from the backs of his heels.

He finally stopped at the mahogany door to what was once the least-offered guest bedroom in the east wing, and pushed it open with startling force.

He set her down on her feet in the middle of the room, and tightened one of his long arms around her waist.

The chaplain sat at his desk ramrod straight, auburn hair slicked into an adamant wave over his forehead and spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He cradled a pen in his hand, poised over a sheet of paper.

“Captain Longbottom. Nurse Parkinson,” he said, mannerly and terse. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m going to need you to marry us, Father Weasley,” said Neville. “Straight away.”

Father Weasley laid his pen down in a strict perpendicular to his page, and folded his hands together at the edge of his desk.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to submit the proper paperwork. Then Major Weasley will have to approve. He’s on leave in Devonshire at the moment,” he said, shifting his pen a millimetre to the right, “and isn’t expected to return until Tuesday.”

“Get Brigadier General Moody to sign off on it. He’s downstairs in the wards.” Neville’s hand tightened on Pansy’s waist. “I’m...that is so say we’re—”

He turned to Pansy, pink-cheeked, eyes shining, and smiled with half his mouth like an absolute clot.

Pansy couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead she stared hard at Father Weasley until he puffed a beleaguered breath through his nostrils.

He looked at the face of his wristwatch, then drew open a drawer at the side of his desk, and pulled out a blank form.

“You’ll need a witness.”

Neville released Pansy’s waist, stalked to the door and stuck his head out.

“Malfoy,” he called out. “You’re needed.”

Half a minute later, Captain Malfoy strolled through the door entirely unbothered, half-eaten apple in hand.

“Hullo. What’s going on then?” he asked.

“Give me your ring,” said Neville.

Malfoy looked down at the emerald ring on his little finger.

“What do you want my ring for, Longbottom? Go and get one of your own.” He looked Pansy up and down. “Where’s your wee cap gone, Pans?” He took an enormous bite of his apple. “I shouldn’t think the priest has it.”

“Father Weasley’s marrying us just now,” said Neville. “You’re needed as witness.”

Malfoy laughed. “What? Right now? What’s the bloody great rush?”

“I’m pregnant, idiot,” said Pansy.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Well that’s extremely naughty of you.”

With an effort, he pulled the ring off his finger and tossed it to Neville.

“You’d better have something a fair sight better than that in your vaults, Longbottom. I hope you’re aware that our Pans has champagne taste.”

Pansy tucked her hair over her ear. “Fuck off, Draco.”

While Father Weasley scribed at the form, Pansy tucked her hand in Neville’s, and turned to face him.

“I’m going to write to you,” he said quietly, rolling Draco’s ring in his fingers. “Constantly. I don’t care whether you read them.”

For two weeks, Pansy had watched the mirror with mounting terror.

She’d seen her soft, glassy eyes. Her swelling breasts. The heat rising visibly at the surface of her skin.

Fatigued and faint, nauseated and utterly sick with love and longing, she shifted to fill the open geometry of Neville’s body.

“Normally we’d get two days, Pans, but we’re...I can’t—”

She pulled up on her toes, and his arms tightened around her, lifting her nearly off the floor and into the warm space he kept reserved for her at the side of his neck.

“Were you going to tell me?” he whispered hoarsely.

“You can’t worry,” she muttered against his pulse. “You’re not allowed.”

“I’m going to use every last piece of paper I’m given.” He pressed his face into her hair. “I don’t care if you read a single one.”

Pansy breathed him in, using every sense to press him hard into the soft wax of her memory. “I’m going to read them all.”

#Pansy Parkinson #Neville Longbottom #panville #paneville #slytherdornet #hp rarepair

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threeletterslife · 3 years

Text

01 | Ignis Fatuus

→ part 1 | part 2

→ summary: Who knew six grown men plus stupid Jeon Jungkook were so whiny? You're out here in a fucking zombie apocalypse for God's sake. They need to grow the fuck up. And while all of you are waiting for the zombies to eat your brains, why don't you play a nice game of rated-R never have I ever?

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | NC-17

→ genre: 60% crack, 40% angst | apocalypse!au

→ warnings: profanity, depictions of blood, gore and death, sexual innuendos, crude humor

→ wordcount: 26k

cr.

Jeon Jungkook's taut thigh muscles are digging against your own, making you grit your teeth and glare at the rather annoying individual. The city bus bumps along with the dips on the street, pushing the man way too close to you. You can even smell his spearmint cologne.

"Jeon, I swear to fucking god if you scoot any closer to me, I'm going to swing your head off with my bat," you threaten menacingly, already tightening your grip on your beloved softball bat.

To your dismay, Jeon Jungkook gives you a cheeky grin before leaning his perfectly fit body on you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder with calculated subtlety. "Oh, Y/N," he chuckles under his breath, fingers dancing around the handle of his own baseball bat. "You forget that I also have a bat with me. Besides," he hums, squeezing your shoulder, "you and I both know your threats are always empty. I think you told me you were going to dislocate my neck at least a thousand times before. My neck's still fine, as you can clearly see."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever, Jeon," you mutter before leaning against his chest in defeat.

Your relationship with Jeon Jungkook is quite questionable. It would be weird to call him your friend, but even weirder to call him your enemy. Jungkook was... an acquaintance... who you merely got a bit touchy with at times. In a way, he was kinda like your fuck buddy, minus the fucking, of course. A friend with benefits minus the friend and benefits. None of that made any sense whatsoever. But that's just how fucking complicated your relationship with him is.

You'd first met the 19-year-old on the bus, catching him unabashedly eyeing you up and down. You boldly called him out for that. That bus ride was awkward because you'd spent the whole time tugging down your shorts and glaring at Jungkook, and he'd glared at you right back because apparently, he hadn't been checking you out that day. (He had been shamelessly ogling at the Victoria's Secret ad plastered on the wall behind the window of your seat.) But you didn't know that at the time, of course.

It was even worse when you got off at the same stop—at the practice field. But an unlikely 'friendship' had blossomed after that day. There was something about that Jeon Jungkook that was captivating to you, and there must be something about you that had captivated Jungkook. Ever since that incident, the two of you wordlessly saved each other seats on the local bus, and once at the field, he always walked you to your softball practice field before he sauntered off to play baseball.

Despite the constant bickering between the two of you, you swear leaning up against him, or having him wrap his arm around you feels natural.

You're just too damn stubborn to admit it out loud.

Looking up, you get an unobstructed view of Jungkook's sharp jawline, how his nose stands in all the right angles, and how his eyes sparkle when he—oh shit—your eyes meet his. Mission abort! Mission abort!

He caught you checking him out.

Oh god no. Your face flushes red, dreading what kind of saucy comment Jungkook would have for you.

But to your surprise, he squeezes you tighter, holding you close to him as his eyes are trained straight in front of him. "What in the world..." he breathes.

"What?" you mutter, confused. Your eyes trail up to follow his line of vision.

Oh, what the fuck.

"Isn't it too early for Halloween get up?" You frown, cocking your head at the mangled figure that's slowly limping its way towards the stopped bus. But one figure quickly becomes two, then, three, four, five, ten—twenty. All staggering towards the bus.

You can only seem to focus on the hoard of hobbling figures as your eyes follow their every jagged move. But one moment you're shaking your head in disdain at cheesy 'costumes,' the next you feel bile rushing up your throat.

One of the mangled figures hobbles up to an innocent pedestrian on the street and attacks them. And not like how a normal human being would do—not with fists, or some man-made weapon. But with decaying teeth. You see with your very own eyes a... a monster bite through the neck of a human—and although you are too far away, you swear you heard the crunch of bones. You most definitely see blood.

It's so horrific, the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall.

The innocent victim's screams are silent, mouth open, neck gashed apart by their attacker. Their blood is splattered everywhere and their eyes are glossed over. Lifeless. Dead. Soon to be undead.

Oh my god.

You jerk your head away, unable to look any further, placing your hand on your heart in an attempt to calm it down—no use. Your breaths become shallow and quicken as you grip your fists in order to keep yourself from vomiting and making the situation worse than it already is.

Oh god. Oh, fuck.

The images of blood and gore are sealed to your head. It's too real to be fake.

It pains you to realize that... that this is obviously not some Halloween get up.

"Fucking hell, Y/N... I don't think those are people," Jungkook says, holding you protectively in his arms. "They look a lot like—"

"ZOMBIES!" a man in a crisp, black suit shrieks, jumping up and running to the very back of the bus to where you and Jungkook are sitting.

"ZOMBIES!" the others on the bus scream in response.

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" Suit Man hollers, curling up in the back seat as he rocks back and forth. With his neat and tidy suit, he definitely looks like he doesn't belong in a public transportation vehicle. In fact, he looks like he's never even used any public service. The kind of person who probably owns a private jet or something. "GET ME MY SECRETARY!" he shrieks.

He is not helping.

Another man stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. His dyed dirt blond hair sweeps just above his eyes and you can see his dimples when he presses his lips into a thin line. "Hey, bus driver?" he calls.

The bus driver grunts. "What?" he yells. His hands are shaking, but he's doing a hell of a good job maintaining a steady hand on the wheel.

"Maybe we should turn on the radio?" Dimples Man suggests. "We need some sort of explanation for this!!"

"Um, maybe we should, I don't know, drive away first???" another man suggests. He's clutching a Gucci messenger bag and nervously twists an Apple Watch on his wrist. He seems a lot like the younger version of Suit Man—except he was just born rich with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"The zombies are coming towards us!" Jungkook shouts. "Of course we need to drive away!" He squeezes your arm. "We need to get home, now!"

"You and your girlfriend can wait!" Suit Man hollers. "I want to go to my penthouse suite, first!"

"Why are you a priority?!" a man with puffy cheeks and plump lips argues. "We all have equal rights in a crisis! Cop in training!" he huffs, holding out an official-looking badge. "Bus driver, step on the gas!"

The bus driver rolls his eyes. "I do whatever the fuck I want on my bus."

Contrary to his unyielding attitude, he clicks on the radio and simultaneously steps on the gas.

Everyone lurches backward and some of the men who were standing fall down. For a few seconds, it's all chaos—shouts and yells bounce off the walls of the bus. All until the fuzzy crackles of the radio emit from the speakers.

Then, everyone becomes dead silent, waiting to hear what the news had to say.

But the radio static is so serious, you're unable to make out a lot of the words.

"... Inside... Not... Anywhere... Stay Inside..."

"What the fuck is wrong with your radio??" Suit Man complains.

"It's not my radio, you idiotic swine. The problem's not from my end," the bus driver snaps.

"Idiotic swine?!?! How dare—"

"Oh shut up, will you??" a man who had been quietly sitting down this whole time laughs. He twiddles a frying pan in his hands before he says, "Stay inside?? Don't you think it's too late for us to do that?"

Suit Man scowls, slumping down in his seat and grumbling about how important he is and how much he needs his secretary—who's apparently not answering his frantic texts and calls.

Abruptly, the bus driver swerves to the right to avoid limping zombies, but he manages to run some of the monsters over anyway. The bus hovers over the air for a few seconds, then crashes down on the road, jerking everyone in their seats.

You and Jungkook say nothing, you holding onto Jungkook and Jungkook holding onto his seat. But the others are more vocal.

"Hey, who taught you how to drive, motherfucker?!" Gucci Man yells.

The cop holds up his hands. "Are you even going under the speed limit??"

Oh my god. These men are driving you insane.

And just when you thought it couldn't get worse:

"No... Origin... Rapidly... Increasing..." the radio suddenly buzzes.

"Well, great," Dimples Man sighs. "Seems like the cases are multiplying out of nowhere. Maybe it's some kind of new virus. An epidemic, if you please."

"Oh, sit down, doctor boy," Suit Man yells at the tops of his lungs. "No one cares about the how. Right now, we focus on getting away from these monsters!"

Jungkook slips his hands into yours. The two of you look out the window to see the zombies chasing after the bus from behind. They're thankfully too slow to catch up to the bus driver's 85 miles per hour reckless driving, but they're not as slow as some movies depict them.

You watch the turmoil unfold behind you, disgusted and terrified at the same time. There are zombies trying to knock their heads against the glass to get into stores where trembling families are waiting to fight. Zombies biting the necks of victims. Blood spurting everywhere and painting the streets in crimson red.

You have to look away after some time.

It's too much to process.

The bus driver continues to make random twists and turns, making the bus lurch every which way every few seconds. The six men continue to argue, raising their voices over each other until you can't even make out what they're saying.

They're acting like babies, you think. You admit, you're terrified, which is exactly why you haven't said one single word out loud yet. Jungkook taps your shoulder, leaning into you. You catch a whiff of his cologne and strangely, it relaxes you.

"Hey," he whispers. "You okay?"

You manage to nod.

"Think this has spread to other cities yet...? Other states?"

Oh god.

The thought of that is horrific.

"I... I hope not... My family's in a state across the country though..." you manage to say in a low voice.

"Same..."

This time, it's your turn to ask a question.

"Do you think we'll ever get to our homes?"

Jungkook snorts in response. "Well, maybe not. I have no idea where that crazy bus driver's taking us."

And it's true, five different men are yelling at the bus driver to tell them where the fuck he's going, but the bus driver remains completely silent. Instead, he flips everyone off with one hand, vigorously steering the wheel with the other.

Everyone goes absolutely bonkers after that.

You've heard blaring fire alarms that sound like music compared to this.

"You have earphones?" Jungkook asks.

"Well, yeah..." you trail off. "But maybe we shouldn't listen to music now. We should save our phone batteries."

"Oh yeah, duh," Jungkook grins in a silly way. "My bad."

This is kind of the first time that you and Jungkook have been civil and kind of nice to each other. I guess it takes a whole ass zombie epidemic for that to happen.

You just try to focus on clutching onto Jungkook, trying to drown out the incessant yelling of the man babies.

And finally, fucking finally, the bus skids to a stop. But not in front of a house, but in front of a familiar-looking red and beige building. Your mouth drops open.

"TARGET???" Cop Man shrieks. "You brought us to Target??"

"Genius, aren't I?" the bus driver grins, leaning back from the steering wheel as if to admire his handy work. "This is my new home. The rest of you can leave if you don't like it."

Nobody moves a muscle.

You desperately want to go back home, but you have to admit, living in Target sounds pretty smart. Endless supply of blankets and food. A ton of gadgets to build when you get bored. At least one of the men on the bus has a brain. Thank god.

"I can't drive you guys home," the bus driver says a little bit more apologetically. "But you saw what's out there. I'm not going to waste gas getting everyone to their homes. And I surely don't wanna risk my life just to get you home, okay? I'm not your chauffeur. So you can stay with me if you like. Or you can walk home yourself."

"I can pay you to be my chauffeur," Suit Man mumbles.

The bus driver's ears perk up. "How much?"

"One grand."

"Ha!" the bus driver snorts. "You think I need money in a supposed apocalypse?? No thanks."

"I'LL PAY YOU THREE GRAND!" Gucci Man shrieks. "I-I'll call my parents! They always have cash on them!"

Frying Pan Man rolls his eyes way up to the ceiling of the bus and waits three dramatic seconds until he stares straight at Suit Man and Gucci Man. "Shut up, ya spoiled brats," he says. "Stop trying to bribe the bus driver and take his fucking offer to stay with him."

The others nod, agreeing with the Frying Pan Man's wise but snippy words.

Suit Man and Gucci Man shut up when they realize their wealth can't get them out of the situation this time.

"Well then," Jungkook sighs. "We all agree to stick together now, right? Nice group of people, aren't we?"

The last part sounds a tad bit sarcastic, but the others seem to take it as a compliment.

"First thing's first," Jungkook announces, "you there!" He points at the Suit Man. "Use your jacket to cover up that window over there. You!" He continues to point at the men, ordering them to place their jackets and bags over the windows. The bus driver manages to cover up the glass doors with a spare blanket he found in the glove compartment.

You just stare at Jungkook in awe. You're even more in awe that everyone is following his orders.

"If the zombies can't see us, they won't get us," Jungkook says very knowledgeably. "At least I think so. Just in case, we should all crouch down though."

"Are you serious? I'm not sitting my ass down on the bus floor," Suit Man scoffs.

"I'm wearing Gucci," Gucci Man complains.

The bus driver grins. "They scraped twenty pieces of gum off the floor only a week ago."

"I think we can all agree that we could've totally done without that information," Cop Man sighs.

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. "My god, would you rather die than get your pants a little dirty? Come on, Y/N." He tugs you down on the floor and the two of you sit cross-legged. "It's not even that bad."

One by one, the men follow you and Jungkook, sitting down, if not crouching, on the floor. Even Suit Man and Gucci Man obey Jungkook, though they have disgruntled looks on their faces.

"Now what?" Frying Pan Man says. "We wait this whole thing out? Until it's safe to get into Target?"

"I suppose so," Dimples Man says. "A little waiting never hurt anyone."

Suit Man rolls his eyes. "You would be terrible in the business world."

"I'm a respected med school student, thank you very much," Dimples Man replies curtly. "I don't need business lessons from you."

"Okay, okay!" Jungkook raises his voice. "You know what? Let's just introduce ourselves to each other. You know, ages, hobbies, whatever, I don't care. Just something the others can use to get to know you. We might be stuck together for a while. I'll start," he says. "I'm Jungkook. 19. I play baseball in college, and I'm pretty fucking good. Okay, who's next?"

Cop Man raises his hand politely. "I'm Jimin," he giggles as if his name itself is the cutest thing in the world. "And I'm the top-ranking cop in training," he says. "Oh yeah, I'm 21 years old. And I just got wasted two days ago when I turned 21."

"Yoongi," the bus driver says. "I drive this bus. 25. Next."

Everyone frowns at his short introduction but Yoongi shrugs.

"Hello, everyone," Dimples man says. "I'm Namjoon. I studied biochemistry in college, but I'm currently aiming for my M.D. I'm 24 right now, but I'll be 25 in a couple of months. It's nice to meet you."

Everyone mumbles their greetings back, but no one is really in a jolly mood.

"Well, I'm Seokjin, a worldwide famous chef," Frying Pan Man says. That explains the frying pan a lot. "I—"

"If you're so worldwide famous, how come I've never heard of you before until now?" Gucci Man snickers.

"Shut the fuck up," Seokjin answers simply. "I will be a worldwide famous chef. I'm interning at the esteemed restaurant, the Summit House. And for my 25th birthday, I got this lovely, new frying pan. I bring it with me everywhere because it is my lifeline."

You raise your eyebrows and so does Jungkook but neither of you says anything.

"I'm Taehyung, then," Gucci Man says. "I'm 23, but I'm already a law school student. Work hard and play even harder is my life motto. Also, I like expensive stuff."

That explains the Gucci.

Suit Man scoffs. "I'm Hoseok, but all of you must call me Mr. Jung because I'm 27 and I'm the respectful CEO of a rapidly growing business right in this city. I've been on the cover of Vogue twice this year alone. Any questions?"

"None at all, Hoseok," Yoongi snorts.

Hoseok scowls. "I just said—"

"Oh, shut your trap and let the girl talk," Seokjin chastises the businessman. You're starting to think Seokjin has a talent for shutting people up.

Well, great. Now everyone's staring at you. And it's only then when it occurs to you that you are the only female in the group. Oh god.

"I'm uh, Y/N..." you say. "And I... I play softball," you say, gripping your bat in your hand. "I'm 19 and I play for my college team."

"She's really good," Jungkook says. "Got that nice swing." He nudges your shoulder assuringly. It almost makes you crack a small smile. "Anyways, now that we all know each other a little bit better, let's be... uh..."

"Civil," you finish for him. "Let's please be fucking civil." You stare at Hoseok and Taehyung specifically.

"Fine!" Hoseok says. "Fine, then. Let's be totally civil trying to fight off uncivil monsters. Makes sense to me."

"We need to stay civil to stay calm," Jimin says, putting a hand on his hip. "My special cop training taught me how to stay calm in dire situations! I'll teach you guys a thing or two sometime."

"Oh god," Yoongi mutters.

"More importantly," Namjoon sighs. "If this is a zombie breakout, we'll need to start strategizing on how to stay safe. We'll need to gather supplies, make a hideout and find some weapons." He looks over at Jungkook and your bats, nodding his head approvingly. "Those will do good," he mutters. "But I'm afraid hiding out in Target might be a bit difficult. The building is large. Way too large for it to be safe..."

"Do you have any better suggestions then?" Yoongi says.

"Not as of now..."

"I say we go full-out," Taehyung declares. "Like we get cool leather jackets and sunglasses and make spiked bats and get guns!!"

"You mean... like in the movies," Hoseok scoffs. "Kid, hate to break it to you, but this is real life."

"Okay, but Taehyung might have a point," Jungkook says.

"Thank you!!" the law student exclaims.

"Yeah, maybe we can use some elements of what characters did in the movies and you know, apply it to our situation now," you say thoughtfully. "So we're not going into this catastrophe completely blinded."

"You read my mind," Jungkook smiles. You manage to smile right back at him.

"Whatever," Hoseok sighs. "I'm gonna call my secretary again."

Everyone else ignores him, opting to do their own individual activities.

Namjoon pulls a giant binder out of nowhere and begins to actively highlight things. It looks a lot like he's studying. In a fucking crisis.

You shake your head in disbelief. Med school students, I swear.

Taehyung taps away on his phone. Either texting or playing Candy Crush. You can't tell. Seokjin's sanitizing his precious frying pan while Jimin's polishing his official badge over and over again. In the far corner of the bus, it looks like Yoongi's dozed off.

The silence is awkward but it's much better than the complete ruckus before, so you let it go. Meanwhile, you take out your earbuds. It won't hurt to let some music distract you and calm down your spiked nerves.

"Hey, what percent battery is your phone at?" you whisper to Jungkook.

"23%, you?"

"23%?!" you gasp. "Why is it so low??"

"Forgot to charge it last night," Jungkook answers, ducking his head down in embarrassment. "Could not have been a worse timing."

"Well, I'm at 97%, so I guess we can listen to music on my phone." You plug in the earphones and hand one bud to Jungkook.

He takes it gratefully. "Thanks."

You feel much more relaxed when the music floods through your ear. If Jungkook doesn't like Beethoven's Sonata, he doesn't complain. And everything, just for a few songs, seems all right.

Until:

"Dammit! Godammit!!" Hoseok yells, flinging his phone to the side of the bus seat. "My phone's dead!"

There are annoyed groans everywhere, and you can just tell Seokjin's about to tell the man to shut up again when there's a loud bang! at the side of the bus.

Everyone freezes.

"Did you lock the bus door??" Namjoon hisses quietly.

Yoongi nods, clearly terrorized. "Just... everybody... Stay... still," he says.

He doesn't need to say anything; everyone's already become a statue. Even more so when the aggressive banging continues. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper and Jungkook hugs you in his arms. His heartbeat's rapid but he manages not to tremble, unlike you.

But when the banging is ceaseless even after a couple of minutes, Taehyung sighs. "Should we check it out...?"

"Are you fucking crazy??" you blurt, quickly lowering your voice when you realize you'd been rather loud. "If the zombies see us, they get us. I thought you saw the movies."

That shuts everyone up. Sweat starts to collect on everybody's foreheads but no one dares to move to wipe it off when the banging's continuing.

It sounds like zombies are head-butting on the bus' walls. Maybe they can smell humans. The thought riles up your stomach so you force yourself to bury your nose into Jungkook's shirt to take your mind elsewhere. He pats your back comfortingly in response.

The Chopin blaring through your left ear doesn't sound so comforting anymore—the pace is too fast, too allegro to fit in a terrible circumstance such as this one. But you try to focus on each note, concentrating on the keys rather than the beat. It drives your focus elsewhere, thank god.

And finally, eventually, the banging slows to a stop.

"Well!" Taehyung yells.

"SHH!" Jungkook shushes him. "We don't know if they're gone yet," he whispers urgently.

"Oh, right."

So it's completely still for a few minutes before Taehyung decides that's enough silence for him.

"This is very, very bad news," he grumbles.

"Really?" Seokjin snickers. "I thought it was good news."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "My Apple Watch's about to die. So yes, it is bad news. I won't be able to tell the time anymore."

"That's the least of our worries, dude," Jimin says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Before another large argument breaks out, you cut in. "I think we should try to get into Target before nightfall."

You thought everyone would agree immediately, but you're hit with Yoongi's laconic, "Why?"

"What do you mean why??" Taehyung laughs at the bus driver. "Haven't you watched the movies?? Zombies get crazier during the night."

"Um, in Train to Busan, they don't," Namjoon points out.

"Okay, but in Minecraft, they do," Taehyung argues.

"But Minecraft is a video game, not a movie."

"Oh, whatever."

You sigh. "I just thought it'd be better to go now than take chances later."

"But this is real life," the bus driver says. "Getting out of this bus is taking a chance at this point. We might not ever make it to Target."

"Fine. Then I'll go and check it out myself then," you scoff.

I'd rather get mauled by a zombie than have to listen to incessant bickering in a small-spaced bus for fuck's sake.

"You literally have a death wish don't you?" Jungkook says. "But I'm coming with you."

"BOTH of you have a death wish," Hoseok says.

"OR, Yoongi can drive the bus closer to the entrance...?" you suggest.

The bus driver grumbles but he complies, never taking off the clothes covering the windows but managing to peek out of a small corner to safely drive the bus straight to the exit.

"If one of you gets bitten, you're not allowed back in here," he says.

"How comforting," you mumble.

"I guess it's just the two of us, then," Jungkook shrugs when no one else volunteers to go on the trip.

"Well you two do have the best weapons," Namjoon says, nodding at the bats in your hands.

"That's true..." you murmur. "We'll try to find a good spot to stay in... Or maybe just get some supplies..."

Now that you think about it, your own idea might be the cause of your demise. God, you might die just because you opened your mouth.

It's okay, you tell yourself. It'll be fine. I have Jungkook. He's... not that scared... right?

Namjoon convinces everyone to memorize a morse code knock so that the others can let you and Jungkook in when the code is knocked on the bus door. There is no other preparation.

Other than the time you completely winged a final exam back in high school, this is the riskiest thing you've done in your life.

Side by side, you and Jungkook creep out of the bus; the doors shut behind you as quickly as they had opened and the blanket drapes over the windows once more.

The coast definitely looks clear... for now. Warily, you and Jungkook step closer to the entrance of Target. That's when it occurs to you that Target has automatic doors.

You and Jungkook look at each other. With your eyes, both of you communicate something on the lines of 'so much for living here.'

It's a universal fact that zombies are stupid and can't complete simple human tasks such as opening doors. But if Target's doors are automatic... Well, then anyone can come in. Human or zombie.

The two of you creep into the store with caution, scanning from left to right to see any source of movement. Luckily, so far, the building seems empty. It just must be your luck that today happens to be a weekday and the time is barely before noon. Plus, you're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and everyone was ordered to stay home. For the most part, it looks like this Target is abandoned. It helps calm down your rapidly beating heart just a little bit.

Still, the silence is eerie. Clutching your baseball bat, you try to make a mental list of the supplies you might need to take. From the checkout aisle, you and Jungkook each grab two plastic bags each.

"What are the top five things we need?" Jungkook whispers to you.

"Um, food, probably," you say. "Toiletries, for sure. Sleeping bags, maybe? Chargers... Portable chargers...?"

"What about water?" Jungkook says. "Maybe we should also get a first aid kit too..."

"There's so much we need!" you let out a frustrated sigh. "And I am not going back in here twice. Once is risky enough."

"Well, we definitely need food, water and a first aid kit. Why do we need toiletries?" Jungkook asks, cocking his head curiously.

"Oh, I don't know, because I bleed out of my vagina once every month??"

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that," Jungkook says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "So, um... we need food, water, a first aid kit, toiletries and..."

"A backpack," you finish for him. "We'll carry the backpacks out on our backs, fill two of our four bags with food, then one bag we can use for water and water bottles. The last bag for the first aid kit and the toiletries."

"Look at you, all planned out," Jungkook grins. You wonder how he's managing to smile in a crisis.

"I'm usually very spontaneous," you mutter. "But I guess it takes a zombie apocalypse to get me to plan ahead."

Your life's on the line. Of course you're going to plan ahead to avoid death.

Jungkook laughs quietly. "Me too, honestly," he says. "I think I can stuff at least one sleeping bag in the backpack. And maybe we'll get some toilet paper."

You nod. "A flashlight might be good too. We don't really need to get weapons, right? We're only trying to survive, not fight."

"We'd be crazy to get a gun," Jungkook snorts. "Have you seen the grown men we got stuck with?? Giving them a gun might be the worst thing we can do."

"Especially that cop in training," you say. "Idiots. The whole lot of them."

Making the youngest ones do the dirty work.

Conversation is sparse for the rest of the supply gathering. You and Jungkook talk minimally, rather opting to point and mouth words just in case zombies were sound-sensitive as they were portrayed in most movies. (But you're honestly not sure how well their auditory skills work, especially when they're so lacking in motor skills.) Still, better safe than sorry.

Canned foods pile in two heavy bags that Jungkook offers to carry. He also volunteers to carry the bag with the heavy water jugs and water bottles, so you let him, glad that Jungkook is polite enough to keep his manners during an apocalypse. The two of you find large duffel bags in the sports corner, which you sling both over your shoulder. A couple of sleeping bags find their way into the duffel bags. By the time you arrive at the aisle with all the feminine hygiene products, your arms are starting to hurt, but you don't complain because Jungkook's carrying things twice the weight of your luggage.

In fact, you shouldn't complain about anything at all. For one, you're stuck in an apocalypse with someone you know at least. You have someone to lean on. Someone who constantly offers to protect you. Someone you can trust. And you haven't had any run-ins with zombies so far. So you've been blessed.

You clamp your mouth shut and pick out a generous amount of pads and pantyliners, quickly shoving them into the duffel bags. "Let's go," you tell Jungkook who nods. His arm muscles are straining against the heavy weight of the bags and his knuckles are white but he stays silent.

All those times you ever insulted Jungkook, you want to take them all back right now. It only takes a crisis to get to know someone.

The two of you nervously, steadily, begin to walk towards the entrance of the store. It's a pity you won't be able to pay for the hundreds of dollars worth of stuff you're shoplifting. But you don't think money holds enough value in a situation of life or death.

For a split second, you worry that the other men have left. But you don't think they would stoop that low... right?? The thought makes the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. If they did leave you and Jungkook stranded in this vast Target... it's game over.

You nearly cry from relief when you see the bus still waiting loyally at the front of the store. Maybe you've underestimated the others.

"Coast's clear," Jungkook whispers. "I'll go first." He begins to creep forward the automatic doors, lugging his bags when you let out a whisper-shriek:

"Wait, stop!"

Jungkook whirls around, eyes wide and lips parted.

"The alarm might ring if you take items you didn't pay for," you whisper urgently. "Leave the stuff here, wait for them to open the door, then help me carry these and make a run for it."

"Well, that was close," Jungkook nods. "Good idea." He sets down his bags and steps forward cautiously. The mechanical whirring of the sliding door opening sounds too loud in the silence. You hold your breath as Jungkook carefully steps closer to the bus, hoping and wishing and swearing. When he knocks at the glass door in the morse code that Namjoon had taught him, you feel ready to burst from the stress.

Constantly, you look behind yourself. If a zombie appears, you'll have to save your life first and lose the supplies. Or maybe, you can carry the food and water first and leave the rest. Or you can try to fight the zombie off with your bat?? But your arms shake from carrying heavy luggage around the whole Target. Your aim might be messed up; you can't risk that, can you?

While you're scheming in your head, Jungkook's managed to get the others to open the door of the bus. The coast is clear now. You gulp.

If the Target alarm sounds and it wakes up any zombies that are nearby, you're dead. You can see the scared faces of the other men peeking out from the door. Jungkook bravely steps back, waving his hands as if to tell them to keep the door open. Then, he rushes back inside the Target, hoisting up the bags.

On cue, you grip your bags too—so tightly that your hands feel numb.

"On a count of three, okay?" Jungkook says.

"No, let's go now!" you whisper as you begin to dash headfirst out the automatic doors. The moment the bags cross the invisible line, the alarm blares. Your heart nearly stops at the racket, but you don't dare to pause. You don't cease your running until you've zoomed right into the bus, collapsing on the floor and throwing the bags away from yourself. Jungkook's right behind you, gasping for breath from the short sprint before whirling on you with a look of frustration on his face.

"I wasn't fucking re—"

"Shh!!" Yoongi says, draping the locked glass door over with a blanket. "We're going to stay very, very still."

You can hear the alarm still blaring in the background, shaking on the floor of the bus and clutching your hands together. Jungkook gives you the side-eye but he crouches down with you and holds you in his arms.

You shouldn't have left earlier, but you couldn't risk waiting for a second more in the empty Target, anticipating for disaster to come. Jungkook must've panicked with you too. But he can't stay mad at you for long, not with another crisis on its way.

"Uh, I think we should go right now," Taehyung whispers.

"Shh!"

"No, seriously," Taehyung says, lifting up the cloth off the windows and pointing.

Oh no. Looks like this is where your luck runs outs. Zombies are slowly making their way towards the entrance of the Target where the stupid alarm still hasn't shut up. If you don't leave now, you might drown in a sea of those monsters. And one rule of thumb—you never let zombies begin to hoard.

"Dammit!" Yoongi curses. "Hold on!"

The zombies are still several yards away, but Yoongi slams on the gas, lurching the car forward. There's no time to think. No time to talk. Yoongi tears away the cloth in front of his window and begins to drive with sickening speed.

"Where are we going??" Hoseok yells over the screams of the engine.

"To my house!" Yoongi screams back.

"WHAT??" the businessman shrieks. "WHY AREN'T WE RUNNING AWAY?"

"Running away attracts more zombies!" Taehyung says. "That always happens in the movies!"

"Does your house have a good kitchen??" Seokjin yells.

"Does it matter???" Yoongi yells back.

"Why can't we go to my house??" Taehyung shrieks.

"Shut the fuck up!" Seokjin tells him.

Yoongi continues to bump over mystery speed bumps (no doubt, bitten people) as zombies slowly try to follow the vehicle. But they're way too slow for Yoongi's speedy driving. He manages to throw them all off track as he drives away from the city.

And when there are fewer buildings and more grassy fields, things almost look... normal. As if you hadn't just seen a zombie apocalypse unfold in the city. Until you notice the blood splattered on the windows and the survival luggage that you and Jungkook had hauled on the bus. That's when you realize this is still very, very real.

But now that you've escaped the city, the roads are ironically smoother without the undead scattered on the ground. As a result, Yoongi begins to drive comfortably, the bus no longer threatening to tip over at every turn. Finally, it seems like the chaos has calmed down.

You take the time to apologize to Jungkook. "Sorry I just left like that," you say.

He shrugs. "It was stupid for me to countdown anyways."

And that was that.

He sits down next to you at the back of the bus as the other men (except Yoongi) crowd around you to ask questions about the risky trip.

"Were there zombies inside the store?" Namjoon says.

"We didn't encounter any," you reply. "But we're not sure."

"Do you think we could go back in there when we need more supplies?" the med school student asks.

"I mean..." you trail off, looking at Jungkook.

Jungkook shrugs. "We'll have to see, I guess."

"Make do with what Yoongi has in his house?" Seokjin says. "Hey, Yoongi, you got a big house??"

Jimin gasps. "You can't just ask people that, Seokjin! Hey, Yoongi, do you have eight bedrooms?"

You feel like facepalming. And if your hands weren't so wet with sweat, you would've done it too.

"Do I look like I'm made of money??" Yoongi scoffs. "I live in a one-bedroom house."

"One bedroom?!?!? One bedroom?!" Taehyung shrieks.

"Would you like to live outside the one-bedroom house?" Yoongi shrieks back.

Taehyung shuts up.

Sure, Yoongi's being extremely generous right now. He could've dumped all of you out the moment the chaos hit. But he had chosen to bring everyone along with him. Still... eight people in a one-bedroom house? You're not so sure about that.

"We'll make it work," the bus driver grumbles.

"As long as there's a kitchen," Seokjin says, "I'm all right."

Ten minutes later, following Yoongi's lead, everyone quickly piles into the one-bedroom house.

It looks modest but poorly decorated. A shaggy rug with mysterious stains, zero decor but a single couch and a small television is set in the living room. The only bedroom in the house isn't very spacious either, with just enough room to fit one full-sized bed and a couple of other sleeping bags on the floor. Yoongi keeps his humble collection of clothes in his bathroom sink. The bathroom is standard and looks barely used. But the worst part of the house is the kitchen, much to Seokjin's despair. There's more dust than counter space.

"I don't cook," comes Yoongi's simple answer when Seokjin gives the man a bewildered look.

And just like that, the house tour is over in a couple of minutes.

"Do you have a car?" you ask cautiously.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Left my bike at the bus parking lot." He shrugs. "But we have the bus."

You bite your lip. Buses use way more gas than cars do—you don't even have to be a mechanic to know. It might've even been better to have a bike.

Everyone is silent for the most part, taking in their new surroundings and unsure what to make of it. Yoongi collapses on the couch. "I have beer somewhere in my fridge. Help yourselves."

Hoseok makes a face—as if he's never had a cheap beer in his life.

You and Jungkook make faces because neither of you is of legal age to drink yet. Yet another reminder that you're stuck with actual adults.

Once those who want a beer get a beer and all the canned foods and water are stashed in the fridge, everyone gathers around awkwardly in the living room. With so much afternoon chaos, the evening seems eerily quiet. It's like all of you are waiting for disaster to strike again.

You, yourself, begin to think about your safety. The thing about Yoongi's house (no matter how small and shabby it is) is that it's out in the open without any other houses nearby. For one, that's a good thing because there's less chance that zombies will make their way out here. But there's also no barrier either.

And suddenly acquiring seven male roommates out of nowhere? Seven men you barely even know? Sure, you've spoken to Jungkook a lot of times, but never outside of the bus or the practice field.

But you guess you have to sacrifice comfort and privacy to survive.

Finally, when the silence stretches on for nearly thirty minutes, Hoseok speaks. "We have to talk about the elephant in the room," he announces.

Everyone raises their eyebrows.

"What elephant??" Jimin says. "Where's the important question? Did I miss something?"

"No," Hoseok sighs. "What are we going to do about the sleep situation?"

"What do you mean?" Yoongi scoffs. "I get the bedroom, everyone else sleeps out here." He gestures at the living room.

"At least four people can fit in that bedroom," Namjoon says. "I suggest you can choose who gets to sleep there."

"You have to take in count that we have a lady present too," Seokjin says.

"Shouldn't she automatically get the bedroom then?" Jungkook says. "And she chooses who sleeps in the bedroom?"

"That's not fair!" Taehyung says. "Why does gender matter in this situation?"

"Yeah, and you're only saying that because you know she'll pick you!" Hoseok scoffs.

"Well, I'm sorry I want to make her feel comfortable in a male dominant household!" Jungkook shouts.

You feel awkward, biting your lip and looking back and forth between Jungkook and the two other men.

"Um, if you'd let me choose, I'd have to go with Yoongi, just because it's his house, Jungkook and Namjoon..." you say.

"Goddamn!" Jimin exclaims. "What did I ever do to you??"

"Nothing!" you protest. "I'm just—"

"My house, my rules!" Yoongi shouts over everyone. "I get to choose! And I pick Y/N, Namjoon and Jungkook. That's final!"

While Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are grumbling, Seokjin seems rather happy. "I'm closer to the kitchen in the living room," he grins. "And besides, it doesn't matter whether you sleep in the bedroom or in the living room. You get the same sleep." He pauses. "Unless you get the actual bed."

"We can take turns with the bed," you tell the three other men.

"Nah," Yoongi says. "Never liked that stupid thing."

"I also prefer sleeping on the ground. It's good for my back," Namjoon says.

Jungkook shrugs at you. "You can take the bed."

You're left gaping at them. "Are you sure...?"

"Just take the offer before they change their minds, honey," Seokjin laughs.

"O-Okay."

"Now what?" Taehyung says, exasperated. He seems let down that he doesn't get to sleep in the bedroom. Nor does he seem keen on the idea of sleeping in sleeping bags. Hoseok looks equally annoyed.

You suppose you can understand them in a way. You don't exactly have many things to lose. In fact, now, you probably don't have to pay off student debt. But Hoseok and Taehyung, well, they're not used to living in cramped up places. It's not really their fault that they're being so whiny. But at the same time, you wish they can shut the fuck up and stop complaining.

"What do you mean, now what?" Yoongi says. "We're gonna sleep. I think I have an extra blanket or something..."

"Sleep?" Hoseok says. "It's barely 6 o'clock."

"Well, what else do you suggest we do? Go outside and hunt the zombies??" Yoongi says. "Excuse me, I'm gonna go to bed."

"Wait!"

Yoongi turns around and glares daggers at the rich businessman. But Hoseok doesn't budge. "Do you have a phone charger?" He holds up his phone, the latest model of the iPhone—the one that costs more than some laptops.

The bus driver cocks an eyebrow. He holds up his own phone in the air.

Everyone else gasps when they realize Yoongi's phone is a battered, out-dated Nokia. The model that is so old that you swear you had that same phone when you were in sixth grade.

"A Nokia?!" Taehyung shrieks.

Everyone pulls out their own iPhones in rapid succession.

"Oh, god," Namjoon mutters.

"I guess it's goodbye to our phones," Seokjin says. "A pity..."

"We should've grabbed iPhone chargers at Target," you sigh, shoving your phone back in your back pocket. A forgotten necessity...

"Yeah, you should've," Hoseok agrees.

You give him the nasty side-eye when he turns his back to you.

"Well," Yoongi shrugs, "it's not the end of the world. Besides, I think I have an iPhone charger somewhere..."

"You used to have an iPhone?? Why the switch?" Jimin says, twiddling his one iPhone X in his hands.

"No, never had an iPhone. I hate Apple products," Yoongi scoffs. "I'm a die-hard Samsung fan, but I had to switch to Nokia to pay the bills. I just had an ex-girlfriend who left her iPhone chargers at my house. I might find more than one if I dig around, I guess."

Everyone whoops with joy.

After a hunt that lasts for an hour, two pathetic, dirty iPhone chargers sit in the middle of the shaggy carpet while everyone else crowds around them.

"I call it first!" Hoseok and Taehyung say at the same time.

No one dares to argue.

"Now can I sleep?" Yoongi sighs.

"You don't want dinner?" Seokjin says.

"You're going to cook?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I'll make do with the canned foods," Seokjin says.

"We should also probably try to watch the news or something," Jungkook says. "To see if they're calling for any survivors..."

The mood suddenly becomes dim.

Right. The past hour had been so busy that everyone had somehow forgotten about the zombie apocalypse.

Jungkook senses the mood and quickly changes the topic. "Just kidding. Let's play a game."

"A game?" Jimin says. "I love games!"

"Depends on the game," Taehyung says. "I call beer pong."

"I'm nineteen," you say.

"So? I took shots when I was eight," Taehyung argues.

You roll your eyes.

Amongst the commotion, Seokjin manages to sneak his way into the kitchen. No one really cares.

"Okay, then does anyone have game suggestions?" Jungkook says. "Just so we can get to know each other better. We don't know how long this will last, right?"

"I think I'm too old for games," Hoseok grumbles.

"I don't think I've played a game in my whole life," Yoongi says.

"Can I study for my exams?" Namjoon pipes up.

Jungkook sighs. He looks at you for some help but you shrug. If they don't want to play games, then they won't play games. You don't want to force them into it and end up having no fun at all.

"Maybe we should just let them do what they want," you whisper to Jungkook.

He gives you a look of incredulity. "That's it!" he yells. "We're all in a shitty mood, but you know what? I don't give a flying fuck. We're going to play fuck, marry or kill!"

Seokjin groans from the kitchen. He pops his head around the corner while holding a big container full of food in his hands. "Will the game mess with everyone's appetite?"

"What even is that?" Jimin points at the bowl.

Seokjin shrugs. "A bit of beans. A bit of corn. A bit of sauce. I don't even know, but it tastes good." He grabs some spare plates and bowls and sets them down in the living room along with an array of plastic utensils.

"Where did you even get the sauce and utensils?" Yoongi scoffs. "I swear I don't own any of that."

Seokjin grins. "I carry a good sauce and extra utensils everywhere."

And you have to compliment Seokjin's cooking skills because the mystery mixture is actually delicious.

"Um, hello??" Jungkook says while everyone else is scarfing down food. "Fuck, marry or kill??"

Namjoon looks up from his bowl. "That game's hardly fair."

"And why is that?" Jungkook cocks his head to the side.

"Y/N's the only girl," Namjoon says.

"That's true," Jimin pipes up. "We can't really play unless... you know, you suggest we fuck each other. No homo though, bros."

You scrunch your nose. "Yeah, Jungkook, that's a bit—"

"You got a better idea?" Jungkook says. "C'mon."

Yoongi grumbles. "I thought this game was supposed to make us get to know each other better."

"It will!" Jungkook says.

"Yeah, it'll let everyone know our sexual preferences," Taehyung sniggers.

Everyone groans.

"I agree with baseball boy," Taehyung says. "I used to play this game all the time. I'm hella good."

Hoseok frowns. "How the fuck can you be good at this game??"

Taehyung completely ignores the businessman and whirls around at you. You nearly spit out your food in surprise. "Y/N! Yes, you. Fuck, marry or kill? Jungkook, Namjoon and me?"

Everyone groans again.

"He's just saying that so Y/N can pick him to fuck," Jimin giggles.

"You're way too obvious," Seokjin snorts.

You sigh, shaking your head. "Well, I guess I'm killing Taehyung off just for asking me the first question." At that, Seokjin leans across from you and gives you a triumphant high-five. "As for fuck..." you trail off, looking between Namjoon and Jungkook. "I'll fuck Jungkook and marry Namjoon."

Jungkook gasps. "You've known me for longer and you'd rather fuck me???"

"Yeah, what does that have to say about your personality?" you tease.

All the men—except Jungkook—erupt in laughter. In just one sentence, you become the most popular person in the room, everyone complimenting you for putting Jungkook in his place.

"Y/N, you've officially become my new favorite person," Seokjin declares.

"Really?" you laugh. "Okay, then Seokjin. Fuck, marry or kill: Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin."

"Ouch," Yoongi mutters.

"Ouch??" Jimin huffs.

"Ouch," Seokjin repeats. "I can't choose whether I want to kill Hoseok or Taehyung."

"Hey!" Taehyung yells. "Don't kill me again! Y/N already did that!"

"All the more reason for me to kill Taehyung," Seokjin sings. "I'm fucking Hoseok so I can get a limo ride or something from him the morning after. And Jimin's cute. I can work with that. I'd marry him."

"Yes!" Jimin yells, pumping his fist up in the air. "I'm husband material!"

Taehyung groans. "I've been killed twice," he mopes.

"Okay, then you try," Jimin says. "Yoongi, Seokjin, Y/N."

"I'm killing Y/N for revenge!" Taehyung declares but when he looks between Yoongi and Seokjin, he changes his mind. "No... wait, uh... I'm killing Seokjin for revenge! I'd fuck Y/N and marry Yoongi but it would be a sexless marriage."

"You only chose to fuck Y/N because she's a girl," Hoseok snorts.

"What?? She's hot."

"I'm right here!"

The game goes around in circles for hours and by the end, everyone is engaged in it. You win for getting the most marries. You also tie with Jungkook for getting the most fucks. Hoseok and Taehyung tie for getting the most kills. And Namjoon gets an honorable mention for being neutral in everyone's minds.

By the end, it becomes very clear that you and Jungkook are the most likable people, followed up by Yoongi and Seokjin (for knowing how to cook). It feels good to be liked by complete strangers. Normally, you wouldn't give a shit whether strangers like you or not. But... you might be stuck with these seven men for a very long time.

They're not so bad once there is nothing threatening their lives.

You don't mind being here that much anymore. With just a little bit of time, this place could feel like home. And these strangers can be your friends.

But right now, your first priority is to survive.

Okay, so, fast forward four months, and now your priority isn't exactly to survive. Pretty strange, to be honest. In over 120 days, things have taken quite a worse turn—the city is becoming more dilapidated and there are more zombies roaming about, but truth be told, you and your seven friends are doing just fine. In fact, you are doing great. More than great.

Now, your priority is to live comfortably. Ironically in an environment that prioritizes survival.

It's genuinely because of the advanced system Hoseok bestowed upon the household one faithful day. (He wasn't the successful CEO of a rising company for nothing.)

The businessman gave everyone a designated job to work depending on their skills. You think he especially thought of this system when Taehyung and Namjoon somehow managed to set the kitchen on fire back when kitchen duty was rotational. Seokjin had grieved for days because the fire left ugly burn marks on Yoongi's counters. And now the intern chef's the only one allowed in the kitchen. Seokjin faithfully cooks three meals every day—enough for everyone to have seconds. Enough to even have leftovers.

In turn, Namjoon takes care of all the medical stuff. He claims that he can cure anything except a zombie bite. When Taehyung challenges him that he can't cure all cancer, Namjoon gets unreasonably pouty and the whole next day, he decides to study. But he comes up with nothing, to Taehyung's delight. But to Taehyung's distress, Hoseok assigns him as Namjoon's medical assistant (only because Taehyung had ditched nursing at one point to pursue law). Now Taehyung's right back where he started.

But the two of them manage to get along. Sometimes. And they are responsible with the medical supplies. Sometimes. And they remind everyone to take their vitamin supplements. Sometimes. Namjoon's also crazy good at taking splinters out. That's an always.

Jimin's assigned to keep a lookout on the news through the rather spotty radio. So far, there's been nothing. But the cop in training is persistent and hopeful. Well, everyone is. You all hope that someone announces the apocalypse is over and there's a safety station not too far away from here. But the announcement never comes. No problem. You're in a situation where you're not that desperate—you can wait it out.

Hoseok gets to order everyone around and makes sure all the household duties are fulfilled. Strangely, after you get to know him for a while, he's actually a pretty chill guy. Just a little uptight when it comes to serious business. He's a huge scaredy-cat with a big heart and only becomes irrational when he's in fear.

Arguably, you and Jungkook are in charge of the most dangerous job. You are what everyone else calls the 'suppliers.' At least once every two weeks, the two of you hop on the bus with Yoongi (who drives) and go to Target to pick up groceries or anything else the others needed. The job is dangerous all right, but you and Jungkook haven't come across a major zombie attack yet, so the bi-weekly outings are a bit of a joke. (The two of you fool around in Target and spend a bit too much extra time in there than necessary.) But what can you say? It serves as a little escape from the cramped house!

Yoongi doesn't really have a job except to drive you and Jungkook anywhere you need to go. Hoseok decided to let him slack off—only because he sacrificed his house for the crew.

In four months, you're able to get to know the men better. In normal circumstances, you doubt that you'd ever come near a rich businessman. But here you are, cracking jokes with Hoseok every night. You wouldn't even have gotten to know a cop in training either. Or a law student. Or a med student. Or an intern chef who's actually talented. Maybe you knew Jungkook from before the apocalypse. But you never really connected with him on another level. Now, you know a lot about the seven men you're forced to live with.

A bit more than you would like, too.

You know that Hoseok likes his soup cold, which convinces you that he's a total psychopath, but whatever. Seokjin secretly likes to bake more than he likes to cook. Namjoon still studies for his medical exams (that are very obviously never going to take place) because he can't stand having nothing to do. Jimin's actually really insecure about his physique (despite his sassy and confident nature) and constantly needs someone to tell him that yes, Jimin, your ass looks fan-fucking-tastic in those tight jeans. Taehyung—you think—watches porn when everyone's asleep. So he might kinda be a porn-addict but you're not really sure. You don't wanna find out. And Jungkook... You know that he likes to read romance novels. Which you found out when he dragged you down the literary romance aisle in Target and suggested you save space in your bags so he could take some back to home base.

But no one else in the house likes to read, so Jungkook doesn't get his books in the end.

It's hard to believe that you're in the midst of a zombie apocalypse—especially with the comfortable way you're living—but still, you and Jungkook only try to take home what's necessary. To save time and space, of course.

A couple of months into living together, all of you had even celebrated Namjoon's 25th birthday. He didn't get a cake, but Seokjin managed to make cookies in five minutes in Yoongi's old microwave. The rest of the day was spent relaxing in the tight living room, playing what Jungkook liked to call 'family games.' Games that you should probably not play with your actual family (because of the level of inappropriateness), but games that bring friends together to the point that they feel like family.

So, in conclusion, the seven men aren't as horrible as you thought in the beginning. Sure, they have their strange and eccentric quirks, but it's refreshing to see so many different personalities in one house. You can't imagine how shitty life would've been if you were stuck with seven men with the same character as a doorknob. It's nice to live with people with such... unique personalities.

And at this point, they're like your friends—if not—best friends.

And best friends are not afraid to call each other out.

"WAKE UP YOU FUCKING SLOTH!" Taehyung screams.

You can hear Yoongi let out a dead groan from the bedroom. But it doesn't look like he's going to be barging out anytime soon.

"WAKE UP!!!!" Jimin shrieks.

Everyone covers their ears. Jimin's voice is definitely loud and shrill enough to burst someone's eardrums. But none of you want to find out, of course.

"I didn't haul my ass out of bed early in the morning to break my back cooking for everyone for you to not fucking wake up!" Seokjin yells. "Wake the fuck up!!"

From inside the bedroom, Yoongi groans. And then: "SHUT UP OR I'M KICKING EVERYONE OUT!"

You snort. Everyone else rolls their eyes, picks up their utensils and begins to scarf down the scrambled eggs.

Yoongi tends to get very cranky when he's woken by the sound of yelling. When the man is cranky, he makes empty threats that he never really means. Of course he wouldn't kick everyone out of the house. Though he doesn't like to admit it, Yoongi loves the company of the others.

The bus driver stumbles into the kitchen with his hair up in the air and his eyes barely open. "I hate you all."

"Really?" Seokjin smiles, handing the cranky man a plate of still-warm breakfast. "Love your hair."

"Shut up." Yoongi ducks his head down and begins to eat with vigor.

"Hey, chef?" Taehyung sighs, pushing his half-eaten plate of eggs away from himself.

"What is it, lawyer boy?" Seokjin says, crossing his arms. "Do you want escargot to go along with that? Or caviar?"

Taehyung is the designated picky eater of the bunch. But no one blames him. If you grew up eating filets and caviar, you'd probably be picky too.

"The eggs aren't salty enough," Taehyung says. "Do we have salt?"

"Nope, we're out," Seokjin says.

"Ugh," Taehyung groans. "I can't eat this. It tastes too bland."

Seokjin frowns. "Just appreciate what I made for you, you ungrateful swine."

Of course, it isn't a normal breakfast in the group if there isn't an argument. In the beginning, it had been annoying, but now everyone is so used to it, they let it fly.

"Y/N and JK? Can we get some salt today?" Seokjin sighs as he turns to you and Jungkook. "Someone's being a picky bitch again."

"Hey!" Taehyung says.

Hoseok just talks over him. "Anyways," he says, "Jimin, any new reports?"

"Nothing," Jimin sighs. "Radio's basically dead. Honestly, we might be the only ones alive in the whole state at this point."

"That... is not exactly statistically possible," Namjoon points out. "If you really think about it, the probability that—"

"Shut up, please," the cop in training says, exasperated. "Let us go one day without your lectures. God."

You and Jungkook give each other a 'here they go again' look.

"Can we have at least one day where we don't bicker like big babies?" Yoongi scoffs, throwing down his fork. He still looks half dead, his voice gravelly and deep.

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at him. "No, bitch," he answers. "The bickering is what makes us such a great motherfucking team."

"Actually—" Namjoon starts.

"Everybody just shut the fuck up and eat!" Seokjin yells.

Just like always.

This is a very typical breakfast in the household. Where everyone yells at Yoongi to wake up. And then the arguing commences up to the point Seokjin can't take it anymore and screams at everyone to shut their traps. That's when everyone obeys him (because Seokjin can be quite scary when angry) and eats silently.

After breakfast, Hoseok calls a meeting in the bedroom. You and Jungkook sit on the bed as everyone else sits around the floor; Hoseok stays standing.

"Look, guys," he says, "it's been four fucking months. We're lost."

You cock your head. Lost was the last thought in your head right now.

"At least we're alive," Jungkook snorts. "At least none of us have been bitten. At least none of the zombies have turned up around this area yet. At least—"

"Okay, okay, we get it, Jungkook," Hoseok sighs. "It's just that we're in a tricky situation right now. It's been four months..."

"Yes, we know," you say. "But haven't things been going smoothly? I mean, look, we have enough food, we're safe here and we're happy. What more can we ask for?"

Seokjin hums thoughtfully. "Well, Hoseok might be right, Y/N," he says. "It's only been four months, right? So the utilities are still working. There's still gas in the gas stations, the fridges are working... You know?"

Namjoon nods. "Exactly. But when will that run out?"

"When will the food run out? When will we have to live off of rationed canned foods because the fridges in Target broke? What if our fridge breaks?" Seokjin says. "We're in a tough spot."

"But we're not lost... yet," Jimin says, "right??"

"But we don't know when the doomsday will come," Taehyung sighs. "That makes this whole situation shittier."

It's not very often that the group sits down to have a serious conversation—it's not often at all that everyone can be serious in one setting. And it's a bit unsettling.

Especially when you had thought you were doing fine. But what would you know? You're only nineteen; you've yet to experience hardships that the others have gone through. So you know what the others are worrying about is valid.

"So what do we need to prepare for?" Jungkook asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk about today," Hoseok says. "How are we going to prepare for a potential zombie attack if we had minimal contact with zombies so far?"

"That's true..." you murmur. "Kook and I are the only ones who've seen zombies without a barrier separating them and us... But even then, they were several yards away."

"We don't know their weaknesses at all," Namjoon says. "We just know that once you've been bitten, you'll die and then become undead after some time. But we don't even have a specific number on that either."

"I mean, do you really want to find out?" Taehyung snorts. "Why would any zombie come around here, anyway?"

"But this is all a 'just in case' situation," Hoseok says. "We just want to prepare for the worst possible scenario."

There the businessman goes again, thinking ten steps ahead of everyone.

"I feel like we'll have the best solutions when we actually face the problem," Jungkook says. "We definitely don't feel threatened right now. We're not gonna get an effective solution." He shrugs. "I say we go with the flow."

"And wait until it's too late and one of us gets bitten?" Namjoon says.

"Have you ever heard of procrastinating?" Jungkook says.

Namjoon and Hoseok gasp like they've seen the devil.

"If we wait until we're threatened, we'll do ten day's worth of work in ten minutes," Jungkook says.

"And if we try to force a solution now, we'll probably do ten minute's worth of work in ten days. Or worse," you add. "Trust me, as a procrastinator, I would know."

"They kind of have a point," Seokjin says. "I guess if we run out of food, we can always... grow it? I don't know, we can be self-sufficient. There's always a solution, no matter how late in the game we find it."

"Are you saying we should wait until we're actually in trouble before taking action...?" Jimin says slowly. "Because that sounds dangerous... I mean, I don't uh, work well under pressure."

"I think we should invest in a gun," Taehyung says. "'Cause in the movies, they totally gun the little shits down."

"None of us knows how to shoot a gun," Yoongi says. "And I don't trust any of you with one."

"Hey! I'm a cop—"

"Cop in training, I know, I know," Yoongi says. "But I don't care. You get scared easily. You're gonna accidentally shoot one of us while you're at it."

Jimin can't argue with that.

"We can't live like this forever," Hoseok says, shaking his head disdainfully.

"Who knows? Maybe this will lead to the extinction of the human race," Namjoon says. "We might have to live like this forever."

"See? If we go on forever, then we won't have to come up with solutions right away. We'll make them up as we go," you say.

"Procrastinating is a horrible—"

But before Hoseok can go on a lecture-rant for two hours straight, Yoongi stands up.

"Well, I'm done with this conversation," he says. The man gestures at you and Jungkook. "C'mon, you two. Let's get to Target."

You silently thank Yoongi for helping you escape Hoseok's long life lectures. Swiftly, you and Jungkook grab your weapons—your bats—before cautiously stepping out of the house and climbing into the bus.

The bus ride to Target is silent as usual. Yoongi likes to drive in complete silence, observing the city's hollowed-out, empty look. Sometimes, zombies lurk about in the shadows, but they're always too slow to catch up to the bus. And they rarely swarm around Target for reasons that are so lucky that you don't even question it.

Once Yoongi's bus pulls up to the Target parking lot, you and Jungkook cautiously tug back the curtains draped around the windows to check if the coast is clear. Usually, it is. Yoongi always murmurs some sort of subtle words of encouragement before the two of you leave. But you and Jungkook never need it.

Swinging your bats over your shoulders and walking side by side in Target, you feel like you're the Harley Quinn to Jungkook's Joker. Not that the two of you are romantically close. Ew.

It's just that you spend a lot of time with him. Going on supply missions, sleeping in the same bedroom, listening to music together during otherwise silent bus rides... Jungkook's a great shoulder to cry on when an existential crisis hits you at 4 a.m. in the morning. He's always able to wake up and calm you down before the others are awoken from the sounds of you sniffling under the covers.

Granted, the two of you still tease the living hell out of each other, you think you make a great team with Jeon Jungkook.

Sometimes, zombies will creep into Target and roam about with their limping legs and horrible posture. You and Jungkook aren't very scared of them because at most there are only two or three at a time and that's a number you and Jungkook can easily beat with your bats. Plus, the two of you have trained short-distance running for years. You're fast. If you ever get in a position where you have to run for your life, you think you'll survive.

Besides, the zombies are stupid. There are too many ways to outsmart them. I.e. throw a noisy kiddy toy in the opposite direction and have them hobble towards it while you can run away. Seriously, how dumb can you be to let a zombie best you???

Despite being overly confident about your survival skills, you and Jungkook still take safety precautions. (It's always better to stay safe than be sorry.) The rule of thumb is that you're only allowed to carry one shopping bag each, which leaves the other hand empty to handle the bat.

Today's Target trip is just like any other. You get some salt for Seokjin and manage to salvage the gummy bear vitamin supplements that everyone raves over.

You're just about to call it a day and suggest you go back to the bus when Jungkook tugs at your shirt and points at the sports section. Your eyes fall on the baseball bats and softballs in the corner. Nostalgia hits you hard.

"Oh..." you breathe.

"Yeah..." Jungkook sighs. "When's the last time you even had a game?"

"It feels like it's been years," you sigh. "But probably four months and a few weeks."

"We should really start working out again," Jungkook says. "I heard it's bad for athletes to suddenly stop."

You snort. "Working out's the last thing that should be on our minds in the midst of a zombie apocalypse though."

"True." Jungkook grips his baseball bat in his hand and stares forlornly at it. "I really can't imagine trying to hit something that's not a ball with this bat."

He makes a sad point. "Me too," you agree with him. "I'd never want gross zombie guts on it."

"You know, I wish I could swing my bat and hit a ball right now," Jungkook sighs. "That's literally my only wish at this point."

"It's a risky wish..."

"I know..."

The conversation is sad—too sad for you to handle. Too sad to be talking about with fun-loving Jeon Jungkook.

"Whatever, right?" you say, trying to lighten the mood. "When all of this ends..." Even you can't finish your sentence. You find yourself wondering, but when will it end??

Jungkook pats your back. "When all of this ends," he continues for you, "we should come to each other's games."

You smile at him. "Promise?"

"Promise."

It's silly to be so caught up in playing a goddamn sport in the midst of an apocalypse. But softball had been your life, and it had been stripped away from you. It's worse to have to carry around your bat all the time—not to hit a ball, but for protection. Protection against monsters.

"We should go," Jungkook whispers, nudging you. He points his head in the direction of some zombies who had caught sight of the two of you in the sports aisle. Neither of you panic, but Jungkook grabs your hand anyway. "Wanna make a run for it?" He grins as if nothing is wrong at all. "It'll be like a mini-workout."

You smile back. Four months ago, you would've been terrified if a zombie was within even a twenty feet radius around you. But you've grown now. You're used to a couple of zombies. And Jungkook's never terrified, so you have no reason to be terrified either.

"Let's go!" you say, returning Jungkook's smile.

The two of you begin to dash away, hearing the inhumane moans of the zombies echo in your ears as you run not from fear but to exercise. Maybe you are living in more comfort than you've bargained for.

Survival just isn't a priority anymore.

"What the fuck happened to your arm?" Taehyung shouts the moment you and Jungkook walk into the cramped house again with Yoongi trailing behind the two of you.

"Who, me?" Jungkook says, turning his head to inspect his arms.

"No, Y/N," Taehyung sighs, rolling his eyes. "You have blood running down your arm, dude. Does it not hurt?"

Now that Taehyung mentions it, your right arm begins to throb with sudden pain. When you turn, you see a small gash coated with blood; the droplets are rolling down your arm in a dramatic fashion, but the pain is tolerable.

"DID YOU GET BITTEN?!" Jimin screams.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "If she was bitten, she would've dropped dead." He picks up the plastic bags and carries them over to the kitchen as everyone trails behind him. "As you can see," he gestures toward you, "Y/N is fucking fine."

"I must've cut my arm on some cardboard or something. I don't know," you say. "We were running away from some of those creeps, so..."

"Are you okay, at least?" Jungkook says. "It looks like it hurts."

You snort. "I mean, it's only a cut. Hey, Tae, a little help over here?"

"Only a cut? Dude, nothing's ever only a cut in a fucking apocalypse," Taehyung says. "I'll take a look." He disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands and comes out holding the first aid kit.

While Taehyung treats your little wound, Seokjin begins to serve lunch—grilled cheese that's crunchy and flavorful and definitely not bland. Taehyung gives his compliments to the chef, which almost makes Seokjin break down in blissful tears.

But then the bickering commences as usual.

"I'm not trying to point fingers here," Namjoon starts, but he very obviously stares Taehyung down. "But I haven't touched my phone since the apocalypse began. Yet it seems like Taehyung can't get enough of his phone the whole day."

Taehyung takes a ginormous bite of his grilled cheese sandwich and shrugs. "It's important stuff," he grumbles with his mouth full.

"How, though? We've already established that none of our relatives are answering our texts or calls ages ago," Hoseok says.

"What could possibly be so important on your phone, I wonder," Seokjin says. He raises his eyebrows, but everyone already knows that he's suspecting.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "It's good leisure time."

You make a face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I can confirm it," Jungkook says. "He watches porn."

Taehyung scoffs. "You don't??"

"Well, jacking off is the least of our worries," Jimin adds to the conversation. "Though I'm sure it feels good."

Everybody groans. You especially.

"I can do whatever I want with my fucking dick," Taehyung announces.

"Please," you say, "can I eat in peace without having to think about dicks?"

"Thank you!" Taehyung says. "Everyone please shut up and eat Jin's delicious grilled cheese."

Seokjin smiles proudly. It seems as though Taehyung's learning a thing or two from Seokjin.

"I really go through the mill every day to cook for you guys and Taehyung's the only one who's complimenting me?" the talented chef sighs, shaking his head. "Don't be surprised if I accidentally spill dirt in your dish the next meal. Seriously, guys. I think I deserve some standing ovation or something—"

But before Seokjin can go on one of his famous self-esteem raising rants, you excuse yourself and make a mad dash to the only bathroom in the whole house. Even the talkative chef stops his ranting when you disappear behind the locked door so quickly.

Jimin's the first to speak. He giggles, "I think she's getting diarrhea from your delicious meal, chef."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot, Jimin. She's definitely not taking a shit."

"I am not an idiot!"

"What are you trying to say?" Yoongi says, feigning disinterest, but he's obviously curious about your sudden escape to the toilet.

"It's her time of month," Jungkook whispers to the men. Their eyes turn large at the relayed news. "You guys better not get on her bad side in the next few days. Or let her be in a bad mood. Run it with me, guys," he says quietly. "She gets cramps in the first three days. She gets bad cravings on the fourth. After that, we should be safe. Anyways, just be especially nice to her. She wasn't exactly having the best day today."

"How the fuck do you know her cycle?" Hoseok narrows his eyes.

"I accidentally might've... um, grazed my hand against her ass one time um, and... I heard a crunch... Turns out it was her pad," Jungkook sighs. "It was a total accident. But I almost lost my head. Ever since then, I've been keeping track in fear for my life."

"Must kinda suck being a woman in these times," Yoongi says.

"Yeah, respect for Y/N for sure," Taehyung says.

"She's a strong woman," Namjoon nods. "I agree. Imagine trying to live with seven males you barely know in a world where there are so many dangerous predators—cough, men."

"I know, I know," Jungkook sighs. "I feel bad because she totally switched from pads to tampons because of me..."

"Tampons are better for active girls, anyway," Namjoon says. "I think."

"I never really notice when Y/N's on her period though," Seokjin says. "I mean, she doesn't have mood swings at all!"

"That's 'cause she has mood swings all the time," Jungkook snickers, bending the truth to earn some laughs from the boys. But it doesn't become very funny when:

"I can fucking FEEL you guys talking about me!" you shriek from the bathroom, and though the door is closed, everyone else can hear you loud and clear.

It becomes completely silent; the men suddenly become very invested in eating.

A few seconds later, you walk out of the bathroom looking a little peeved already. You sigh as you pick up your leftover grilled cheese. "Hey, Jin, can I get something warm to drink?"

"Warm water?" Seokjin says. "Of course, honey."

You raise your eyebrows at Seokjin's sudden sweetness, but you don't question it.

Meanwhile, Jungkook looks at the other men and gives them the 'I told ya so' look. Cramps 101, warm water helps ease the pain and so do hot packs, which unfortunately aren't available at the moment. Jungkook's done some extra research himself. Maybe on your birthday or something, he can surprise you with one of those cute animal-shaped hot packs or an extra supply of painkillers. (You never waste a precious Advil on period cramps, no matter how bad they get.)

The rest of the day, the men surprisingly keep quiet. And it's doing wonders for that headache that's creeping in. Normally, you try not to make a big show that you're on your period, so everyone tends to treat you the same. But today... well, it's almost as if they know they're walking on thin ice. You can't say you don't like this special treatment. Especially when dinner is actually civil for once, with no one calling others out or displaying horrible table manners.

It's even hilarious how after dinner, Jungkook takes you aside and very, very cautiously asks, "Hey... I don't know if you're down or not for family time today... but—"

You cut him off, laughing, "I'm always down!!"

On your cue, the group gathers around in the living room and Yoongi even offers you the single couch that he always claims is his. You gratefully take his offer and hug your pillow in front of you to keep your stomach warm. Jungkook sits next to you (as usual) but perches upon the couch arm.

"Anybody have a nice, tame game for tonight?" he says.

"Tame??" you say, raising your eyebrows. "Why tame?"

"Er..."

Luckily, Taehyung comes to the rescue. "Never have I ever!" he shrieks. "But the nasty version, how about that?"

"Tae—" Seokjin starts, but you interject.

"Nasty never have I ever!" you say, gripping your pillow tightly against your stomach. "Sounds like a plan! The ten fingers version please." Jungkook notices you biting your lip in discomfort and offers you his hand to take. Though you raise your eyebrows at him, you take his offer. No one else notices.

"Okay, I'll start," Namjoon says, crisscrossing his legs and looking smugly at everyone—almost as if he knew he had a good question. "Never have I ever had a friends with benefits."

"Oh, come on!" nearly half of the group screams.

"You've really never had a friend with benefits??" Jungkook gawks at Namjoon. "Seriously dude. Harsh first question."

"Don't have time for friends with benefits," Namjoon answers, grinning.

You, Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon laugh triumphantly as the others lose their marbles over already having nine fingers left.

"I don't have friends to benefit from," Yoongi snorts, looking proudly at his ten still-standing fingers.

"I'd get attached to the 'friend,' which wouldn't be good for my mental health," you giggle. "So no. Never had or never will have friends with benefits."

Seokjin just shrugs, grinning rather innocently.

"Fine. I'll go next," Hoseok grumbles. "Counterclockwise, right? Hm..." he trails off, scrunching his eyebrows. "Ooh! Okay, never have I ever sexted the wrong person. Almost did, once."

"Dammit, Hoseok!" Jimin yells.

"You sexted the wrong person?!" Jungkook doubles over in laughter. "How???"

"My ex's contact was dangerously close to my mother's," Jimin grumbles. "I had to do a lot of explaining that day."

"Oh my god," you deadpan. "I'm so sorry, but that's just fucking hilarious."

Jimin huffs, puffing out his cheeks and angrily putting another finger down to have a total of eight fingers left. "I'm losing now."

"Relax, you haven't gotten to zero just yet," Taehyung teases.

"My turn!" Seokjin announces, "and I got a good one. I'm gonna get everyone out." He puffs out his chest and smiles a devilishly handsome smile.

"I doubt it," Yoongi says, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's hard to get everybody but yourself out," Namjoon says. "Especially with more people. You're looking at getting seven people out with one statement. Not impossible but very unlikely."

"Okay. Bet," Seokjin laughs. There is a dramatic pause (wherein it's so silent you could probably hear a pin drop) before he speaks: "Never have I ever had sex."

The whole group goes berserk.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE A VIRGIN?!" Hoseok yells.

"I HATE YOU!" Jimin screams, now at seven fingers.

"HE LITERALLY STILL HAS TEN FINGERS LEFT!"

"HE WASN'T FUCKING KIDDING!"

Seokjin just relaxes and enjoys the chaos unfolding before him.

But the next round, Yoongi says something on the lines of "Never have I not had sex before." So Seokjin loses a point because of that—but not until at least seven minutes of arguing back and forth.

Taehyung, though, comes up with an interesting question that's very obviously targeted at you.

"OOH!" he giggles, eyes turning wide. The law student grins at you specifically. "Never have I ever held hands with the opposite gender during a never have I ever game!"

"What?!" you and Jungkook shriek in unison, but keeping your hands intertwined. Instead, Jungkook squeezes your hand in response.

"That was so obviously aimed towards us!" you complain.

"Oh, then go on, aim something at me, then," Taehyung giggles. "We're tied in points anyway."

"Okay, fine," you sigh. "Never have I ever had a dick."

"You just did not—"

"That's not fair!"

"I can't fucking help what I was born with."

You shrug. "Let the aiming begin. Sorry boys, I wanna win this game."

Even Jungkook looks offended that you had attacked him.

"If you're playing dirty, I can play dirtier," he grins. "Never have I ever had a vagina."

"You stole mine!" you complain. Jungkook just laughs and pats your hand.

"Never have I ever slept with a guy," Jimin says.

"Never have I ever played softball," Namjoon says.

"Never have I ever been penetrated," Hoseok smiles at you angelically. You want to slap them.

"Never have I ever inserted a tampon," Seokjin sings.

"Never have I ever worn a bra," Yoongi says with a shrug.

"Never have I ever held Jungkook's hand," Taehyung laughs.

"That's double-dipping on the last one!" you argue.

"Too bad!"

Now it's your turn. And you only have one finger left. Well, this took the disastrous route.

"Never have I ever kissed a girl," you sigh defeatedly.

Though everyone else puts down a finger, you're still losing big time. One more blow would mean you've lost.

Jungkook smiles, turning to you. "Ready for the finale?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. Bring it on."

"Never have I ever had a period."

"I hate you guys," you grumble, sinking into the couch and letting go of Jungkook's arm. "You really ganged up on me."

Though you've lost the game, you're not that mad—not as mad as you thought you'd be. When you see your friends laughing their asses off and high-fiving each other to celebrate your defeat, it ironically makes you feel better. Good to see them get along.

Four months ago, they would've done anything to rip each other apart in shreds. Now, it looks like they've gotten close to the point they'll gang up to spite you.

While clutching your stomach to numb yourself from the pain, you can't help but smile. They've come a very long way. Now they don't really seem like the annoying man babies you knew. Granted, they're still man-babies, but less annoying and slightly more caring and thoughtful. But you'll take any kind of man-baby as long as he respects you and his friends.

Being on your damned period makes you want to sleep in the whole day. Except you're in a zombie apocalypse and sometimes, you have to sacrifice your wishes for the good of the group. Which means, getting up when Seokjin calls for breakfast.

But it's just so hard to get up... You end up ignoring Seokjin and everyone else yelling at you to come eat. Seokjin has to knock on the bedroom door, telling you that you can't skip breakfast or else it'll be bad for your uterus. You're not really sure that's how it works, but since he asked very nicely, you comply.

Groggily, you slide out of bed and make your way to the restroom. You feel heavy, bloated and just plain gross. You quickly change your tampon, scrubbing your hands with soap and water before finally walking out.

Whoever's the last one to wake up usually gets to walk the walk of shame with everyone else yelling at them. But it's silent today.

The moment you join the group and Seokjin hands you your breakfast, Namjoon's considerate enough to ask you if you had a good night's sleep.

"No," you answer, gesturing towards your whole face. "I'm bloated. I have dark circles under my eyes. And I feel ugly."

"N-No, you're beautiful!" Jungkook says quickly.

You give him a look. "Don't lie."

"Do you want me to tell you that you are ugly and bloated?" Jungkook asks in confusion. "I mean, I'll do it if you want, you know."

Oh god. His ignorance makes you want to strangle him.

When Jungkook notices that he's stepped into a dangerous zone, he backs away. "I-I mean, no, I wasn't lying! You're always beautiful, Y/N. I swear!"

You huff but don't respond.

It's obvious that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You don't even know why you're so cranky today, but you guess you have to blame it on the fact that you're bleeding out quite uncomfortably. Apparently, your uterus is extra mad this time around that you didn't try for a kid again. And it's getting its revenge by releasing its wrath on your body, which aches about everywhere.

"It must be inconvenient to change your uh, menstrual... products every day," Yoongi says, supposedly trying to cheer you up. "I would be too lazy to do that."

"Yeah. It fucking sucks," you sigh. "Part of me wishes I just had an IUD so my period would stop altogether for a while... or at least lighten it. But then we wouldn't have a doctor to get it out of me after a few years."

Namjoon clears his throat, "Excuse me, I'm a—"

"No, you're not," you cut him off. "You're a med school student. Huge fucking difference."

Namjoon looks a bit hurt, but he dares not to say anything else.

"Whatever," you say bitterly. "Since we're on the topic, I need to get more tampons."

"At least use pads, Y/N... Much safer..." Namjoon tries.

"Yeah, pads are rad," Taehyung snorts.

"Period," Seokjin adds on.

"Oh god. Did you just make a period joke?" Hoseok groans, shaking his head.

"Why, yes," Seokjin grins. "Why yes, I did. I'm just going with the flow."

"Please shut the fuck up," Jimin says for you.

"I second that," you say. "And I'm not switching. Pads annoy the shit out of me. I don't wanna be more annoyed than I already am."

Nobody bothers to argue with you.

The day flows on as usual—with barely anything to do inside the house. The summer heat washes over everyone; it's nearly impossible to go outside because of it. Oh, and also, zombies. No one dares to step foot outside unless you, Jungkook or Yoongi have to get on the bus to get supplies.

But it's days like this where there's not particularly anything to do that makes this whole thing so much harder. The zombie movies make it look so easy, Taehyung points out.

And he's right. There's always so much action going on in apocalypse movies. Guns, knives, cults, blood and gore... But in reality, an apocalypse is much more... boring. It's a waiting game, really.

The eight of you just lie around, counting the fibers of the rug or daydreaming about how the world used to be. Jungkook manages to convince you to work out with him, so the two of you work on your core muscles, which ache by the time you finish because of the lack of use. You finish the work out much earlier than expected. It pisses you off that your stamina has dwindled down to nonexistent in just a few months. If it weren't for the stupid apocalypse, you'd still be one of the star players on your team. Now you're not even sure everyone on your team is still alive.

You call it quits and take a refreshing shower.

With your hair still wet and your clothes clinging onto your body, you lie on the bed right next to Jungkook whose eyes flutter open. "Back from your shower?"

"Mhm..." Instinctively covering your stomach with your hands, you turn your head to look at Jungkook. "I barely got through that workout."

Your friend laughs, clearing his bangs from his eyes at the same time. "You'll get better once we start working out more regularly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, though..." you sigh. "What's the point anymore?"

"The point?" Jungkook asks. He shifts his body to look at you, but you don't meet his eyes. "The point is to... survive... Right?"

"...I guess." You wince when your stomach cramps get worse. For some reason, the shower had left you with depressing thoughts and being skeptical of survival. "I dunno. What's the point of living now? We're just stuck in this house. It's cramped. We can't go outside unless we really need to... And I feel like absolute shit about myself. There's just no... purpose."

"Yeah, it sucks," Jungkook agrees. "But hey, you made a purpose by doing something you wanted to do yesterday. Remember? You finally worked out! And even during your period. You should be proud of yourself."

His enthusiasm and kind words make you feel a bit better. "I guess I did accomplish something pretty worthy today."

"See?" Jungkook grins. He sits up on the bed and smiles at you. "You did good."

You laugh, sitting up with him. "You mean, I did well."

"Literally no one cares about grammar."

"Oh, really?" you giggle, nudging Jungkook so hard that he almost falls off the bed. He grabs onto the sheets in a frenzy, and the two of you begin to laugh uncontrollably.

When the laughter dies down, you can't help but keep smiling at Jungkook. He must be having a hard time himself. (Either that or he's just a rock with no feelings.) But it's nice that he actively tries to make you feel better. Even if he jokes about inappropriate things all the time. Thank god there's someone your age living in the household. You doubt that anyone else would understand your PMS-ing and arbitrary existential crises as well as Jungkook.

"I'm sorry I've been such a grouch," you tell Jungkook. "If you guys were meaner to me right now, I'd stop whining. Coddling does bad things to my attitude."

"Nah, if I was bleeding out of my nonexistent vagina, I'd be pissed too," Jungkook says. "C'mon, let's go grab some lunch. I smell Seokjin's cooking."

During the meal, Hoseok sets down his silverware and sighs very loudly. "Everyone," he announces authoritatively. "This place is a pigsty."

Yoongi looks up from his dish. "Excuse me, this is my house. You can't say that."

Hoseok just rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying if I had my secretary, this place would be spotless."

"Well, your secretary isn't here though," Jungkook snickers.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Hoseok glares. "We're still going to do some... summer cleaning."

Oh no. Everyone groans.

Once the dishes are washed and put away, Hoseok starts giving out the cleaning assignments. Seokjin is excited to get the kitchen. You get the bathroom (because your feminine hygiene products are there). Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin get the living room area, while Yoongi, Namjoon and Jungkook get to clean the bedroom.

It's rather organized, but cleaning is not very fun. Back before the apocalypse, you'd probably clean your desk and room maybe once every six months. Or a year if you were particularly lazy.

Hoseok keeps yelling at everyone to "Put your backs into it!" Jungkook's ordered to scrub the floors and Taehyung gets to wash the rug. You just shut the bathroom door to drive a partition between the loud men.

But the repetitive scrubbing motions help soothe you. And you have to admit, it's a little bit satisfying to see all the muck wash down the drain when you scrub extra hard. However, after a while, it becomes a bit lonely to clean by yourself. Through the door, you can hear the others joke around and prank each other. Somehow, they're making cleaning sound fun.

You finish the last of your part in the bathroom and walk out with a PSA in mind. The men look up when you clear your throat. "Ahem, ahem. Please, for the love of god," you say, "put the fucking toilet seat down."

Jimin cocks his head at you. "But there are seven men and one of you."

"Oh, shut up!" Seokjin slaps Jimin. "Don't be a dick about using your dick."

"Uh, yeah, and it's just not fair that I have to clean up after your horrible aims," you say, shrugging.

"Oof," Jungkook whispers, nudging Taehyung and giggling.

"And I need to go to take out the trash..." you say. "...Anyone wanna come with?"

"Nah, Yoongi and I'll take care of it," Jungkook says. "You can stay and rest."

He doesn't need to say it twice. "Really? Thanks!"

While Jungkook and Yoongi go off to go to the local school to dump the trash, you decide to help Seokjin out in the kitchen. He normally doesn't let anyone around his precious workspace, but he found that you're significantly less clumsy than the other men.

The two of you end up making some soup from scraps and heating up bread. By the time everyone gathers around the living room with their bowls of piping hot soup, it's already dark out. Another day is nearly over.

And what better way to end the day than spend it with family time?

"I had so much time to think about this today," Jimin says. "What about twenty questions?"

"Oh, the thing where we ask twenty questions to come up with an object?" you say. "I'm down."

Everyone else mumbles their validations.

"I have a word," Jungkook snickers. "Shoot the questions." He downs his bowl of soup until there's nothing left.

"Okay, first thing's first," Namjoon says. "Is it alive?"

"No," Jungkook answers. "Is it not. The purpose of it is that it is not alive."

"Hmm..." Yoongi says. "Okay, then is it... um, a household object?"

"Well..." Jungkook pauses. "Yes?"

"Why'd you say that in a question?" you laugh. "Is it a weird household object?"

"Wait, that doesn't count as a question!" Hoseok says.

"Oh shit, sorry. I meant to say, have we ever used it in this house?"

"Um, I hope not," Jungkook snickers.

"Yes or no?!"

"No?? I think?"

"You don't know for sure??"

"I don't know if Yoongi has one of these! And if he uses it!" Jungkook says.

"Okay, fine. Then is it something essential to survival?" Yoongi asks.

"Oh, definitely not."

"Did you use it before the apocalypse?"

"Oh, hell no," Jungkook laughs. "But some of you might've."

"Some of us??" Seokjin says. "Wanna waste seven questions and find out who?"

"No!" everyone else choruses.

"So we know that it's kind of a household object, but we haven't exactly used it in this house... But some of us may have used it before we got stuck here..." Namjoon says. He hums thoughtfully. "Do you think it'd be smart to try to find out the general size of this object?"

Jungkook stifles a laugh.

"Why? Why was that funny?" Hoseok says. He narrows his eyes. "Hm, okay, is it larger than my hand?"

Jungkook laughs out loud. "I mean, it depends, really."

"You need to start giving better answers," Taehyung groans. "You're so fucking vague."

"So the size varies..." you say. "A shit ton of things have varying sizes!"

"I got a question!" Taehyung announces. "Would you typically let this object out in the open?"

"What kind of dumb question is that?" Yoongi rolls his eyes.

"What?? I'm sensing that this object is a weird one and I just wanna confirm it!!"

"No!" Jungkook exclaims. "Never. You would not wanna leave it out in the open."

"Money???" Namjoon guesses. "Do you guys think it's money?"

"How could some of us have used money before the apocalypse?" Hoseok laughs. "It's not money... We have to figure out which people would've used it before."

"Or we can ask where most people would keep the object," you say. "Here's my question, would it be in the kitchen?"

"Not typically, no. I also hope not," Jungkook says.

"Oh god, I can't help you guys now," Seokjin shrugs.

"Would it be in the bedroom, then?" Jimin asks.

"Oh, yes. Yes."

"What would you wanna keep hidden in the bedroom?" Namjoon scrunches his forehead.

Taehyung sniggers. "My mind is going places right now."

"Oh god," you groan. "Please don't—"

"Is it related to sex?" the law student blurts out before anyone can stop him.

There's a dramatic pause before Jungkook nods. "Yes."

"I KNEW IT!" Taehyung pumps his fist in the air victoriously. "It's a sex toy. I can feel it."

"Something that only a few of us would use..." Jimin trails off. "Is it for both sexes?"

"Um..." Jungkook says. "Yes? I mean, you would think it's for women... But I think some men would use it too... Aw man, I just gave you guys a huge hint."

All of the men turn to you. "What have you got for us?" Yoongi says.

You try to rack your brain. "Um... maybe a vibrator?"

"Is that your answer?" Jungkook says.

"Um, yes?"

"Nope!"

"How many questions do we have left?" Hoseok asks.

"Eight," Jungkook answers, grinning. "But I'm pretty sure you guys will get it right."

"Um... um..." you try to think, but nothing's coming up in your head. "I don't know! I don't really use toys in the bedroom!"

"I got it!" Namjoon shrieks. "I got it!"

"What is it??"

"Butt plugs!!"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh. "N-No!!" he wheezes.

"Oh, wait," Seokjin says. "I think I know."

Everyone holds their breaths as he prepares to reveal the answer.

"A dilidio."

"A WHAT?" you nearly fall over laughing.

"NOOOO!" Taehyung screams, slapping his thighs and doubling over.

"Did you fucking mean dildo???" Hoseok yells, his face turning red as he laughs.

"Oh my god," Jimin giggles.

"I-I choked on my soup," Yoongi coughs, but he's laughing so hard it seems as if he doesn't mind.

"Oh no," Seokjin says. "I suppose I did mean dildo..."

Jungkook seems to be at a loss for words. He's laughing so hard that he's completely silent, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut as he gasps for air. "Y-YES!" he finally screams. "You guessed it!"

"Your word was dildo the whole time?!" you shriek. "And you thought some of us used it??"

"Wait, you never used one?" Jungkook gapes. "I thought all girls—"

"No! Not all—I am not talking about this in public!"

"I've considered it before," Taehyung giggles. "But I backed down before things got serious."

"Oh my god," Namjoon wheezes. "I almost lost my lungs thanks to Seokjin."

Seokjin just shrugs. "I'm just here for comedic relief."

"Did you really not know how to say dildo??" Taehyung says.

Seokjin laughs nervously. "I mean... it slipped from my mind for a second... C'mon I'm a straight male who's a virgin. Cut me some slack."

"Sure," Taehyung giggles. "...dilidio," he whispers.

That results in another loud friendly argument, and by the time things are settled and everyone's abs are hurting from laughing, Yoongi decides to call it a night.

You slip into bed after changing tampons and try to drift off the sleep. But the worst thing about being on your period is that sometimes, you get bad insomnia on top of cramps. Curling up into the mattress, you hold your stomach protectively as you try to count the sheep to bore yourself to sleep. However, in your visions, the sheep turn into mutated zombies, so you have to force yourself to open your eyes to get the hideous image out of your head.

Sighing, you turn over so you're on your side and facing the side that Jungkook's sleeping on.

"Still awake?" comes a hushed whisper from below the bed. You can recognize the silvery undertone of Jungkook's voice anywhere.

"Yeah, just some insomnia," you shrug. "And cramps."

"Sucks," Jungkook whispers.

"Yeah..."

"Want me to help?"

"What??"

Before you know it, you hear rustling and Jungkook slips under the covers with you. "Here, I'll big spoon you," he says. "Some extra heat might help, right?"

"O-Oh, y-yeah..." You're so caught off guard that you can't help but stutter. "Are you sure this isn't some plot to just sleep in the comfortable bed?"

Jungkook laughs quietly. "Something like that," he jokes. He puts a reassuring arm around you, and you can't help but flush when he whispers, "Comfortable?"

"Mhm... T-Thanks," is all you can manage. You're so caught up in the fact that you're spooning with Jungkook that you completely forget about your cramps. He smells like Yoongi's soap—clean and a bit minty—like his usual spearmint cologne. It brings back old memories of the Jungkook you barely knew but was still attracted to. The Jungkook you know now is infinitely better.

A part of you knows he actually, genuinely cares for you. But another part of you worries that he's just being nice to get into your pants. You're usually good at spotting the typical ding-dong-ditch boys, so you hope your good judgments about Jungkook are correct as well.

But what kind of bad man cuddles platonically with a girl to help her with her period cramps?? Exactly. Jeon Jungkook is a saint.

And that's the last thought you have before you drift asleep in his strong arms.

When you wake up, Jungkook's not in bed with you; nor is he in the bedroom. It seems as if it's just you and Yoongi left sleeping. The others must be awake.

Waking up without Jungkook next to you almost makes you feel like yesterday had just been a miraculous dream. But you know it had happened. Why else would Jungkook's sleeping bag be arranged so neatly? He'd definitely fallen asleep with you. The thought makes your cheeks blush and you try to shake the feeling away.

You rub your eyes, yawn and carefully maneuver out of the room, avoiding sleeping Yoongi. Making a quick stop to the restroom to change your tampon, you walk out, stretching your arms and yawning. The cramps seemed to have ceased early this time, so you're feeling much lighter and happier.

The others give you their salutations.

"Feeling better?" Jungkook says. He sits up from the single couch to let you sit down.

"Thanks," you say, smiling at him. "Yeah, the cramps are gone at least."

"Sounds good, Y/N!" Seokjin sings from the kitchen. "Can someone wake Yoongi up??"

"I'll go," Hoseok sighs. "I swear, that man could sleep through the world ending."

"He already is," Taehyung laughs.

You smile at Taehyung's joke, turning to Jungkook to see if he had found it funny too. To your shock, you see Jungkook already looking at you, smiling softly.

"The worst's already over, right?" he says. "Maybe we can snag some painkillers for you one day."

"Oh, we shouldn't bother—"

"Come on, lovebirds!" Namjoon says. "Breakfast's ready!"

"Lovebirds?!" you and Jungkook shout at the same time.

"As if you guys don't make it obvious enough," Yoongi grumbles, scratching his back and squinting at the bright lights. "Didn't you two play footsie last night in bed?"

"We did not!" Jungkook scoffs.

"Wait, does that mean I get to move into the bedroom?" Taehyung asks hopefully.

"Why would it be you? What about me?" Hoseok says.

"Yeah! And me??" Jimin argues.

"Whatever. Whatever!" you shout, effectively silencing everyone. "Let's just please eat breakfast."

After another meal consisting of everyone talking over each other and making hilarious jokes, Seokjin announces that he's in need of more eggs. More vegetables would be nice too.

You and Jungkook immediately stand up and Yoongi just groans. "Do we really have to go today?" he grumbles. "I just wanna stay home."

"You've been staying home for over a week," Taehyung says. "Hey, can I tag along this time? I'm not afraid of a couple of zombies."

"Why so suddenly?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "It's not a fairytale, you know. It's serious work."

"I mean, Y/N and Jungkook make it look so fun..."

"Yes, we're pretty cool, we know," Jungkook laughs, scrounging around for his baseball bat and picking it up. "We're every zombie movie director's dream."

"As long as you can run really fast, then sure," you say.

"Yes!!" Taehyung exclaims.

Jimin shudders. "I still don't understand why you would want to go outside into the zombie-infested world..."

"One wrong move could get you killed," Hoseok says. "It's dangerous."

You shrug. "We've survived every time. And besides, zombies are the lesser species. They're stupid. Slow. And incredibly weak."

"Careful. Don't get too cocky," Namjoon says. "You sure you need an extra pair of hands to carry everything?"

"The more people we have, the more supplies we can get at a time," Jungkook answers. "Tae can come and that's final."

Taehyung won't shut up about how cool it would be to have zombies chasing after him as he ducks heroically around obstacles and wacks a few of them with makeshift weapons. It's like his head's stuck in the movie world.

Yoongi ends up putting his earplugs in.

You and Jungkook patiently listen to Taehyung's fantastical visions, wondering if the two of you should break it to him that yes, being a supplier is cool, but no, it is not action zombie movie cool.

When Yoongi announces that you've arrived at the destination, Jungkook cautiously pulls back the curtains on the bus and then frowns.

"Yoongi, this is Costco, not Target."

"Yeah, I know," the stoic man answers. "Figured the eggs came in larger packs here. And they have a special section for their fruits and vegetables to keep them fresh."

"Fresh after four months?" you raise your eyebrows.

"You can see for yourselves," Yoongi answers. "If not, there's a shit ton of food there anyway. Thought we needed a little upgrade from Target."

"Right..." Jungkook says. "But we also don't know how many more zombies are roaming around here."

"Seems like none to me!" Taehyung exclaims as he scans the perimeter. "Uh, at least none on the outside."

"Well... we have each other's phone numbers just in case. Ringtones on silent, right?" you say. "We'll call you if we have any trouble. And you'll call us if you're in trouble too. Though I doubt it." You shrug. "The most zombies we might have to encounter might be ten. And we can take ten easily."

"Exactly," Jungkook says. "But we'll still exercise caution."

"Right," Taehyung says. "We must exercise caution."

"And try to talk in a low volume," you say.

"Then everything will be just fine," Jungkook says, puffing out his chest.

Five minutes later, things are looking out to be... quite... not fine. But it's also too late to back down. The three of you are already deep in the large Costco building, and though it looked like there were no zombies outside, there were a shit ton inside. All sleeping.

You try to signal Jungkook and Taehyung to go back to the bus just in case, but the other two are firm on going through with the mission. The three of you tiptoe carefully across the building, making sure to speak sparingly or stay silent altogether.

Unfortunately, Costco doesn't have plastic bags, so you end up having to carry the carton of eggs. The vegetable section stinks of rotten food, so you avoid it completely. There aren't that many fresh foods in Costco that you can hold without making a complete racket, so the three of you gravitate towards the canned foods sections once more. You admit, there are way more options in Costco than in Target, but you quickly find out that it's hard to carry multiple cans at once without a bag.

You ditch the canned foods and pick up boxes of waffle, pancake and cake mix. In the midst of choosing how many of these boxes you should bring with Jungkook, Taehyung interrupts the quiet conversation by whispering aggressively: "Look! Look at this!"

Jungkook puts his finger to his lips. "Not so aggressively," he whispers. He nods at the couple of zombies sleeping in the same aisle, just several feet away—the closest you've ever been to those limping monsters. And all of you know there might be tens and tens more scattered around the store. No one wants to find out what would happen if they all woke up.

Taehyung pouts and twirls around in—

"A leather jacket?" you say. "Where the fuck did you get that?"

"It was literally lying on the ground somewhere. Pretty neat, huh? Makes me feel like I'm the star of a zombie apocalypse movie!"

"That's half true," you say. "You're not a star in a movie... Also, that's a woman's jacket. See the details on the side?"

"I don't care! It's still fucking cool—"

"Shh!! Shut the fuck—FUCK!" Jungkook shrieks.

The zombies in the aisle have opened their eyes and have seen the three of you. They slowly get up from the ground and begin to limp toward you, but surely, gaining speed.

"Ohhh no, oh no, oh no," you panic, gripping Jungkook's arms and nearly dropping the eggs in your arms.

"S-Stay calm," Jungkook says, but his eyes are huge and he looks panicked. "Um... run!" he whispers.

Taehyung grabs an extra box of waffle mix before dashing away, catching up to you and Jungkook. The three of you dash for your lives. You take a look back to see if the zombies are still following you, but you wish you hadn't. There are way more than the two initial ones who had spotted you. Now there's a gigantic hoard of them limping after you.

And man, the movies got it all wrong! These motherfuckers are kinda fast.

Maybe they can't exactly run, but they can definitely speed walk. Your feet pound against Costco's floors and the impact vibrates from your foot to the top of your head. The bat wedged between your arms has never felt so useless. The eggs held tightly against your chest are threatening to crack under the pressure of your hold. But you don't care. You've never been more afraid in your life.

One or two zombies is a joke. But at least thirty?? Wanting to bite your neck off? No fucking thank you. You cannot possibly fight that.

The only solace you have is Jungkook, who constantly looks over to make sure you're next to him. Though you know he can run faster than this, he keeps his running at your pace, and Taehyung runs behind both of you because either he's willing to turn himself into a sacrifice or he's willing to prove he's not afraid of zombies.

It might be the latter.

There's no time to text Yoongi; you'll just have to pray that he'll be waiting on the bus, ready to zoom off the moment the three of you get on. But when you finally run out of Costco's confining walls, your heart sinks. Jungkook puts his arm out in front of you to stop you from running any closer to the hoard of zombies bumping their heads on the very walls of the bus.

But there's little to no time to think.

Taehyung gestures violently and leads you and Jungkook to hop into Costco's food court kitchen, where thankfully, the windows are open. Jungkook slides into the room first and double-checks that it's completely safe and empty before helping you in. Taehyung comes in last, just before the zombies spill out of the entrance of Costco. They look confused, wondering where their three meals have vanished off into nowhere. But they don't seem to mind, wandering off to the bus where the rest of their ugly monster friends are.

You're breathing hard, so hard that you can barely breathe. All you can do is clutch your carton of eggs and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet as you squat down on the ground. Even Jungkook, the brave, seems a little fazed as he tries to comfort your shaking body by patting your back.

Only Taehyung doesn't look affected at all. He shrugs, setting down the boxes of food and pats his newly acquired leather jacket. "Everything will be fine," he whispers so quietly you can hardly catch his words.

"I-It's not!" you manage to whisper. "Yoongi's on that bus! A-And... I—what if—"

Taehyung pats your leg, helping you put down the eggs. You just hold your bat—as if it'll save you from the at least fifty zombies waiting outside. "Yoongi will be fine..." he reassures you. "Things will work out."

Jungkook shows his phone to the two of you, and there are several texts from Yoongi that indicate not to go near the bus right now.

"Tell him that we're fine," Taehyung says quietly. "That we'll wait for the zombies to go away or something."

Thank god Taehyung's here. It always helps to have someone who is unafraid. Someone who is still able to think straight after being chased by a hoard of flesh-eating zombies.

You decide to check your suspicions and open the carton of eggs to find eight of them cracked and leaking. You don't know what washes over you, but you're suddenly crying silent tears. Something about being stuck in the Costco kitchen with zombies guarding the bus you're supposed to go into and not exactly knowing what the future holds for you is fucking terrifying. And even worse, you had one job. But you'd managed to crack the eggs.

Taehyung and Jungkook are surprised to see your tears—especially Taehyung because he had never seen your vulnerable side before. Jungkook just hugs you, and you try to focus on the scent of mint clinging to his hair, while Taehyung lets you hold his hand.

No one dares to speak after that.

The zombies are pretty far away, but you're not willing to take any chances when the kitchen is a closed space. There's nowhere to run. And you obviously don't want to stay here all night. Night is when the zombie numbers multiply—at least in the movies.

You try to take silent, deep breaths to calm your rapidly beating heart. Jungkook's chest rests against your back, and you can hear his thumping heart as well. You know that he's a lot more scared than he lets on. But he stays calm for your sake.

Meanwhile, Taehyung just looks bored.

He taps meme song rhythms against the back of your hand and frequently (but also carefully) looks out the window to check if the zombies are gone. But they are not. They continue to rack their heads against the walls of the bus, and there are so many of them that sometimes, with a particularly hard knock, the bus leans to the side.

Maybe they can smell humans...

You just hope if they can, they won't be able to smell you three. If worse comes to worst, you'll actually have to fight for your life.

It's been nearly five hours.

Your legs are sweaty and your thighs stick to the ground, and it's gotten so stuffy that you, Jungkook and Taehyung have all given each other some space. There's still not much to say and it's too risky to talk, though.

The silence is horrible.

You start to think about everything. All the people you've wronged. All the people who hated you and would probably kill to see you like this. All the people who love you and would be heartbroken over the deadly situation you've entangled yourself in. All the people who you loved and are dead now, after meeting a tragic, zombie-ridden death.

It's worse that you're still on your period, and you've still got the tampon in—for more than eight hours too. But you try to forget about it; it's the least of your worries now.

At this point, you're not sure if you should just accept your fate. It already feels like you've lost a big battle. Why not just give up? The five hours you've stayed cramped up in the small kitchen felt like five days.

The others must be worrying at home. And oh god, Yoongi... He must be even more terrified to be alone on the bus and surrounded by zombies.

"H-Hey..." Jungkook whispers, placing his hand on yours. "Maybe we should go now..."

"What??" you exclaim in a low voice. "What do you mean go now??"

"Jungkook's right. There're fewer zombies surrounding the bus," Taehyung says, he crouches down but levels his eyesight to the parked vehicle.

"If we can manage to push them away from the doors and get in..." Jungkook starts. "Um..."

"We'll be totally fine," Taehyung says. He's got a small smile on his face—not a hopeful smile but a confident smile. You wonder what it takes to be so unafraid and unbothered.

But they're right. What used to be about fifty zombies have dwindled down to a measly ten to fifteen. Possibly twenty-five since some of them might be out of your line of sight. But it's much better than fifty. Still...

This would totally be asking to get bitten.

"I've already texted Yoongi. He says he'll keep a close lookout for us, and when the coast's clear, he'll let us in," Jungkook says. "C'mon..." He squeezes your shoulder. "It's better to try now than later, right?"

"You two can swing your bats around like mad," Taehyung says. "And I'll just, you know, try to stay alive and hold the supplies."

You twirl on him, your mouth gaping. "You're not gonna fight??"

"Someone has to hold the groceries," Taehyung laughs. "It's better for me to hold everything so you two have more mobility."

"Oh god. Oh god," you mumble. "We're going to have to do it..."

"Duh," Taehyung snorts. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Like in the movies."

Fun?? You could think of a billion counterarguments, but you shut your mouth.

"Just pretend the zombies are that creepy sexist male baseball coach you had in high school," Jungkook says. "Does that help?"

"I'm not very imaginative—"

"Okay, the goal is not to beat them up, anyways," Jungkook says. "Just enough for us to get into that bus in one piece..."

"Right," you say with a curt nod. "Just enough to survive..."

"They're just a couple of idiots with mangled bodies," Taehyung grins. "We'll survive."

"Of course," Jungkook snorts. He looks over at you as if to check up on your mental state. Though you're screaming on the inside, you manage to put on a stoic look on your face.

"Okay, well I'm ready," you finally whisper, gritting your teeth. "We'll uh... yeah, survive..."

"Exactly," Taehyung says, he pats your back before beginning to pick up all of the supplies. "You guys got my back, right?"

"Sure," Jungkook grins. "We'll keep you covered."

You nod along, though biting your lip nervously. "So we're just going to... make a run for it?"

"We're not really in the position to make up a battle strategy," Jungkook shrugs. "I'll be in the front, you can be right behind me and Tae'll be right at the back."

"Sounds like a plan," Taehyung says.

It's a simple plan that seems to be effective, but there are still a million things that can go wrong. Jungkook grips his bat tightly in his hands before looking back at you. He looks a little apprehensive himself, but he offers a tight smile.

"On the count of three, right?" Jungkook says, he looks at you specifically. "And no running off before."

You manage to smile nervously. "Yeah..."

"One..."

You take in a deep breath.

"Two..."

You breathe out.

"Three!"

You hold your breath as you charge, right behind Jungkook. Your feet pad silently against the ground; your surroundings are blurred. You can only see straight ahead.

You raise your bat above your head, ready to strike. Your grip around it tightens.

The zombies are still oblivious, but there are so many of them. Your ears can't seem to comprehend sound anymore. Your eyes narrow in on the monsters, and you make a mental target of the ones you're going to go after first. It's almost in slow-mo. Right before two opposing sides meet in war and clash.

Jungkook lets out a muffled gasp when he hits the first zombie across the head.

It's enough force for the monster to stumble back and fall to the ground. The other zombies notice and begin to charge slowly. You hesitate for just a second, watching Jungkook lash out at the monsters to clear the way for you and Taehyung to get into the bus. Then with revitalized vigor, you move, swinging your bat with all of your strength at the nearest, blood-thirsty zombie.

It growls before flinging backwards. The impact of the hit has your arms shaking uncontrollably, but there's no time to pause and recuperate. In fact, there's no time for you to think. One wrong move can get you killed.

You swing your bat over and over again. Never hitting the same zombie twice. Knocking down as many as you can. Helping Jungkook protect Taehyung who has no weapons at all.

Blood splatters everywhere, but you don't dare close your eyes. And it's too much of a risk to scream. You pant quietly, sweating profusely but gritting your teeth and fighting for your life. Literally.

But the zombies won't die the second time around. They manage to stand straight again and hobble towards you and the two others.

"Y/N!" Jungkook hisses, hair wet with sweat and eyebrows furrowed. "Knock on the bus door!"

He swings his own baseball bat around, subsequently knocking down three monsters. He's offering you and Taehyung protection while your backs are turned.

Following his order, you frantically knock on the bus door covered by curtains. As soon as your knuckle hits the glass, Yoongi peels back the curtain, his eyes wide and lips parted.

You know he can see the hoard of zombies still trying to maul Jungkook. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing in the process. Nevertheless, in just a few seconds, the bus door opens.

"Hurry!"

Taehyung's the first one in, and you only stay to kick a zombie away from the entrance. Its hanging guts explode right on your shoe, making a disgusting mess.

"Jungkook!" you shriek.

He turns around, cursing as he knocks down more of the monsters.

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, looking between the safe insides of the bus and your friend struggling to fight the zombies. More of them are ganging up on him, definitely more angry that he'd tried to hurt them. There's no time to think at all. It's all instinct when you jump out, unexpectedly knocking one zombie over. But it creates a miracle domino effect.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate. He grabs your arm, turns around and runs toward the entrance of the bus. The moment your foot is in the door, Yoongi slams it shut.

Loud thumps can be heard from the glass as the zombies angrily protest against the loss of a meal.

Just when you worry that the glass might crack from their vicious head-butting, Yoongi gets in the driver seat and slams his foot down on the gas. The bus lurches forward, definitely crunching over some of the zombies and subsequently flinging you, Jungkook and Taehyung to the back of the vehicle. The gathered supplies fly every which way, but Yoongi continues on, jerking the steering wheel left and right to throw off the zombies.

Your heart is thumping so loud, you can't even hear the skids of the bus wheels against the concrete. Hell, you can barely even see straight.

Even after Yoongi pulls out of Costco's parking lot and continues to speed out of the city, you're unable to speak, completely frozen. And no one speaks another word until you can see Yoongi's modest home several yards away.

Safety is close.

The anxiousness is just about dissipating within you when—

"Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!" Yoongi curses, repeatedly slamming his foot on the gas pedal only for the bus to slow down, sputter and come to a complete stop. "Well, shit," he sighs, turning around to face you, Jungkook and Taehyung. "Bus broke down."

"Welp!" Taehyung sighs, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his clothes. He's got a few bloody smudges on his cheap Target t-shirt (he had to give up Gucci ever since the apocalypse), but he's in a much cleaner state than you and Jungkook. The law student shrugs, gathering up most of the supplies in his arms. "At least it didn't break down back at Costco."

"Do you think we can fix it?" you say, eyebrows furrowed. "And is it safe outside?"

"Zombies don't really come here... I think," Jungkook says, frowning. "Um, but I'm sure we won't be ambushed out there."

"We'll have to see if the bus is fixable," Yoongi says. "But I'm no mechanic." He looks more on the worried side, fidgeting with his hands. "Let's get out of here."

With your knees still shaking and head still light, you stand up, nearly wobbling over if Jungkook had not supported you. Yoongi carries the rest of the supplies, unveiling the bus door and busting it open. You and Jungkook carry your bloody bats, you especially distraught over the violent mess that had been made of your precious sports equipment.

Taehyung's the first one out, stretching his back leisurely before taking a look around the surroundings. "Zombie-free!" he exclaims. "Damn, look at the bus! Didn't know zombies could even bleed that much!"

You make a disgusted face at his comment. I definitely don't want to be reminded of fighting those monsters anytime soon.

Taehyung's right, though. The bus windows are splattered with now dried droplets of blood, and the sides are even worse, harboring the brunt of the zombies' remains. You have to look away.

Though there are seemingly no monsters roaming about in the vicinity, Jungkook ushers you towards the house as quickly as he can. It's not worth the risk. Not worth the extra trauma.

Before any of you can get to the front door though, it swings open with a very worried looking Jimin nearly in tears.

"I thought you guys were dead!" he screams, tugging everyone in the house before slamming the door shut. When he pulls back, Jimin's jaw drops open. "Blood?!"

"Oh god..." Namjoon gasps, quickly rushing over to check up on you and Jungkook. "Anyone bitten?"

"What the hell happened?" Hoseok cries. "We couldn't even call! Our phones died and you took the chargers!" He points at Taehyung.

"Oh, Y/N..." Seokjin gasps when he realizes you've started to cry. "Hey... hey..."

"We had a little bit of a problem," Yoongi says. "Went to Costco instead of Target. It's my fault... And they had to deal with it."

"It's cool, bro," Taehyung says. "Got this cool leather jacket out of it. But also almost died in the process."

Seokjin embraces you, making you cry even harder. The stoic façade that you had put up inside the bus and all throughout the afternoon had broken apart.

"I-It was," sniff, "n-not c-c...ool," you manage to get out against Seokjin's chest. "I... I've never b-been s-so... scared."

"You've made it out alive," Seokjin whispers, patting your head. "It's okay..." He pulls back and murmurs a quiet "Yikes," when he sees blood splatters across your face and even down to your neck.

"Y-Yikes?!" You cry even harder. Everything you'd been holding in for the last four months, all the times you missed everyone you'd known in your life, all the times you'd had a major existential crisis—it all comes crashing down on you. Leaving you broken.

Seokjin awkwardly holds you, not sure of what to say and do. The rest of the men seem at a loss for words as well.

Finally, Jungkook's the first to take action. He walks forward, wiping off the dried blood from your chin before sighing. "You're a professional zombie fighter," he says, crouching down to meet your eye level. "You were brave, calm and collected when you needed to be, and you survived. Plus, you saved me. You should be proud of yourself. You did good."

You manage to scoff amidst your tears. "Y-You mean," sniff, "that you did w-well."

"Yeah, whatever," Jungkook snorts. He just pats your back and helps you sit down on the couch in the living room.

"What's that about Y/N saving your life?" Jimin says.

"Um... well, how about we start from the very beginning?" Jungkook suggests, sitting on the couch ledge. "It's a long story."

"Man, it was bad fortune after bad fortune after bad fortune!" Taehyung exclaims. "Like literally, just when we thought we survived everything and could live to see another day, the bus fucking broke down!"

"Wait, the bus broke down??" Hoseok shrieks. "And eggs and what the fuck is that—cake mix—are the last things we got???"

When you look like you're going to start crying again, Namjoon cuts in. "Cake mix can last for months. And eggs are delicious!"

"We're doomed," Jimin groans. "How are we gonna get our supplies?"

"And the eggs are cracked," Seokjin says as he frowns at the opened carton of eggs. "Thirteen out of twenty-four."

You shake your head in disbelief, biting your lip to keep yourself from crying tears of frustration. Nothing had gone right today. Nothing at all.

"I'm so sorry," you mutter. "I was holding them so tight... I didn't think they'd..." You can't even continue on, losing your voice mid-sentence.

"Hey, no," Seokjin says. "I uh, didn't mean it like that. Um, I can still totally cook with what's left!"

He tries to lighten the downwards spiraling mood, but it's no use.

"You guys could've died," Jimin gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. "Like, Jungkook could've really been a goner."

"I can't even imagine myself being in a rocking bus," Hoseok shudders. "And zombies are the ones rocking it."

"I'm just glad no one got bitten," Namjoon says. "We were worried sick!"

"No, seriously," Jimin says, "we thought you guys died."

"Yeah, it felt like I was close to death," Yoongi snorts.

"Every day we're out here means we're closer to death," Namjoon sighs, shaking his head.

"Oh, man, I don't wanna die... and then become undead," Taehyung grumbles. "Then what's the point of dying??"

"Actually, though," Hoseok grumbles. "You're right. Would we still be conscious if we were bitten and turned into monsters? Or would we be stripped from our personalities and minds?"

"I'm not sure about you, but I personally don't think I have the 'I want to bite your head off' personality within me," Jungkook snickers.

"Ew, stop talking about death," Seokjin complains. "It's stinking up the whole place." He looks at you, Jungkook and Taehyung. "And you guys need a good shower," he says as-a-matter-of-factly. "I'll make some omelets for dinner. Jimin? Hoseok? Help me, please."

"Wait what about m—" Namjoon says.

"No," Seokjin says abruptly. "You're not allowed in the kitchen."

Namjoon pouts but he soon finds something to do in his study binder. Yoongi trudges into the bedroom saying he needs to sleep the terror off.

That leaves you, Jungkook and Taehyung amongst yourselves.

"You can go first, Y/N," Taehyung says, taking one look at the tears staining your cheeks and the state of your clothes. "You look like you really need that shower."

"Agreed," Jungkook says. "We might have to throw our clothes away too. The blood on it is disgusting considering that it's not even ours..."

"Wait... blood?" You freeze as horror dawns on you. "Oh no. Oh fuck."

Before either Jungkook or Taehyung can ask what's wrong, you dash into the bathroom and lock the door.

With all the stupid commotion, you had totally forgotten about your tampon. Cursing under your breath, you manage to get it out—though with a bit more struggle than usual. But no matter, right? It's out now. Albeit, it had been inside for way longer than eight hours.

But nothing feels wrong down there, so you shrug. You've lucked out; you just won't be as reckless again.

Hopping into the shower, you let the warm water caress your skin before scrubbing your body from head to toe. You leave the shower a bit early (so the others have warm water too), but you leave feeling more refreshed, alive and relaxed.

While Jungkook and Taehyung take their turns in the shower stall, you meander into the kitchen to help Seokjin. (Jimin and Hoseok had come up with elaborate excuses to not cook, leaving the intern chef to do everything.)

By the time everyone is gathered in the living room, dinner preparation is finished. Normally, there's a lot of chatter, but the mood is solemn today. Everyone eats in silence.

In the beginning, you're unable to conjure enough of an appetite to eat. But the omelet smells heavenly and watching the others scarf it down helps a lot. You're able to ignore all the horrible images of blood and gore and zombies from your mind, picking up your fork to finally dig into the food. The omelet is delicious, but you don't have the guts to compliment Seokjin's efforts. Even the normally talkative people are quiet, preferring to dine in silence to succumb to the somber mood.

You're not even sure family game time will progress like this. Everyone's too preoccupied with the fact that half of the group could've died today. From just a simple mistake. And the fact that you broke down crying multiple times has made everyone cautious of their word choice.

"...Maybe we shouldn't play a game today," Jungkook says, looking carefully at you to check your reaction.

You bite your lip. "I don't know... It's almost like tradition."

"I know..." Jungkook sighs. "But is everyone in the mood, though?"

There are quiet murmurs; no one's feeling like they have to outwardly voice their opinions, but everyone's nodding subtly. Even so, an awkward silence befalls upon the group. You fidget with your hands, unsure whether you should just go to bed or not. There's an unsettling feeling taking over your stomach, which you're pretty sure has something to do with the traumatic events that had unfolded earlier today.

Finally, Namjoon clears his throat.

"I never really told anyone this..." he starts, playing with his fork. "Um... but I guess I can say it now... Not that there's any way the secret'll get out..."

"Secret?" Hoseok raises his eyebrows. "Did you start the damned apocalypse?"

"Oh my god, movie plot twist!!" Taehyung gushes.

"What?? No!" Namjoon says. "It's just a small secret I've been carrying with me since I was six."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "I know I'm supposed to be the face of intelligence, but I suppose I wasn't a bright child... Um, well... You see, when I was the ripe age of six, I genuinely thought the moon and the sun were the same thing..."

"No way," Taehyung gasps.

"Yes way," Namjoon shakes his head. There's a pink blush on his cheeks, signifying that he was already embarrassed. "I just thought people called the same circle in the sky different things depending on whether it was day or night! C'mon, I was six."

"Um, when I was six, I definitely knew the difference between the sun and moon," Jimin snickers. "That's like, common sense."

"Oh, I doubt you've never had a dumb moment in your life," Namjoon says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"I've had plenty, actually," Jimin says—almost as if he's bragging about it—"you see, there was this one time—"

"Wait, are we just going to share our funniest secrets?" Hoseok cuts in.

"Yes!" everyone except him choruses.

"Anyways," Jimin drags out, "okay, so starting with the bad news first. I think it was back in high school or something. Junior year, maybe? I totally forgot we had a test in the middle of the week so, of course, I didn't study. Bombed that test. Like to the point that I was the lowest score."

"How can you have any good news after this?" you gape.

"You would not believe it," Jimin cracks a smile. "I got my test back and sure enough, I got a 43%. But the best part!!" Jimin pauses dramatically. "My class grade went up!"

Namjoon's jaw drops open and you wonder if it could've unhinged if he had dropped it any faster.

"What do you mean your grade went up after scoring a 43%?!" the med school student roars. "How low was your grade?!"

Jimin just grins. "One secret at a time, my man. One secret at a time."

"You think that's bad?" Jungkook chimes in. "I used to hold my breath in front of the microwave so I wouldn't get hit by the fucking electromagnetic spectrum microwaves."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that works," Yoongi snorts.

"I know," Jungkook sighs. "That's why it's so embarrassing."

"Oh, really? I broke up with the love of my life because she didn't know who Gordon Ramsay was," Seokjin admits. "And now she's with a better man."

"Sucks, dude," Taehyung shakes his head.

"I know, it was some rough times," Seokjin shakes his head. "I really clowned myself on that one."

"It's okay," Jimin says. "Single people are superior people."

"That's what single people say to make themselves feel better," Jungkook snickers.

"It doesn't make me feel better. It's a fact!" Jimin protests.

"Where's the evidence, though?" Namjoon says. "Facts need supporting evidence."

"Oh my god, can we please go back to the confessions?" you say.

"Oh! I have a funny one from law school!" Taehyung volunteers.

Everyone shuts up and becomes all-ears.

"Okay, so in law school, sometimes, the prof cold calls you. You know, where they basically call on you in front of the whole fucking class to brief a case. Which basically means you're supposed to summarize the details of a case, right?" Taehyung laughs at his own memories. "But guess who didn't read about the case at all?" He pauses just a bit before declaring the obvious answer: "Me! That's who! Too busy getting hammered the night before. And guess who the fucking prof cold called? Also me!"

"Oh no..." you groan. "What happened?"

"I had no idea what the case was even about," Taehyung snorts. "So I made one up on the spot. A criminal case—just because those usually get so much more exciting. Everyone around me was confused as fuck. So was the professor. But I briefed such a good imaginary case that the prof let it go. I would've been the best lawyer ever if it hadn't been for this stupid apocalypse."

"What the fuck? Your professor didn't even get mad?" Jimin says. "What was the case about?"

Taehyung grins. "Oh, I put in a little bit of this, a little bit of that. A hybrid of a Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper and Zodiac Killer did the trick. Also the story of a heroic woman who escaped the mad man and made it alive to press charges. It was insane. I loved every single second of it, and I was making it up as I went!"

"Sometimes, Tae, I think you're a different breed," Jungkook says.

"I think we all agree with that," Hoseok says. "I mean, imagine having the nerve to completely disregard important college assignments!"

"Everyone makes mistakes!" Taehyung argues. "You probably did a couple of stupid things in your life. Why don't you share some with us?"

"I don't think I've done anything stupid in my life," Hoseok says. But he freezes. "Well, I was only thirteen then... It shouldn't count."

"Thirteen-year-old boys are idiotic," you say. "That's tea. Continue."

"I-It's not uh, very dramatic at all," Hoseok says, suddenly turning a bright shade of red. "It was no big deal, actually..."

"Spill," Jimin threatens.

Hoseok sighs. "Fine. One faithful day in junior high, I got in a fight with my mother. I told her I never needed her help with anything ever again. So she told me she wouldn't drive me to school that morning. I said I didn't care and proceeded to put on my rollerblades and skated to school to show that I was an independent young man."

"Where's the catch?"

"Um... I forgot to bring an extra pair of shoes to change into at school," Hoseok says. "But I didn't want to call my mom because that would mean I would've lost. I voluntarily walked in my socks for the rest of the day."

"I mean, at least you went through with it," Seokjin laughs. "I kind of have respect for that."

"Well, thanks," Hoseok shrugs. "I thought I was an idiot. Looking back now, I guess we all made stupid mistakes."

"Not all of us. Y/N, do you have something to share?" Taehyung asks.

"Hm..." You try to wrack your brain to come up with something. "Oh yeah. Once, I got fired from my barista job because some dude tried to hit on me."

"Why would you get fired for being attractive?" Jimin squints his eyes.

"Uh... Well, he was rude when he tried to get me to go on a date with him. Think he was some fucking incel or something. Super sexist. Anyways... I might've lashed back and said something that really made him get mad."

"What did you say?" Jungkook says. "Did you put the pig in his place?"

"Well, kind of. I did get fired for it," you shrug. "After I refused his offer to go on a date, he scoffed and told me he was too good for me anyway. And that a woman's place was in the lowly kitchen, so I was just on the right track."

"Woah," Seokjin gasps. "That is not cool. That is disgusting."

"How did you react?" Yoongi says, raising his eyebrows. "It's not easy coming back from something so rude."

"I think I have a special talent for that," you smile. "I told him, 'you are absolutely right sir, lemme go grab a knife while I'm at it.' He got really pale and called the manager. I lost my job."

"That's unfair!" Namjoon shouts. "And he didn't get in trouble whatsoever?"

"Nope," you sigh. "I had to starve myself for a few days just to save up money after I lost that job. Tough times."

"Oh, wow... I'm sorry," Jungkook says. "Some men are just not... it."

"I figured," you snort. "But I know how to put bad men in their place."

"I think you also know how to put good men in their place," Jimin whispers under his breath.

Next to him, Namjoon laughs. "As she should."

"So? Yoongi? Have you got anything?" you say, turning to the sleepy man who was mid-yawn.

Yoongi shrugs with a blank face. He begins to stand up, stacking everyone's empty dishes and taking them to the kitchen sink. You think he has nothing to share and is done with the confessions, but you're proven wrong when he comes back to the living room. He only pauses for a second to think. "I don't regret bringing the seven of you here the day the zombie breakout hit our city."

And then without a second glance, he walks out of the living room and into the bedroom, mumbling that he was tired and needed some sleep.

The rest of you blink at each other, unable to believe your ears. Usually, Yoongi is quiet and when he does speak, it's often without much emotional input. But this...

"That was weird," Jimin says. "He dropped the bomb on us and then just... left."

"I think it was sweet," you say.

"I agree," Jungkook smiles. "It was a nice way to end the night, anyway. Yoongi must've been so tired... I know we were out there fighting off the zombies, but he was on the bus, waiting and waiting, barely sure if we could get out alive."

"The stress probably got to him," Hoseok says. "We should all go to bed early. After today, we all need a good night's sleep."

"Yeah..." Namjoon agrees.

"Can I sleep in the bedroom?" Taehyung asks hopefully. "It's the only way I can actually get to sleep tonight," he pleads, though everyone knows he's lying through his teeth.

You and Jungkook look at each other, wordlessly communicating that the two of you would share the bed again. Your cheeks warm even at the thought.

"Fine," Jungkook answers. "But the bedroom policy's strict. No talking after lights out."

Taehyung laughs. "Don't worry. I'm so tired, I'll fall asleep before my head even hits the pillow."

You'd gotten in bed with Jungkook, him holding you tight in his arms and playing with your hands until he'd heard your soft, even breaths. He helps you calm down. Helps you escape.

But in the middle of the night, you wake up shivering violently. Jungkook is still embracing you and there is a blanket encompassing your body, but you are uncannily chilled. Almost as if you can't breathe. You struggle against the blankets, kicking them away, much to Jungkook's sleepy groaning protest. And when Jungkook complains too much, you end up kicking him out of the bed. You just feel too suffocated.

And when you wake up in the morning, you dash to the bathroom and vomit last night's dinner in the toilet.

The moment Namjoon sees you looking barely alive, he declares you need to stay in bed. You comply, trying to fight off that stupid headache you have. Crawling back under the covers, you attempt to focus your mind elsewhere to ignore the pain burning throughout your whole body.

Even Namjoon and Taehyung are stumped.

"It can't really be something you ate..." Namjoon says. "Because we eat the same things. If you caught it, we all should've as well."

"And we've had literally zero contact with other people, right?" Taehyung says. "Where could she have gotten it?"

Nevertheless, Namjoon rules your illness as the stomach flu—especially when you'd started to get severe diarrhea. No one else is allowed around you, even though Jungkook tries to talk to you from the other side of the bedroom door.

And for two days, you're given the stomach flu treatment. Seokjin cooks up rice in the kitchen to feed you and Jungkook and Taehyung follow Yoongi on a walking trip to a small but local convenience store to get some Gatorade and frozen bananas. Namjoon even finds some antibiotics that might work.

Although you feel like shit, you know that with your friends nurturing you and making sure you eat all the right foods and get proper rest, you'll be up and at it in no time.

Except on the fourth day, you pop a 103-degree fever with symptoms that include but are definitely not limited to delusion, fatigue, redness and irritation.

Namjoon sighs, looking at Yoongi's old, outdated thermometer. "I really hope this is broken and the numbers are far off."

You're almost in no state to react.

"She's burning up, though," Taehyung says. "We've tried everything..."

They sound worried and unsure of what to do next. But you can barely comprehend their words, head lolling tiredly to the side as you try to shut out everything in the world and rest. It's a hard thing to do too—your body feels like it's burning in the pits of hell and your head spins even though you're lying completely still. Whatever cold you caught, it's the worst you've had in your whole life.

When Jungkook worriedly peeks his head through the bedroom door, Namjoon crossly waves him away. He lets out a frustrated grunt, looking between you and Taehyung with a frown stretched across his forehead. "Maybe it's not... stomach flu...?" He says it like a question rather than a sure statement.

"These are stomach flu symptoms, though," Taehyung sighs, pointing at you. "What else are we supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure..." Namjoon trails off. "Stomach flu symptoms usually call for a low-grade fever. 103 is something else. 103 is..." he trails off. "That's really dangerous..."

"Is she..." Taehyung bites back his words. "Is she going to be okay?"

Namjoon looks at you again. He reaches over with a moist rag and pats it across your forehead to clean up the perspiration. "Y-Yeah," he says in his shaky voice. "She'll be fine..."

The mood is quiet and solemn. It's hard for the two men to watch you suffer, but they're supposed to supervise you, so it's their job to stay put and tend to your every need. But Jungkook suddenly barges into the bedroom with wild hair and crazed eyes. He's panting, sweating even.

"I don't think that's stomach flu!" he yells.

"Shh!" Namjoon shushes Jungkook aggressively. "Keep it down!"

"Not stomach flu??" Taehyung gasps. "How do you know??"

Jungkook tosses Taehyung a blue box, which the law student catches with quick reflex. "Read the fucking box, guys. Read it."

"J-Jungkook?" you groan. Your eyes flutter as you try to get a clear vision of the man. "Kook?"

He just shakes his head repeatedly, unable to walk any closer to you. "Y/N..."

Taehyung holds up the blue tampon box, frowning. "So you're saying she has Toxic Shock Syndrome?"

Namjoon gasps. "Oh god."

"According to the internet, Y/N's showing the exact symptoms of it," Jungkook says. "We have to get her to the hospital."

"We can't be 100% about that, though," Namjoon says. "TSS requires a medical diagnosis... you know, with medical equipment."

"The hospital has medical equipment," Taehyung points out.

"We'll have to figure out a way to get there safely, though," Jungkook says. "Because the damn bus broke."

The others begin to pour into the bedroom, all looking extremely stressed and worried. "I told her tampons were dangerous," Seokjin says.

"Not really," Jungkook sighs. "Apparently, TSS is rare... but like... it kind of happens when you leave the tampon in for too long."

You deliriously shake your head. "A-Am I... Gonna d-die?"

"No," Namjoon says firmly. "We'll get you to the hospital."

"Yeah, and the nearest one's about a five hours walk from here," Yoongi says, crossing his arms. "And the box label right here says that TSS is a serious disease that may cause d—"

"Shut up," Seokjin scoffs, giving Yoongi a meaningful glare. "Serious or not, we'll cure it."

"We should leave right now, then," Taehyung suggests. "I mean, look, she's been like this for four days..."

"Right now??" Hoseok says, raising his voice. "We're not prepared! It's a five-hour walk. And we don't even have a bus!"

"Hoseok's right," Jimin butts in. "We need to prepare for this."

"So we prepare now, rest and go tomorrow morning," Hoseok says. "It's a plan, right?"

"We??" Namjoon counters.

You manage to turn your head to stare blankly at Jungkook. "Is... everyone gonna go...?"

Jungkook kneels down and grabs your hand. "We're all going to go. I promise."

"What??" Jimin hisses. "I thought when we were saying we, we meant—"

Namjoon shushes him.

"It's okay..." Jungkook whispers, resting his forehead against the back of your hand. "We'll get you treated," he says. "You'll be okay..."

It's the last thing you hear before you fall into a painful slumber.

—part 1 | part 2

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #bts #bts fanfiction #jungkook #ignis fatuus #igneous fatass lmfaoo (the alter ego of this short series)#THIS FIC TOOK /FOUR/ MONTHS TO WRITE #IT'S NOT EVEN THAT LONG COMPARED TO THE OTHER LONGASS FICS OUT THERE #BUT THIS ONE DRAINED ME :')#also every night after i'd write this fic #i'd get so scared #because i'm TERRIFIED of zombies #and i was CONVINCED there was one hiding under my bd #i swear i'm not ten years old #i'm a legal adult thank you very much #when will i start acting like one bye

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finleyfray · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet Memories part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Huge thanks to @captain-josslett for helping me.

TW: drug abuse, abuse, language, panic attacks

Finley whines as she opens her eyes. Seeing she was alone in bed, again, almost made her cry out. Everything hurt and her girlfriends weren’t there. This day is going to be awful.

It was Maggie’s first day at work, and Finley had to figure everything out herself. She was happy for her girlfriend, of course she was. Finley had told Maggie herself that she needs to accept the job. But she didn’t know how much her leg would hurt after they replaced it with a cast.

While riding on a wheelchair, everything was perfectly fine because there was no pressure on her leg. Fin just sat there and let herself be wheeled around.

But now? Now she struggled with crutches and it was literally hell.

And why were her ribs hurting so much?

She reaches over to her nightstand and takes two painkillers out of her bottle. It should get rid of the pain, even if the doctor told her to only take one pill each six hours, she just needed this pain to end. Closing her eyes she just decided it’ll be the best if she sleeps waiting for it to work.

She woke up a few hours later as her phone was ringing.

“Hi.” She rasps out.

“Finley! Why didn’t you pick up earlier?” Maggie’s worried voice sounds on the other side of the line.

“Sorry baby, I was just napping. Relax, I’m fine.”

“Did you eat and take your pills?” Alex asked worriedly. “Are you in pain?”

“Yeah, I did. I was in a bit of pain, but now I’m better.”

“Okay, alright. Just checking. Just let us know if it gets worse, alright?” Fin could imagine Maggie frowning and she chuckles a bit.

“We have to go. Love you.”

“Love you two too. Bye." She ends the call and groans.

It was 11 am. She had to get up and eat something. Fin frowns, she didn’t want to get up. But she has to, she can’t fuck things up the first day they leave her alone.

And why the hell did everything hurt?! She swallows one more pill and goes to stand up. She grabs her crutches and goes to make herself some food. Just six hours till her girlfriends come home. She’ll be alright.

***

Finley is back resting on the couch. She tried to play some games earlier, but she couldn’t focus, so she just decided on lying on the couch and waiting for her girlfriends to come home. Just a few more hours and she’ll be comfortable in their arms.

Fin wakes up to the sound of the door opening. She fell asleep. Again. The black-haired woman frowned, she slept for almost the whole day.

“Hi baby!” Maggie beams as she enters the living room. “It’s so good to see you!” She sits next to the younger woman and opens her arms for a hug. Fin smiles and throws herself in the arms of her girlfriend.

“Ohh, good to see me? Look at you! You rocking that uniform, damn it, baby, makes me want to go dark just to have you arrest me.” Maggie chuckles and kisses her girlfriend. Fin sighs and goes to sit on her girlfriend lying her head on the raven-haired woman's chest. “Where’s Al?”

“She went to order some food from the Chinese restaurant at the corner.”

“Chinese again?” The black-haired woman laughs.

“You know, she’s a Danvers.” The shorter woman laughs under her. Finley looks her girlfriend in the eyes. She always finds comfort in them. Maggie’s eyes were always so soft, full of love and adoration, and the black-haired woman could stare for hours in them. She sometimes found it overwhelming her, she felt like she was drowning in them.

“Hi." Maggie husked, catching her staring. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Finley gasps. “I just love you so much.”

“I love you too." Maggie smiles and kisses her gently.

“Hey, where’s my love?” Alex pouts as she puts the take out bag on the table and sits on the couch next to them.

“Hmmm...” Fin hums as if she was considering her answer. “Yeah, I guess you should get some love too.” She smiles and reaches to kiss Alex too.

The redhead smiles into the kiss, and sucks Finley’s bottom lip. The younger woman trembled on top of Maggie. She loves it when Alex did that, it made her mind go blank, she could only focus on her lips.

“Love you.” The redhead smiles as she backs away leaving her girlfriend breathing hard.

“Love you too.” She smiles and kisses Maggie's neck while Alex was kissing the shorter woman.

“Love you both. So much.”

***

Maggie is laying on their bed with Finley curled up to her side while Alex was showering.

“Babe?” She asks, wanting Fin’s attention. The younger woman looks up at her.

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a kiss?” Fin smiles and reaches to kiss her and Maggie deepens the kiss switching their positions so she is hovering above her girlfriend. The black-haired woman gasped and she takes her chance to put her tongue inside of her mouth. The shorter woman places her hands under Finley’s t-shirt.

“Mags...” Her girlfriend places her hands on her shoulders and Maggie frowns.

“Yea?”

“I’m tired...” She huffs and looks at her laying girlfriend.

“Tired? From what?!” Her voice rises in volume. “You know what, never mind.” She stands up and decides to go to her showering girlfriend.

Maybe she’ll give her more attention.

***

Finley picks up her phone trying to reach any of her girlfriends for the fifth time in ten minutes. It was late in the evening and they were supposed to be home a long time ago.

‘Why aren’t they picking up? Something happened. They’re hurt. Or worse, they’re dead. Hurt and dead! Oh my God what do I do?!’ Fin begins to panic. She looks at her phone waiting for them to call her back. ‘Or they don’t want me anymore. They definitely don’t love me. I’m the worst girlfriend ever. I didn’t even make them dinner this whole time. Maggie was mad yesterday at me. Of course she was mad, I told her that I’m to tired to have sex with them. But I’m tired. But it's the third time in a row. But I was so sleepy. But it’s my duty as a girlfriend. Oh God, I’m the worst. They sure don’t want me anymore. Will they break up with me? Will they find a better girlfriend? They probably already left and that’s why they aren’t picking up.’ Finley curls up on the couch finding it hard to breathe. She just needs to go to sleep. She reached into her pocket and swallowed two pills. She’ll take a nap, and it would be better. Everything will be better.

***

“... and then Maggie just ran after him, slammed him on the ground and cuffed him.” Finley listens as Alex tells her about their last mission.

The redhead's eyes were shining as she told Fin about how their girlfriend caught a bad guy this afternoon.

Maggie has been working at DEO for two weeks now and both of them were so excited. Finley tries to focus, but her mind is going a hundred miles a minute. She was still at home, trying to heal but she doesn’t seem to get better. Everything hurts and she wonders if it’s even possible to get worse. She finds herself being jealous of her girlfriends. Why were they there having so much fun while she couldn’t even move from her bed without crying from pain?

It wasn’t fair. She was just swallowing pills to make her feel better, but instead she just slept for the whole day. Her bottles of pills were going empty, but she couldn’t go and ask for another prescription, she did that a week ago. Alex brought her pills from DEO stating that it will be enough for two to three weeks, but she used almost all of them in one week.

She needs another bottle and soon, otherwise she’ll just go crazy from the pain.

***

Maggie sighs as she sees her girlfriend sleeping on the couch. Again. They had been held up on a mission, it was late in the evening and all she wanted was a warm meal, cuddles and some sleep. But of course Finley didn’t think of making or ordering anything as she was always sleeping. How much can a person sleep?

Every day as they came home they were greeted by the sign of her girlfriend sleeping. Maggie wonders what she was doing the whole day that made her so exhausted. Their apartment wasn’t cleaned, everything was always the same as the night before. “Something’s wrong?” Alex walks behind her and embraces her in a hug. She didn’t realise she was frowning.

“Nah, I’m good. Can you order some food? I’m going to wake Finley up. Maybe she won’t yell this time.” Alex nods and goes to the kitchen as Maggie goes to the couch.

She was about to wake up her girlfriend when she saw Fin’s phone lit up with signalling an incoming text.

*Will be there tomorrow – V*

It came from an unknown number and she huffs. Who is V? Why will she be here tomorrow? What’s Finley doing behind their backs? This was not a good sign.

Finley had no friends except for their group. She wanted to look at Fin’s phone for more information, but it was password protected.

“What the fuck?” She whispers. Her girlfriend never had any protection on her phone, why did she have it now?

***

Finley phone rings, and she picks it up seeing the unknown number.

“Will be there in ten." A female voice states and ends the call.

Fin had found an old contact that she knew in college who used to sell drugs. Now Fin paid her double every time. Finley felt bad taking money from her savings, but she needed those pills.

She was supposed to take one pill every six hours, but it wasn’t helping her, she still felt pain. So she tried one pill every four hours. Eventually she had to take two pills every time she woke up.

Every day she felt worse. She was sleepy the whole time and became angry if someone woke her up.

Her girlfriends became irritated at her grumpy behaviour and just left her alone. Who would blame them. They were having enough fun at work. Staying longer hours, often coming late in the evening.

Finley didn’t want to do that anymore. At this point she was just waiting for them to break up with her. She was useless like that. They didn’t need a bother like her.

There is a knock on the apartment door. Fin sighs as she goes to open it.

Victoria, her drug dealer, enters the room.

“Here.” She hands Fin two bottles full of Vicodin. “Those are double dosage.” Finley opens the bottle and swallows two pills. She put the bottles in her pocket.

“Yeah, bullshit. Here. Will let you know when I’ll need more.” Finley pays the girl and opens the door to let her out.

But just as she is about to close the door, she feels it being pushed back. The impact makes her close her eyes immediately. There was an arm across her throat and the person's body was pushing her into the wall. ‘Man, that hurt.’

“How could you fucking do this to us?!” She hears Maggie yelling. What was she talking about? Fin’s head hurt and she was trying her best to open her eyes. It was hard breathing with Maggie’s arm pressed against her throat. “We go to work every day, and you what?! Enjoy your time with a hooker?! Who is she?!” Maggie sounds very mad, and Finley feels herself trembling.

She opens her eyes, looks at Maggie’s and panics. They were full of so much anger and Finley has seen it all before.

‘She’s going to kill me.’ She tries to move, but it is like her body is made of lead. She has to run. Run somewhere safe. Maybe if she begs she’ll leave her.

“P-please don’t...” Her voice trembles. Finley feels her tears falling. She was so scared waiting for Maggie to hurt her.

“Maggie what the fuck are you doing?!” Fin hears another voice yelling, the arm around her throat leaves and her legs give up letting her fall heavily to the ground.

“What the fuck am I doing?! This bitch is cheating on us! She didn’t think we’ll be home anytime soon! I saw a whore leaving our apartment! Guess that’s why she doesn’t call us, she’s to busy fucking around!” Maggie yells. “We’re leaving.”

Fin hears the apartment door slamming hard, but she couldn’t focus anymore, she felt herself falling further and further down.

Why is she still feeling so much pain? Why is it so hard to breath? She reaches in her pocket and opens the bottle swallowing a few pills. She needs them to work fast. She needs her pain to end.

***

Alex was being dragged down the street by Maggie. She wasn’t sure what just happened. She comes home, Finley’s is being pinned by their girlfriend to the wall while Maggie yells at her. She saw Fin, she was beyond scared. She needs to know what happened to them. “Mags stop. What the fuck was that?” She turns her girlfriend around, forcing Maggie to look at her. She wants answers now. “What happened?”

“What happened!? Well I come home, and find another woman leaving!” Maggie yells.

“And you just what, assume that Finley’s cheating on us?”

“Well you saw how she reacted!? And you know yourself how she was acting these past weeks! She was always sleeping as we came home, that’s cause she was tired from fucking behind our backs!” Alex sighs. Yes, she’s noticed how their girlfriend has been acting recently, but that was not the reason to assume she’s cheating. Finley would never cheat on them, and wholeheartedly Alex believes that.

Alex knows Maggie has had an awful day, she lost the main suspect on a mission and had hit her head in the process. But that was not an excuse to behave the way Maggie did.

“Okay, okay, how about we go for a walk, alright, you calm a bit, and then we can go back and talk, okay?”

“Whatever.” Maggie huffs angrily. They both walk for a few minutes until Alex sees that her girlfriend has calmed down enough.

“You good?” Alex frowns.

“I think so. I just felt so angry, I don’t even know what got into me. It’s just I saw this woman leaving and all I saw was red.” Maggie looks at Alex terrified. “Oh God, I literally threw our girlfriend into the wall. What have I done?!”

“Yeah, we better just go back and explain it all. Fin didn’t look too good when you dragged me out of the apartment. And I honestly am worried about her. So let’s just go and talk to her.” They both run back to their apartment.

Alex opens the door and looks around.

Her heart drops when she sees their girlfriend lying in the same place when they left. She was so shocked by everything that happened that Alex didn’t even move.

“Hey...Finley?” She says softly but she feels that something is wrong.

“Finley!” She hears Maggie yell in panic and Alex kneels realising that her girlfriend is not breathing, she goes to feel her pulse, but it’s very weak. She needs to be taken to DEO and fast. She pushes the button on her watch and feels her tears falling.

“Finley, come on, wake up!” She pleads, grabbing her girlfriend and stroking her cheek.

One minute later, Kara’s in their living room.

“What’s wrong?” She asks but soon spots Fin on the floor. She picks the unconscious girl in her arms and flies off as fast as possible to the DEO. Alex sits on the floor trying to catch her breath.

This can’t be happening.

She spots an empty pill bottle on the floor. She picks it up and looks at it. It’s not labelled. What did she take? Why did she take it? What did they miss?

“Holy fuck... Fin what did you do? What did we do?” She looks at Maggie who’s fully sobbing on the floor. She crawls to her and hugs her.

“It’s all my fault.” Maggie chokes out. Alex can see her girlfriend struggling to breathe.

“Hey. Look at me.” Alex forces the raven-haired woman to look at her. “Breath with me. In and out.” She helps Maggie calm her breath. “That’s it, you’re good.”

“Alex what did I do?!” The Shorter woman throws herself into the redhead arms crying hard.

#maggie sawyer x reader #maggie sawyer x oc #alex danvers x reader #alex danvers x maggie sawyer #sanvers x reader #sanvers x oc #alex danvers x oc #polamory

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wolfpackimagines14 · 4 years

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Lizzie Swan - Chapter 2

Word Count - 2k

A/N: I am SO sorry this took so long to finish! I had an extreme case of writer’s block about halfway through and I finally finished it. I’m sorry for the abrupt ending of the chapter, I didn’t really know how to end it lol. Leave some comments or message me about any ideas you might have for the story! xoxo

The day that Bella went missing in the woods was the beginning of a long three months of depression for her, and therefore, dad and I as well. The Cullens had left and Edward had broken up with her on that walk just before she got lost.

She wouldn’t listen to music, she wouldn’t go out with her friends anymore, and she barely left her room for those first three months. She was definitely depressed, but our dad didn’t want to force her to see a doctor if she didn’t want to, no matter how many times that I brought it up.

The worst part was when she would start screaming in the middle of the night. She would always, without fail, wake up screaming and dad and I would take turns helping her. It was exhausting and I was barely getting any sleep. Even the nights when dad would help her I couldn’t get back to sleep right away.

Dad actually had a serious talk with her last night. He told her that if she didn’t start trying to get back to normal, he was going to send her to live with her mother in Florida. That had seemed to snap something in her because she went out with Jessica to the movies tonight. Dad had wanted me to tag along to keep an eye on her, but I had to work until 10 so that hadn’t been possible.

I got home before she did and if I hadn’t left my bedroom because I needed to use the bathroom at the very moment she got home I probably wouldn’t have seen or heard her come in. I had tried to make conversation about some customer at the restaurant, but she seemed even weirder than usual. But that was the first night in three months that she didn’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

It was the first good night’s sleep that I’d had in awhile and I woke up that Saturday morning feeling refreshed. That relieved feeling didn’t last however when Bella dragged me to Jacob Black’s house, but not without making a stop to buy two used and run down motorcycles. She wouldn’t even let me ask any questions.

The next month was spent going back and forth between Forks and La Push. We would go to school, then go to Jacob’s garage, and then Bella would drop me off at work. It was a pretty consistent schedule and I was grateful to Jacob for helping Bella get close to normal again.

There were still some times that she seemed sad again about Edward and the Cullens leaving, but for the most part she was alright. Except for her new craving for adrenaline she had developed. She had gone to the ER a few times just this month and dad was starting to get worried, but Bella’s new goal was to find some meadow in the woods that Edward had brought her to. Which seemed a lot safer than riding motorcycles.

Jacob didn’t really want to help as he wanted Bella to let go of Edward all together, but I thought it would be a good idea to find the meadow. I thought it might help her finally accept that he had left.

So while January had been a mostly blissful time in the Swan household, February brought some trouble. Bella had gone to the movies with Mike Newton and Jacob. It was an awkward combination of people, but I couldn’t tag along because I had to work that night. She had come home earlier than expected and said that Jacob wasn’t feeling well so they had called it a night.

That was the beginning of the craziness that changed my life forever. Jacob stopped answering Bella’s calls and Billy’s excuse of mono weren’t working anymore. She was angry at first, but then she just got sad again.

Jacob was starting to piss me off now. Bella had finally gotten back to normal and I had forgotten what it was like to not sleep all night due to her screaming, but with Jacob not speaking with her she was basically back to square one. It was like all that progress that she had made these past few months hadn’t ever happened.

So while Bella continued to try to call Jacob and had more and more sleepless nights, I continued going to school and work while also getting more and more sleepless nights. Finally, February came to an end. The shortest month of the year had definitely seemed like the longest in my mind.

The first Saturday of March was the day that Bella and I went out to find the meadow. I wasn’t about to let her go alone, so we went earlier in the day because I had work that afternoon. It was a long ass hike to that meadow.

“Bella,” I groaned for probably the tenth time that day. “Do you have any idea how much longer?”

“I have no idea,” she huffed out, definitely as out of breath as I was right now. “I don’t know exactly where it is… it’s been awhile.”

“It’s literally been two hours,” I responded, taking a quick pitstop to drink some water. “You hate hiking. How the hell did you do this last time?”

She didn’t respond and instead started walking again. I hung back for a second, chugging my water again before sighing and climbing the hill, where Bella had just disappeared from my line of sight.

“Bella?” I called out to her, but there wasn’t any response. I finished climbing the hill and finally the tree line broke and I saw what was once probably the beautiful meadow that Bella had spoken so highly of.

Bella seemed to be in shock as she kept looking around at the brown, empty field.

“Well,” I sighed. “It is the beginning of March. Not exactly the time for flowers to be in bloom.”

“I just didn’t think it would look like this,” she said, kneeling down to touch the dead grass.

“We can always come back in a month or two and it’ll be just like the last time you were here,” I offered to her, but she shook her head.

“It won’t ever be the same as the last time I was here,” she said softly, slowly standing up. She seemed like she was going to say something else, but she stopped short. She was staring at something behind me.

I slowly turned around and saw a man. He had long dreadlocks and seemed to be wearing a suit, with the jacket hanging open to reveal his bare chest. And he was not giving off a friendly vibe.

“Laurent?” Bella questioned the mysterious man. I whipped my head back around to look at her questioningly. Did she know this guy?

“Bella,” Laurent greeted my sister. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

All of a sudden, he was standing much closer to Bella and I. It was like I blinked and he had suddenly made his way across the field. There was no way someone could move that fast. Who the fuck was this guy?

“I went to visit the Cullens,” Laurent continued as he started circling us like we were his prey. “But the house is empty. I’m surprised they left you behind. Aren’t you sort of a… pet of theirs?”

I reached out to grab Bella’s hand, both to comfort her and myself about the situation.

“Um,” Bella responded. “Something like that.”

“Do the Cullens visit often?” Laurent asked.

“... all the time,” Bella told him after a moment of silence. My breath hitched a little in my throat at her blatant lie. This wasn’t going to end well. “I’ll tell them you stopped by. I probably shouldn’t tell Edward… because he’s pretty protective. He might misinterpret this little get together.”

“Well he’d be right, if he were here,” he continued. “But he’s not, is he? He’s far away.”

“Why are you here?” Bella asked Laurent. She kept herself slightly in front of me as Laurent came to a stop.

“I came as a favor to Victoria,” he replied and Bella gripped my hand tighter. “She asked me to see if you were still under the protection of the Cullens, because Victoria is quite put out with you.”

I could barely think straight, my mind was going 100 miles an hour.

“Me?” Bella asked, alarmed now.

“Victoria thinks it’s only fair to kill Edward’s mate, given he killed hers,” Laurent said matter-of-factly. What the actual fuck was going on? Edward killed someone?

“Edward would know who did it!” Bella tried to warn him. “And he’d come after you.”

“I don’t think he will,” Laurent said, shaking his head. He was so close to us now that I could see his red eyes. “After all, how much could you have meant to him if he left you here unprotected. Victoria won’t be happy about me killing you, but I can’t help myself. You are so mouthwatering.”

“Is this your sister?” Laurent addressed me for the first time. “She smells almost as delectable as you. Perhaps I’ll kill her first and make you watch. That would please Victoria.”

“Please don’t!” Bella begged him. “You helped us…”

“Shh shh shh,” Laurent was suddenly right in front of us, shushing Bella with his hands. “Don’t be afraid. I’m doing you a kindness. Victoria plans on killing you slowly, painfully… I’ll make it quick.”

Laurent pushed Bella out of the way and I whimpered involuntarily when he grasped my face with one hand and then leant in to smell my neck. I tried to get away, but he was freakishly strong. I’d been asking who this man was, but I think the real question was what this guy was.

“I promise you will feel nothing…” he trailed off as he stepped back and his red eyes widened and fangs appeared in his mouth as he raised his hand to strike down on us.

Holy fuck, was he a vampire? That would’ve been my last thought before he killed me, if Laurent hadn’t froze at that moment.

“I don’t believe it,” he said to himself after he had turned to the side of us to look at the tree line. Bella and I looked where he was looking and waited in silence, listening to the rustling of the trees and the low growls of some large animal.

A large black animal that I can only describe as a wolf stepped through the trees, stalking towards the vampire that was threatening us. Even Bella looked shocked, so I knew this was a new discovery for her too.

As the first wolf aggressively growled, more wolves appeared from the tree line behind it. Laurent suddenly whipped around at an incalculable speed and was gone. The shock seemed to be getting to me because my knees buckled and I fell to the ground, my eyes locked on the ginormous wolves, specifically the dark silver one.

This wolf also couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of me. Our eyes were locked together, even as the other wolves left the clearing and ran after Laurent. The wolf seemed almost conflicted, if that were even possible.

But as Laurent started attacking the other wolves at the far end of the clearing, the silver wolf shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and ran after the others.

It was at that moment that I realized that Bella had been trying to get my attention.

“Lizzie!” she was screaming at me. “Elizabeth we have to go! We have to go now!”

“He was a vampire… wasn’t he?” I was rambling now. “Holy shit… was Edward a vampire, Bella!?”

“Now is not the time, Lizzie,” she was now shaking me by my shoulders. “We have to go. NOW!”

She was able to pull me to my feet and my fight or flight finally kicked in and my body chose flight. Bella and I held hands as we ran through the woods, running for our lives.

I may have been in shape considering the amount of running I did for soccer, but this was a whole different experience and by the time we got home, I was heaving, could barely breathe, and there were tears running down my face.

As Bella dealt with dad downstairs, I immediately ran to my room and locked the door.

Tags:

@ravenmoore14

@k-n-e

@oopsiedoopsie23

#twilight #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #wolfpack #wolfpack imagines #wolfpack imagine #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote story #fanfiction #writing

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 45-50

This is the “Soldier of Fortune” arc. I thought there was a song by this title and there is! Give it a listen.

youtube

This opens with a flashback to Pip Bernadotte’s childhood, where he finds out his whole family is a bunch of mercenaries. His grandfather confirms it, and I should point out that Grandpa Bernadotte is the most mercenary-looking dude I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a friggin’ beret while he tells Pip about how his dad died in some war to raise money while Ma Bernadotte was pregnant with Pip. Was Pip’s mother a merc too?

I guess my point is that this whole scene feels really stupid to me. Kid Pip grew up among mercenaries, but he’s literally the last person in town to find out about it. How do the kids at school know? Are the Bernadottes that well-known? I always assumed mercenaries tried to keep a low profile. Then again, they are entrepreneurs, so maybe the kids in school found ads about the Bernadottes in the phone book.

Even so, was Pip’s family trying to keep this a secret from him? Because Grandpa sure wasn’t. Not with that beret he’s got on. It’s like he’s been waiting Pip’s whole life to tell him, so why didn’t he mention it before? You’d think he’d want to raise the boy to follow in his footsteps, the same as Pip’s dad. Did Pip’s mom not want him to grow up to be a mercenary? It just seems like she should have known that wouldn’t work out.

Anyway, Grandpa Bernadotte waxes philosophical about killing people for money, which doesn’t seem like much of a justification. Pip was very upset about the whole thing, and I don’t think Grandpa said anything to make him less upset, and then we flash forward to the present day, where Pip’s a mercenary.

I mean, what was the point of that flashback? Pip was horrified to find out his family kills for profit, and then at some point he got over it and joined the family business. Why didn’t the flashback show us that moment instead? It seems more relevant.

At any rate, I feel like the flashback is overlooking the true point of Pip’s character arc. He starts out a soldier of fortune like his father and grandfather, but by joining up with Hellsing he’s now fighting for a much nobler cause, ridding the world of unspeakably evil monsters. He still seems to look at it like just another job, but it’s still important. His defense of the Hellsing mansion is a lot more heroic because he’s fighting against daunting odds with very little hope of surviving to see another sunrise, let alone his next paycheck.

Back to the main story, when Millennium’s forces invaded London, they sent a company to the Hellsing HQ on the outskirts of the city. Zorin Blitz was tasked with leading this group, but she was ordered to hold off on attacking until the Major gave the word. The Major then fired rockets at the mansion, only for Seras Victoria to shoot the rockets down... and Zorin’s zeppelin. Now, Zorin is trying to lead a ground attack on the mansion, except Pip has turned the entire yard into a minefield.

Seras disapproves, but Pip doesn’t care. In this sort of conflict, he and his men, the Wild Geese, are at a complete disadvantage. Vampires, even the weaker, artificial vampires of Millennium, are faster, stronger, and harder to kill. He hints at some sort of vampiric ability to read an opponent’s movements, too, which might have something to do with that whole “third eye” trick Seras and Alucard use. Against all of that, landmines are a sensible precaution, since they’re powerful enough to kill a vampire in one shot and don’t rely on a human operator with killing intent. Seras can gripe, but if Hellsing had used mines back in volume 2, the Valentine Brothers never would have made it inside. Pip clearly read up on that debacle, since it must have taken weeks for his men to bury all these mines.

The landmines do kill a lot of Zorin’s troops, and the Wild Geese lay down heavy fire from the mansion to keep up the pressure, but Zorin won’t give up so easily. She uses he powers to create some sort of zany illusion, where everyone sees a giant Zorin Blitz attacking the mansion.

So what the hell is Zorin Blitz, exactly? I thought she was a vampire, but reading this manga has revealed that Rip Van WInkle is a werewolf, which led me to suspect Zorin is a werewolf too. But the manga is silent on Zorin being one or the other. I check the Hellsing Wiki, but it contends that both women are vampires, and the term “Werewolf” just refers to the group of officers in Millennium. This group includes literal werewolves like the Captain and Schrodinger, but not Blitz and Rip.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that much, but I find it a little silly to call all four of those characters “Werewolves” and then only two of them are really werewolves. Clearly, all four of them are a cut above the Major’s other troops, and none of them show any interest in drinking blood, or any other vampire-exclusive traits. On the other hand, this whole battle takes place under a full moon, and none of them seem to be affected by it. Unless the Major chose this particular night to launch his offensive because he wanted them all to be at full power. Maybe Zorin couldn’t do this illusion thing otherwise.

Anyway, the Wild Geese see this giant woman slashing at them with a scythe, and they all panic. Seras sees it too, but she somehow intuits that it can’t be real. Then she sees Alucard, who reminds her of her third eye. I’m not sure if this is a flashback or Alucard is using telepathy to coach her from the deck of the H.M.S. Eagle.

Either way, Seras uses her third eye and not only sees through the illusion but lines up a shot on the illusion-caster. But it only grazes Zorin. It disrupts the illusion, but it doesn’t end the threat.

And even though the illusion is shattered, it still distracted the Wild Geese long enough for Millennium troops to enter the mansion. Seras manages to shoot them down, but there’s more where that came from.

Because the Nazi bastards figured out a way past the mines. They just threw a bunch of knives on the ground and played hopscotch to get across. I guess this means they can only get in one at a time, but it’s still bad news for the good guys.

So Pip adjusts his tactics accordingly. He and his men will regroup and hold up in a defensible location, while Seras roams the building to take the fight to the enemy. I guess the idea is to divide Millennium’s focus. They can attack the Geese or watch out for Seras, but not both. For some reason, Seras calls Pip “sir”, like he’s in charge, and maybe that is appropriate in this situation, but I thought Seras was in charge of their training.

Then one of the Geese pats her on the butt and Pip steals a kiss. I’m not sure what the hell this is about. I guess they were trying to lighten the mood before they go to face certain death, but if my life depended on some vampire girl killing all the bad guys before they can rip me to shreds, I probably wouldn’t sexually harass her, or do anything else to tick her off. But that’s just me.

Pip seems resigned about their chances. He’s confident in Seras’ ability, but there’s only one of her and like... 30? Let’s say 30, thirty Nazi Vampires heading their way. If even one of them gets past Seras, the Geese will all die horribly. But they took this job and the risks that come with it, and besides, there’s nowhere for them to run anyway. He seems to accept the situation with a mercenary sense of honor. Like, a mercenary should expect to die in some unwinnable battle, and they shouldn’t complain about it, since it’s the nature of the business.

Anyway, it doesn’t go well. The nature of the comic doesn’t really make it clear how the Wild Geese are operating, but I get the impression that they’re doing sort of a fighting withdrawal concentrating their forces as they give ground. But they suffer a lot of casualties in the process.

This leads to the Geese holing up in the big conference room where Integra met with the Royal Order of Protestant Knights before the Valentine Bros. attack. One guy panics and wants to bug out, but Pip reminds him of what I said a minute ago. They’ve got nowhere else to go, and they all got into this for the action, so they should stick to their principles, even in the face of death.

There’s this one guy from “B-block”, who I guess was covering a certain hallway, but B-Block got cut off before they could join the others in the Round Table room. Zorin Blitz decides to have some fun with him, so she uses her weird powers to make him see himself back home, with his dead daughter.

This seems especially cruel, because it’s not like Zorin needed this diversion to kill one dude. She’s just really sadistic.

Meanwhile, some other Millennium guys are eating the Wild Geese they already killed, and one of them shows off his ability to tell blood types just by taste. It’s this really sick moment, but at the same time it humanizes the characters, which is a weird thing to say when discussing Nazi vampires, but you know what I mean.

Then Seras blows the dude’s head off, which is extremely satisfying.

So Seras is holding up her end, and growing more resolute with each kill. She’s really improved a lot since the last time she was in action. Yeah, these Millennium vampires probably aren’t that much tougher than the vampires she killed back in the summer, but there are a lot more of them, and they’re trained soldiers on top of that, and she doesn’t have Alucard backing her up like she did before.

By now, all that’s left of the Wild Geese are in this barricaded room, and they’ve run low on silver bullets, which means even the few shots that don’t miss will have almost no effect. Pip is determined to hold out, confident that Seras will save them, but...

She runs out of bullets before she runs out of enemies to kill. When she arrives to save the day, she’s still has to go through Zorin Blitz.

But Zorin doesn’t see this as a problem, and she uses her freaky mind powers on Seras, forcing her to relive memories of her days at the orphanage. Yeah, Seras was an orphan, remember? Alucard asked Walter about her parents a while back, and Walter said they were both dead. How did they die?

Well, Zorin Blitz is about to find out...

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #seras victoria #pip bernadotte #zorin blitz #alucard #a bunch of no-name wild geese dudes #i sometimes feel bad that i can't keep track of them all #but then i remember that kouta hirano never gave them names in the first place #so there's young commissioner gordon with the dead daughter #and the chubby faced guy who wants to run away #and the guy who cops a feel on seras #and the other guy who gets blown in half by a rocket launcher #and that's basically it

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Don’t Call It Love

A/N With Saorsa done and dusted, it’s time to return to the Metric Universe. When we last left Jamie and Claire in October 2017, they were sharing comforting silence and attending a Depeche Mode concert together. Will things fall easily into place now that they have tripped over the line from being roommates to being friends? Oh, hell no. What would be the fun in that?

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Zero 7 (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

Winter, 2017 - London, England

It happened by accident. Happenstance. Serendipity. Fate. The words she used to explain the fact that she and Jamie started seeing each other outside of the flat in social circumstances that would typically be characterized as dates varied, but her opinion remained fixed. They weren’t dates. Jamie was her roommate, a good friend, a fellow enthusiast of the culturally obscure, and a brilliant pub trivia partner. They had both agreed that a romantic relationship between them would be disastrous; ergo, there was nothing romantic about their increasingly frequent outings. If she could memorize the names for the 206 bones in the human skeleton, she could certainly manage to keep her feelings for Jamie inside the tidy box she had built for them.

Non-Date #1

They crossed paths inside the massive Spittalfields Market, both of them with shoulders damp from the chilly November rain. Jamie was on his way to the fishmonger, while Claire carried a cloth bag filled with late-season vegetables, determined to eat something other than take-out on a rare day off from lectures and the hospital.

“Are ye on yer way back tae the flat, then?” Jamie asked, physically fighting the urge to offer to carry Claire’s wee sack.

“No, I’m off to the charnel house first.”

“The what, now?” Surely he’d misheard her.

“The charnel house. Don’t tell me you’ve been living over top of a medieval burial ground all this time without realizing it?” Claire teased.

Intrigued as much by her beguiling smirk as the opportunity to explore a bit of London’s history, Jamie followed Claire to a commercial highrise near the edge of the market. Descending a non-descript stairwell in Bishop’s Square, they came to a halt in front of a glass wall. On the other side was an excavated ruin, the crypt of the long-vanished chapel of St. Mary’s Spital hospital, a quick scan of a nearby information plaque informed him.

“They only discovered it was here when construction of the office tower began,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face. “For centuries, travelers and the victims of London’s many plagues were buried around the hospital, quite literally in the Spital fields. When the graves overflowed, they brought the excess bones here and stacked them for safe-keeping until the Apocalypse. Imagine, forgetting something so...fundamental.”

Jamie grunted in acknowledgement, seeing the reflection of Claire’s face superimposed on the glass. He couldn’t decide if this human tendency towards forgetfulness pleased or disappointed her.

“Tis rather...”

“Macabre?” she suggested with a grin, turning away from the display and climbing back into the cloud-roofed square.

“I was gonna say morbid, but as ye like.”

“We build our present on the bones of our past, my Uncle Lamb used to tell me. He was referring to archaeology, but I’ve found it to be true of life itself.”

They walked back to the flat, collars raised against the hastening rain. Jamie had bought enough hake for two, so they shared the narrow worktop, dicing fresh vegetables and letting their shoulders bump together occasionally.

Claire ate at the two-person dining table while scrolling social media on her phone. Jamie used the coffee table to hold his plate and the gaming magazine he was flipping through.

It wasn’t a date.

Non-Date #4

Her cellphone rang as she was leaving the bathroom, thoughts bouncing between her end-of-semester exams and her non-existent plans for the Christmas holidays. She accepted the call with one hand while starting the tedious job of separating her soaking curls with the other. At first there was only static. She glanced at the screen, recognizing the familiar number.

“Jamie?” she tried.

“...mac na ghalla, Hamish...” followed by muffled noises and masculine jeering. She switched hands and started to towel off, making certain first that the video call button wasn’t active.

“Hal-lo. Paging Mr. Fraser. You have a call on line one.”

“Ach, sorry Claire. I didna mean tae... That is, the lads were just... How are ye?”

She giggled at his discomposure. “I’m well, thank you. And you?” They had seen each other that morning, as he came off shift and she was leaving for her morning lectures, so she assumed there was more to this call than a polite inquiry into her state of well-being. She had learned over their months as roommates that sometimes you just needed to wait for Jamie to get to his point.

“Braw, thank ye. I was... weel, I’m at the park with some o’ the lads, tryin’ tae put t’gether a side, an’ we’re short a winger, an’ I was jus’ thinkin’, ye said ye wanted tae learn tae play an’...”

Another James Fraser quirk was that he rambled in broad Scots when he was nervous.

“Jamie, are you asking me to play rugby with you?”

“Aye. Aye, I am. If ye wish, o’ course.”

“I did just step out of the shower...” she mentioned, already peering outside at the threatening sky and mentally assessing her wardrobe for something suitable for a ruck and maul in the rain. “Hello?” when there was no sound from the other end in some time.

“Aye, I’m here. Nevermind, Claire. I dinna consider, ye must be gettin’ ready to study fer yer finals, an’...”

“Where are you?” she interrupted, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of yoga pants.

“Victoria Park?” Jamie replied, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Splendid!” She could hear his smile down the line.

“I better not get mud in my hair, Fraser,” she retorted before hanging up, her own smile lingering on her face.

There was nothing romantic about rugby.

Non-Date #7

The flat was strangely forlorn, even with Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the living room windows and a tiny fir tree precariously balancing its five ornaments standing in the corner.

They had exchanged their gifts on December 23rd, sipping on hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua and grinning shyly at each other. She’d bought Jamie the next Call of Duty game for his XBox. Nothing intimate, just something he’d mentioned in passing he was looking forward to trying. His boyish glee upon unwrapping the package warmed her more than her drink. Hands shaking slightly, she delicately opened the tastefully wrapped rectangle he presented to her. Inside was a cashmere scarf, luxuriously soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it.

“Is this?” she asked.

“Aye, tis the Fraser plaid. Ye ken there’s no’ a clan named Bee-cham, right?”

She was deeply touched, and thanked him was a kiss against his scruffy cheek.

Jamie had left for Scotland the next day, having somehow managed to secure a week’s worth of leave from his uncle over the holiday season. As was her wont, she’d put down for as many shifts as possible while medical school wasn’t in session, but by some fluke she wasn’t scheduled to work New Year’s Eve for the first time in recent memory.

Some of her classmates from nursing college had invited her along to a “raging party in Shoreditch”, but she’d made up some excuse. The truth was, she wasn’t in the mood for loud music and over-priced drinks with a group of virtual strangers. If Geillis had been in town, she would have allowed her friend to coerce her into whatever mayhem she had up her sleeve, but Geillis was still in Columbia and eight months’ pregnant with twins, to everyone’s collective shock. Especially the mother-to-be.

No, what she really wanted was a quiet evening at home, snuggled under her favourite fleece blanket on their couch, the latest Ferrante novel in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir at the ready. Jamie had a turntable and a surprisingly well-curated selection of vinyl in his bedroom, but she didn’t like entering his domain without his permission.

Without giving it a second thought, she rang his cell. It was only upon hearing the raucous sounds of a party in full swing that it occurred to her that just because she was spending New Year’s Eve alone, it didn’t mean Jamie was as well.

“Claire?” he yelled over something that sounded a lot like live music. “Are ye all right, lass?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Jamie. I just wanted to ask... never mind. It’s not important. Enjoy your party...”

“Wait!” the background noise mutated, sounding like a riot underwater, and then there was a wooden slam. Jamie huffed a sigh of relief.

“Mu dheireadh. Are ye still there, Sassenach?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling sorry for herself. She might be the most pathetic thirty-year old in London.

“Did the hospital no’ call ye in for a shift, then?”

She tucked the blanket under her feet, warding off the chill that always seemed to creep in from the wall of windows. The Christmas lights she’d strung reflected against the glazing in alternating colours: blue, red, green, blue, red, green.

“No. By some miracle of the festive season, I have the night off,” she joked halfheartedly. “I’m sorry for interrupting your night out. I wanted to ask if I could borrow your turntable and a few of your albums?”

“O’ course. Ye didna need tae ask. An’ I’m no’ out. I’m at home, at Lallybroch.” He pronounced the word with a guttural flourish that made Claire think of an exotic kind of pastry or a rare tribal custom. Any time Jamie spoke of his family’s home in Scotland, he imbued it with an otherworldly quality, like a fortress in a fairy tale, a far away land of warriors and mist. It was strange to think of him there now, while she sat alone in their flat.

“It sounds like quite the party.”

“Aye. The Frasers take their Hogmanay celebrations verra seriously. Ye shoulda come wi’ me.” Then, as though realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, “We could use a doctor. Dougal sprained his ankle doin’ a sword dance, and Angus singed his arse somethin’ fierce jumpin’ o’er the bonfire.”

She laughed, her mood suddenly much lighter, and asked for more particulars as to how his cousin’s naked ass came to be in close proximity to open flame. Without either realizing it, the last minutes of 2017 crept by.

Fireworks erupted outside, followed by the tolling of bells and honking of horns. On the other end of the call, she could hear cheering and an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne. They were both silent, embarrassed to have been so caught up in their trivial conversation as to have missed the arrival of midnight.

“Happy Hogmanay, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice came soft and sure over the line.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” she replied. “I should really let you get back to your party. Your family must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

He hummed noncommittally. It occurred to her that had they been in the same place, they would likely be kissing right now. It sent a shiver of want down her spine.

“Jamie?” Her voice sounded thready, like she had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Hmmm?” Shivers, again.

“What’s a Sassenach?”

He laughed softly, and she had to bite her lip. What was the matter with her? “Tis a Scottish word for a foreigner, particularly an English one,” he explained.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Claire remarked.

“I’ve ne’er spoken tae ye while on Scottish soil. T’wasn’t an accurate description ‘til now.”

There was a long silence. She could hear the sound of revelry through the door of whatever room at Lallybroch he’d hidden inside. Outside the flat there were firecrackers. They reminded her of mortar rounds heard from a distance in Afghanistan.

“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she guessed. It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to know that bright flashes and sudden pops of sound would trigger his PTSD. They really were a mess, the pair of them.

“Nay. Jenny an’ Ian’s bairns love them, an’ I told them no’ tae hold off on my account, but they insisted on a bonfire instead. It reminds me o’ when I was a lad, a’fore ye could buy fireworks along wi’ yer ham at the local Tesco.”

Jamie launched into a long account of the significance of bonfires in Highland culture, and she let herself drift on the melody of his voice, the turntable long forgotten.

“Tell me about yer most memorable New Year’s,” he prompted after his cultural diatribe wound down.

“Oh, well, they all rather blur together, actually. Too much drink, too much spent on the cover charge. You know how it is.”

“Nah, I mean when ye were younger. Ye must ‘ave celebrated in some remarkable places.”

She thought back to her time spent following Uncle Lamb around the globe. Truth be told, traditional holidays weren’t something that stood out in her memory. They felt like a foreign custom, a series of drawings taken from a picture book that showed a mother, father and children crowded around a loaded table while snow piled up outside. They bore no relation to her reality. It was no wonder Christmas and New Year’s left her feeling ambivalent.

Still, she didn’t want Jamie to feel sorry for her, so she launched into one of her favourite tales.

“One year, I must have been eleven, Lamb was leading an excavation of a Berber oasis town in northern Mali. The site closed down for the Christian holidays, but Lamb decided to stay behind rather than travel back to England. We ended up riding camels through these enormous sand dunes, following a local guide on an ancient caravan route. On December 31st, just as the sun was setting and we had begun to make camp, the camel Lamb had been riding let out this infernal noise, leapt to its feet, and started to gallop away. Lamb and the guide set off after it on foot, hollering and waving their keffiyeh in the air. It was the funniest thing.”

“They left ye all alone in the desert?” Jamie asked, horrified.

“Oh, well, they came back eventually. The camel had been stung by a scorpion, you see. Once it got over the fright, they were able to catch it and bring it back to camp.”

“Were ye no’ scared, tae be out there in the dark by yerself?”

“No. Not as I remember it. The sunset was glorious, and little by little the sky came alive with a million stars.”

“Ye brave wee thing.” Jamie sighed. “I wish I was there wi’ ye.”

She didn’t know if he meant with her on that sand dune, or with her at their flat. Either way, her answer was the same.

“I wish you were too.”

They finally hung up well past two o’clock. It didn’t count as a date if the other person was five hundred miles away as you whispered goodnight.

Non-Date #12

The Royal London was expanding its pediatrics wing, and Claire was invited to a fundraising gala held, fittingly, in the Museum of Childhood. The invitation included a plus one, and she’d been putting off asking Jamie if he could join her all week. It wasn’t that she doubted his suitability as an escort. Far from it. But the gala was taking place on February 14th, of all nights, and the symbolism made her nervous. Still, the alternative was spending the night being hit on by a drunken internist or hedge fund investor, and that was a headache she could do without.

“So,” she began casually a few nights before the event, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?” If he said he was working or had, god forbid, a date, she would just have to go stag.

Jamie set down his gaming controller and turned to face her desk. The pulsing colours from the screen lit his curls like a neon nimbus in the dim room.

“Nah, nothin’ definite. An’ ye, Sassenach?” he asked tentatively, as though easing himself out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the depth of the ice. The nickname he had assigned to her during his holidays in Scotland had stuck. She didn’t correct the inaccuracy, as she rather liked the idea of having a name that was only his.

“Well, I’ve been summoned to a fundraising gala for the hospital, and I was wondering... not that you need feel obliged... it’s black tie, which is really the height of pretension, if you ask me... anyway, there’s no way to decline gracefully short of an aneurysm, so...”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach,” he prodded.

“Mightyouconsiderbeingmydate?” she blurted, before taking a large gulp of tepid tea.

“Yer date?” he asked as though he had never heard of such a thing.

She sighed, resigned to the fact he was going to make this difficult. “Yes. My date. My plus one. My social companion. And hopefully, my defence against spending the evening being pitied and set up with someone’s second cousin, Nigel, the chartered accountant.”

“Do ye have somethin’ against accountants, then?” The corner of his lip was twitching with the birth of a grin.

“Oh, very funny, you bloody Scot. Look, I need a date on Valentine’s Day and you are the only man in the Greater London Area who won’t interpret that as an opportunity for a pity shag. The offer is on the table. Take it or leave it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t interpret. Then it was gone.

“Ne’er fear, Sassenach. I’ll protect ye from all the wee Nigels.”

***

She’d forgotten to ask whether Jamie had suitable attire for a black tie event. It was too late now, regardless. They were meeting at the museum, since she was on shift until eight. Using the nurses on-call room to get changed, she slinked into her burgundy chiffon gown, its gauzy layers wrapping around her like millefeuille. Her hair was a lost cause, so she slicked it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and hoped for the best. Silver chandelier earrings and a dab of cologne below her jaw, and she was ready to go. She carried a small beaded clutch and her dress shoes - there was no way she was navigating the Tube in stilettos.

The museum was a single massive space, conversation and the tympani of glassware echoing against its high-arched ceiling. She stood in the entryway after checking her coat, spinning in circles and trying to get her bearings. More than one lascivious glance was directed her way, but she studiously ignored them in favour of looking for Jamie. With his height and red hair, he shouldn’t be hard to pick out of the crowd.

There was an appreciative murmur from behind her, a gust of fresh air, and then a soft tap against her bare shoulder. She turned around.

No. Not hard to pick out from a crowd at all. Standing before her was James Fraser in full Highland regalia. He wore his family tartan, a black velvet waistcoat, brilliant white dress shirt and a black bow tie. When her gaze fell to the floor, she noticed his polished brogues and white socks pulled up to his knees. She’d never before considered how a man’s knees might be alluring, but there it was. Jamie had very sexy knees.

“G’d evening, Sassenach. Ye look... weel, ye look bonnie.” Jamie’s normally deep voice was gruffer than usual, perhaps on account of the cold night air. Or maybe his bowtie was tied too tight.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she replied once she found her voice. “You look, well, if you were a Jacobite, I’d say you looked regal.”

The tops of Jamie’s ears went red, and he ducked his chin, his tamed curls falling briefly forward. It gave him the look of a bashful child receiving unexpected praise, completely at odds with the strikingly masculine figure he cut.

“No’ a Nigel, then?” he teased.

“No. Definitely not a Nigel. Come, let’s get something to drink before all the top-shelf liquor runs out. You wouldn’t believe how much some of these doctors can put away!”

Jamie was a perfect date. He stood by her elbow as she mingled and greeted various colleagues and professors, nodding at their tales of medical misfortune and smiling at their awkward jokes. He spoke confidently about his work and current affairs, and patiently tolerated endless jibes about what a true Scotsman wore beneath his kilt.

When she politely excused them from one such conversation, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they walked away to fortify themselves with more alcohol.

“I’ve a mind tae lift my plaid an’ moon the entire assembly the next time one o’ yer wee doctor friends asks about my underthings. Are ye sure they arena raising funds for a new proctology department, Sassenach?”

She snorted in a truly unladylike fashion and turned to meet his unrepentant smirk. Just then, a figure approaching from the bar caught her eye.

Oh no. It couldn’t be. After five years, she’d finally relaxed her vigilance, had ceased anticipating his presence at every turn, and now, here he was.

“Sassenach?” Jamie was watching her with concern. The blush had drained from her cheeks, leaving her wine-stained lips and sintering eyes the only colour on her face.

“Claire! Fancy meeting you here!” Had his voice always been so nasal? His eyes so glassy and vacant, like portals into nothingness. He’d obviously been drinking heavily. A blond woman half his age had her arm linked through his.

“Frank,” she uttered his name. Jamie stepped into her side, his posture erect, somehow sensing that she needed his protection from this unheralded threat.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise. I’d heard you’d gone into the army, or some such thing. Afghanistan, was it? Well, with your penchant for violence, I suppose that’s fitting.”

She breathed deeply through her nose. She would not let him get the better of her. She wasn’t that person anymore. With a clammy hand, she grabbed onto Jamie’s fingers where they rested around her hip. He squeezed back. He was here. She wasn’t alone. It was all the strength she needed.

“Yes, that’s right. I served overseas for a time, but I’m back in London now. In medical school. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

Focusing on each step, she turned towards the exit, Jamie’s hand now warm upon the small of her back. Her chin wobbled, but she bit down hard to stave off tears.

“A doctor?” Frank taunted from behind her. “Wouldn’t a demolition expert be more apropos, darling?”

She froze, spine trembling with anger. Jamie made a questioning noise, asking without words if she wanted him to intervene. She didn’t.

Glancing over her shoulder, she dealt her parting blow.

“Give my best to Amelia and the children.” Without waiting to witness the aftermath of her pronouncement, she made her way out into the chilly night air, Jamie’s bulk a silent sentinel at her side.

It wasn’t a date if it ended on the floor of your bathroom, crying ugly sobs as mascara stained your cheeks, while your partner held your shoulders and made soothing noises with his throat.

That wasn’t dating, that was survival.

***

mac na ghalla = son of a bitch

Mu dheireadh = finally

#my writing #outlander

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justahopelessssromantic · 4 years

Text

Perfect

Part 12

Part 11

A/N: Alright guys here’s part 12 for you! I tried something a little different so to clarify and make things easier reader’s perspective will be like normal and Angel’s is in italics just so things hopefully don’t get confusing. Everything is happening about the same time though ❤️. Thank you so much for reading! I’m really excited to share this part with all of you and I hope you enjoy 💖💖💖

*gifs not mine*

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, and Smut. A little bit of everything really 💕

With the girl now safe with her parents and having received his payment Matt finished getting ready for your big date. He straightened his collar before examining the cuts on his face displeased with the events that happened prior but he wasn’t going to let Angel ruin your night. Tonight was about you, not Angel or the feud between the two men.

You smiled hearing the knock on your door. Checking your phone you saw Matt standing at your front door, the new camera system he had helped set up working wonderfully. Your stomach was filled with butterflies as you made your way towards the front door but it was more from excitement than nerves. You checked your reflection one last time in the mirror before straightening out your dress and opening the door with a smile on your face. “Hey,” you greeted. Your smile faltered slightly when you saw the cuts on his face. “What happened?” You asked reaching out, your fingers ghosting just above the markings.

“Doesn’t matter,” he smiled at you brushing it off. “I’m alright. Just a scratch.” His smile grew as he took in your appearance. “Here,” he said, handing you a bouquet of beautiful white gardenias from Victoria's shop.

You grinned taking the flowers and inhaling their comforting scent. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” He murmured. “You look beautiful by the way.”

You could feel the heat rush to your face as you looked down smiling. You looked back up meeting his kind eyes, “Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself Asesino.” You teased playfully. “And you know if you ever want to talk about that.” You pointed to the cuts, “or anything at all I’m here.” You offered, giving him the same offer he had so sweetly offered to you before.

"I'll keep that in mind."

“Well come on in.” You smiled stepping out of the way and letting him into your home. He followed you to the kitchen where you pulled out a vase from the cupboard filling it with water and setting the beautiful flowers inside and onto the counter.

The pot on the stove was bubbling slightly the aroma from the sauce inside filling the room. Matt's stomach growled audibly and you laughed lightly.

“Hungry?” You teased.

He shook his head chuckling. “Starving.” In the middle of the counter was your pizza pan. The dough you had prepared earlier was already set up on it. “What’s that?” He asked.

“I went ahead and got most everything ready but I thought it’d be fun to make pizza.” Your smile reached your eyes as you looked at him. “You know since I fed you that cardboard crap last time.”

He chuckled some more. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“We’ll see if you still hold that statement once I’m done with you.” You boasted. You were always an excellent cook, your Nana started you off young in the kitchen. It was your favorite way to bond with her and you fell in love with it instantly picking up all her tricks with ease.

You pulled out some fresh vegetables from Mel's garden that you had picked earlier in the week. “Here,” you said, setting the ingredients and supplies in front of Matt. “Wash up and then chop these up.” You instructed. He did as was told rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands before getting to work.

While he was doing that you finished your sauce. Matt couldn't help but steal a glance your way every now and then. Your spirit was higher than usual and he could just feel the love, the excitement you had for cooking. It was enchanting.

Once that was all done you brought the pot over and Matt helped you smooth the sauce over the dough. Together you added the various toppings on top and then lastly topped it off with lots of freshly grated cheese. You slipped the pizza into the oven and then set the timer before turning back to Matt. “And now we wait.” You said.

Coco, EZ, and Angel made it back to the clubhouse. It had been a long day and all they wanted to do was just kick back and relax. However Angel was still riled up, the pent up shit inside him needing more of a release.

He and Coco were behind EZ as they walked towards the entrance. Angel grabbed Coco by the arm turning him to face him just before they would go in behind EZ. The door shut tightly before them leaning them alone outside. “What the fuck was that?!” Angel barked at his best friend.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Coco said, yanking his arm out of Angel's grasp.

“Don’t play dumb Coco, you know fucking well what I’m talking about. What was that with Matt? You just fuckin’ sat back, didn’t do shit.”

“I figured it was about damn time someone put you in your place,” Coco snarled.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’ve been acting like a bitch the past few weeks and everyone is fucking sick of it!”

“Well if you didn’t fucking bring Matt here we wouldn’t be having this problem! I was gonna get her back and then your little hermano,” Angel mocked, “came in and fucked everything up!”

Coco snickered, “Right, always blame it on someone else Angel.” He stepped down the deck walking away before things got ugly but Angel wasn’t having it.

Angel stomped after him, “Hey! Don’t you fucking walk away from me! I ain’t done with you yet!” Angel shouted. He was pissed, not thinking clearly. Everything around him was being swept out from under his feet. First his girl, and now his best friend. Next it would probably be his fucking club. Matt was taking everything from him and it infuriated him.

Coco spun around getting up in his face. “You know if it wasn’t Matt then it’d just be some other asshole.” He spat, “At least he’s a good guy Angel.”

“Yeah that’s the fucking problem! He’s such a fucking good guy! How the fuck am I supposed to compete with that?!”

“You don’t.” Coco said plainly. It had been a year, a year of the moping and putting up with Angel’s shit and he was tired of it.

“What?” Angel asked. He couldn’t possibly have heard him right. Coco always had his back, but now it was like he was all team Matt.

“Don’t you think it’s time you moved on?” Coco stared him down. It was time Angel heard some hard truths, some truths he should have said long ago. “Fuck Angel you did this to yourself! You fucked up your relationship! Put our cause in jeopardy! We fucking laid our asses on the line! And because you needed to get your fucking dick wet we could have lost everything!” Coco snapped his own pent up shit being released at once. “You’re lucky (Y/N) didn’t slip up! Didn’t say some shit that got us all killed when she ripped you a new one like you fucking deserved! Next time, learn to keep it in your fucking pants!”

“You don’t know shit Coco! It was bigger than that!” Angel snapped back.

“What we were doing was bigger than that!” The two men were nearly chest to chest as they barked at each other. “Fuck! I know you were going through some shit, and I never forced you to talk about it, thought I’d let you work it out however you needed but I guess that was my mistake!” He hissed.

“Don’t talk about shit you don’t know about,” Angel warned.

“You mean about how the pussy at home wasn’t good enough for you, you had to go get it from somewhere else too?” Coco spat.

Angel’s nostrils flared and next thing he knew he was shoving Coco back before swinging a fist. Coco dodged the blow tackling Angel to the ground punching him in the jaw. Before long Angel had them rolled over and was on top of Coco landing a blow to his face and readying himself for another.

“Shit!” Bishop yelled coming out of the clubhouse followed by the rest of the MC. Chucky had just gotten back from a beer run and saw the scuffle hurrying past the two to alert the other members. "Enough!"

Rushing over EZ pulled Angel off of Coco holding him back as Gilly helped Coco to his feet. “Fuck you!” Angel spat still on fire trying to break out of his brother’s grip.

Coco shrugged Gilly off of him, spitting blood out and onto the ground. “I don’t even know who you fuckin’ are anymore.” He snarled, shaking his head. “How about you pull your head out of your ass and give me my fucking hermano back cause I’m tired of whoever the fuck this is!” Coco looked at Angel in disgust. Gilly reached out to Coco once more but he only shrugged him off once more and stormed away from the group Gilly following behind him.

“Whatever this shit is," Bishop pointed to Angel, "It ends tonight.” Bishop ordered staring him down. “Go to Vicky's get your dick sucked or some shit." He ordered. "Blow off some fucking steam in a way that doesn’t involve you killing one of your brothers. By tomorrow this shit better be done with, Angel." Leaving Angel with that he headed back into the clubhouse, Hank and Taza not far behind him.

EZ let go of Angel as Creeper walked up to them cautiously. “Come on, hermano.” Creeper said patting Angel on the shoulder. “It’s time.”

The crust of the pizza cut effortlessly with a satisfying crunch before you dished out a piece setting it on the plate in front of Matt and then another on yours.

You watched eagerly taking in every detail and change in expression as Matt took his first bite. He let out a satisfied moan as all the flavors came perfectly together in his mouth. Once the first bite was down he grinned at you, your smile bright as ever as you looked back at him. "So? How is it?" You asked.

"How is it?" He repeated. "Damn you fed me that cardboard pizza," he teased, "When we could've had this?" He chuckled. "Wow, (Y/N). This is fucking amazing. Best pizza I have ever had in my life."

Your smile only grew as you took in his praise. It had been so long since you had cooked properly. After your break up with Angel you lost your passion but now being here and doing what you loved again you felt like you were on top of the world.

"Why the hell don't you have your own restaurant or some shit?" He asked you. "Your talent is too good to not share with the world."

You thought back, sighing contently. "That was the dream." You admitted. "I was in culinary school and everything. Those were the days." You remembered back to your days in school, you were so happy and your dream was right in your grasp before your whole world shifted around you.

"So what happened?" Matt asked.

"Life," you laughed half heartedly. "When Marisol was killed I came back home to help the family, then EZ went away and Angel and I leaned on each other. After that it just kind of fell to the back burner. It got lost in my love for Angel and supporting his dreams."

Matt nodded understandingly. "Well you should go back. It's never too late to chase your dreams. I can see how much you love it and how much love you put into it. That's something special."

"Maybe." You looked down at your plate smiling. It had been a long time since you thought about pursuing your dreams but now that you were thinking about it you couldn't deny the sense of joy and excitement it brought to you.

Angel and Creeper pulled in front of Vicky's. Walking in Creeper sat down as Samantha came down the stairs greeting Angel with a smile. Bishop rang over telling the women to be expecting the two, to be ready for when they got there.

Angel was too upset to care at the moment, all rational thinking going out the window like it often did for him when his emotions were so strong. Maybe this was the solution. Maybe he just needed to get over you by having a good fuck with another, and right now he'd take any sort of distraction from thinking about your date or the fight with Coco.

You finished your meal and Matt helped you clean up. You were now heading towards the door waiting for one of you to be bold and make the first move. You had a great time, the conversations between you two flowing effortlessly and you were really starting to see yourself with Matt. He was a good guy who was kind and charming. He treated you well and made you forget the pain of the last years. It was refreshing and you were riding the high of such a wonderful evening.

“Right this way baby.” Samantha said as she led Angel up the stairs and into her room closing the door behind them. Turning around she faced Angel a coy smile on her lips as he looked her up and down. Swaying over to him she slipped her hands under his cut, sliding the leather off his shoulders and setting it aside gently as she had for many of the patched members who would come in.

Matt bit his lip before manning up and making the first move. Closing the distance between you he cupped your face gently in his hands and kissed you slowly, slipping his tongue in your mouth as your hands made their way up his chest while you leaned into his kiss. His hands made their way down your body and the two of you began backing up to your couch all whilst never breaking the kiss.

Samantha ran her hands up and down Angel’s chest before pushing him back and down onto the bed. He watched her intently as she slipped the thin material of her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. His eyes raked over her exposed skin, so smooth and soft, just like yours, her breasts just peeking out above her lace bra.

Straddling his lap she began unbuttoning his shirt taking her time to make a show of it, grinding against his lap until she could feel him hardening beneath her telling her she was doing her job well.

You felt the back of your legs hit the couch and you spun the two of you around pushing Matt onto the couch before straddling his lap. Pulling away your chests heaving you looked at him smiling back at you, sending butterflies through your stomach. You hadn't given yourself to another man since Angel. The thought both excited and terrified you but you felt ready to take that step.

Pushing through, you smirked unbuttoning his shirt slowly. Slipping your hands in the now open fabric you pushed it off and down his shoulders, biting your lips as your eyes raked over his now exposed muscles.

Carefully grasping the hem of your dress he pulled the fabric off you slowly before tossing it aside with his shirt. Taking in your exposed flesh before him he licked his lips and groaned. You were so damn beautiful to him.

You sank into yourself a little suddenly feeling self conscious in your own skin. "So beautiful." Matt reassured you, causing your heart to flutter as he ran his hand gents down your arm.

Angel attached his lips to Samantha's neck, nipping every so often before swiping his tongue across the marks. She moaned in his ear, soft and low and then he was thinking of you.

First of you being in his lap, grinding against him, and panting out his name, begging for him to take you.

And then of you on Matt's lap. Praising his name as he laid claim to your flesh and pleasure.

The thoughts only fueled him and his need to rid you of his mind. He took hold under Samantha's ass, picking her up and flipping the two of them around before laying her across the bed.

He unbuckled his belt quickly, loosening up his pants before hovering over and kissing her fiercely, trying desperately to get rid of all thoughts of you.

Matt pulled you closer one hand behind your back holding you there as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, licking and sucking. A moan escaped your lips as he hit your sweet spot, the spot Angel used to relish in teasing you with.

You pushed the thought away, shoving Angel to the back of your mind as you focused on Matt's touch and how different it was from your former lover's. His skin was smooth, cleanly shaven, nothing like the coarse scratchiness of Angel's beard. Focusing on the differences helped push him to the back of your mind but not as much as you'd hope.

Running his hands down your back and under your butt, Matt lifted you up, flipping you around and setting you back down on the couch. You took a deep breath looking up at him as he settled between your legs. Reaching out you carefully unbuckled his belt. You laid back on the sofa as Matt leaned down hovering over you. He brought his lips down to meet yours once more, kissing you passionately as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Angel's hand wandered down her stomach as his lips made their way down her jaw before slipping his digits into her shorts. She gasped out at the contact and he really wished she'd keep quiet, the memory of you flashing in his mind with every sound she made.

Matt ran his hand down your stomach, kissing your neck again as his hand slipped it's way into your lace panties. You gasped out at the contact, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as he rubbed circles over your most sensitive spot.

"Fuck, Angel," Samantha moaned at the pleasuresome stimulation he was providing her. But he didn't hear her voice, he heard yours clear as day.

He pulled away from her violently. Sitting on the edge of the bed he ran his hands through his hair, tugging as he reached the ends. No matter what he tried he just couldn't shake you.

"Fuck!" He shouted. He couldn't do this to you, not again. Even though you weren't together he still felt as if he was cheating on you once more, betraying you all over again. He couldn't bear the thought.

You were so focused on the sensation of the rough fingers against your skin that you lost all awareness of your surroundings around you.

"Fuck, Angel." You gasped out. Your eyes shot open only coming to terms with where you were and who you were with too late. You instantly went from being overwhelmed with pleasure to feeling as if you wanted to die right then and there.

Samanta sat up looking at Angel hunched over. Scooting over to him she situated herself behind him rubbing his shoulders to sooth him and bring him back, "It's okay, baby," she whispered.

He shrugged her off roughly, bursting up from the bed. No, it wasn't okay. Quickly shoving his shirt back on and swinging his cut around his shoulders he stormed out of the room leaving her confused and alone.

"Hey, where are you going?" He heard her call out but he didn't care. There was only one girl on his mind. Only one woman for him.

Creeper watched as Angel came bounding down the stairs "Hey, where the fuck are you going?" He called out, ignoring the girl on his lap as he watched his brother charge out the front door without even sparing a glance their way.

Matt pulled back and you wanted to sink down into the couch cushions disappearing forever and away from his gaze. "Fuck Matt, I'm so sorry." You groaned running your hands over your face, hiding behind them.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed but it wasn't your fault. Angel had a hold on you whether he liked it or not, and how could he not when you had given so much of your time to him? "Don't worry about it." He reassured you with a small smile.

You peeked through your fingers at him. Sitting up you pulled your knees to your chest holding them tightly. "I really didn't mean it." You had never felt so embarrassed in your life. Even when Angel wasn't around he was plaguing your mind whether you were aware of it or not.

"It's okay." Matt reassured you once more, setting his hand gently on your knee. "I've had a great night. Thank you for the food, it was delicious, you have a real talent (Y/N)." He swallowed looking at you comfortingly. "I really like you, but I think before this," he said motioning between the two of you, "can become anything more you need to figure that out." He gave you one more smile leaning in to kiss your cheek. "Goodnight, (Y/N)." Standing up he grabbed his shirt, slipping it on.

You watched as he let himself out. Laying back down you grabbed the pillow off the couch and held it over your face screaming in frustration wishing you could erase those last few moments.

Angel sat on his bike down the street from your place. There he watched as Matt exited your place buttoning up his shirt as he headed for his truck. Angel's blood boiled, the fucker clearly had his way with you and he couldn't stand the jealousy any longer. As soon as Matt was out of there he jumped off his bike. Before long he was on your porch banging on your door ready to give you a piece of his fucking mind.

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#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #perfect

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since0202 · 3 years

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Chapter 17: Vote

When Edward pulled up to their large secluded home, Grace had to catch her breath. The staggering estate was predominantly made up of windows and the curve of the architecture mirrored the bow and sway of the blossoming trees. When they climbed the wide, wood steps to the massive front door, Bella, hand in hand with Edward, turned to give Grace a worrying look.

“Just….try to keep an open mind,” Bella said mysteriously. Grace stopped mid step and raised her eyebrows.

“Okaaaay,” she said slowly. Edward gave a short laugh and pulled Bella further into him as they walked through the slowly opening door. Grace looked behind her into the woods for a brief moment before crossing the threshold of the Cullen house, trying her best to suppress a cold shiver winding through her and circling in her belly.

Grace followed Edward and Bella up a flight of stairs to a landing leading to a wide open living room space. The darkened windows faced out toward the forest and Grace could just barely make out the shifting shadows of the branches in the trees. The entire Cullen family was there, standing statuesque around different areas of the living room. When they entered, their eyes all shifted over to them.

After a brief, settling silence, she heard Carlisle gently ask: “And who’s this?” Before Grace had a chance to speak up, Edward said just as calmly back:

“This is Grace Alo, Bella’s cousin.” No other explanation necessary apparently. “Grace, this is my father, Carlisle.”

“Yes, Bella’s mentioned him. Nice to meet you, Dr. Cullen.” Grace responded more relaxedly than she thought she was capable of at this moment surrounded by 7 “friendly” vampires.

“Carlisle is fine.” He nodded and gave her a warm smile. How could vampires smile warmly, she wondered.

“Right. Carlisle then.”

“This is my wife Esme” he circled an arm around her shoulder and the small but welcoming woman gave her a smile as well, mirroring Carlisle’s warmth. “And I think you know my other children, Alice and Jasper, and that’s Rosalie and Emmett.”

“Hi.” Grace gave a small wave and looked to each other, silently measuring them up. She was toast if they wanted a snack.

“Edward has informed us that Victoria has been in the area, causing some trouble for you and your friends. We’re very sorry for that. We hope no one has been hurt.” Carlisle said sincerely.

Friends. Grace looked to Bella and wondered how much the Cullens knew and how much they thought she knew about them.

“We’ve kept her at bay.” Grace said simply. Bound with the knowledge that she was not supposed to say anything about the pack, she wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“Well, we’re happy to take it from here and not put any of you in further danger.” Carlisle nodded. Grace watched him carefully and was somewhat shocked by his overwhelming kindness and decency for those he had never met. She automatically took a step forward in her sudden comfort and then stopped, taking care to step back and relaying a quiet “thank you.”

“How many of your kind are there?” Rosalie suddenly asked, sharp and strong.

“Excuse me?” Grace said back, feeling a protective surge move through her.

“Rosalie, that’s not important.” Carlisle placated. “And what’s more, we should respect Grace’s privacy and the treaty.” Carlisle nodded toward her. Rosalie’s unwavering gaze stayed on Grace. She gave it back, stone faced and sure. She was immovable.

“We don’t exactly get along with their kind. It’s a matter of safety...for my family,” Rosalie said. Before Carlisle could step in again, Grace shot back.

“There’s enough of us,” Grace said solidly, crossing her arms, “To take down a threat.” Rosalie let a small, intimidating smile creep over her lips.

“Fair.” She said.

“Grace isn’t a werewolf.” Bella said. “She’s the Spirit Bird.”

BELLA! Grace internally screamed. Outwardly she gave a little squeak and clapped her mouth shut with an audible clack.

“What?” Bella said, looking at Grace surprised. “Oh. Sorry.” she said, suddenly realizing her mistake and wincing. Grace let out a wide exhale and placed her hands on her hips.

“Well, at least Sam won’t kill me.” Grace muttered. “He’ll kill you instead.” Grace laughed pointing toward Bella. Edward unconsciously flinched and tightened his hold on Bella. “Just kidding.” Grace said when she noticed his rigid stance.

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.” Bella turned back to the family and looked at each of their faces. “You all know what I want.” She turned to look at Grace knowingly. “But I think it’s only fair that since I want to be one of you, and that I’m asking to join your family, that we vote.”

Grace felt white hot piercing through her. She was frozen in place, but inside her head she was screaming. If Edward could glean a feeling from this, she was sure he’d understand her tight body language. She wanted to be one of them?! Her stomach turned at the thought of Bella becoming a vampire, but when she looked at the eyes around the room, their golden hued colored with worry, chagrin, and some with complete disdain, she knew it wasn’t as easy as a simple ‘yes.’

“So?” Bella looked to Alice first.

“Of course, I already consider you my sister.” Alice hugged her and Bella stumbled a little bit when she was pulled into the tight hug. Grace, still frozen to the spot tried to unflex her fingers.

Jasper nodded and then gave a short, pained, “Yes.”

Emmett was next a broad smile pulled across his face in unrelenting joy: “Hell yes!” he picked Bella up and spun her around. “It would be nice not hearing Edward’s whining all the time.” Bella laughed and Edward groaned.

“Rosalie?” Bella offered. Grace carefully watched the beautiful blonde vampire shift from one foot to the other smoothly.

“I want to apologize to both of you. For my actions. I was hasty and it almost cost my brother his life. Thank you for saving him,” she said with a look on her face that showed she was almost surprised herself. “But I vote no. This isn’t a life I would have chosen for myself. And in good conscious, I can’t wish it upon you.” Rosalie folded her hands in front of her and looked down.

Bella gave a short nod, quickly moving to Esme. “Yes, of course. You’re already our family.”

When her gaze rested on Carlisle, he stared at Edward intently, trying to communicate with him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Edward lamented.

“You’ve chosen not to live without her. And will not lose my son.” Carlisle looked back to Bella and said “Yes.” softly.

“Edward?” Bella looked up at him.

“You know my answer,” Edward said, somewhat annoyed but his arm still wrapped around Bella’s waist protectively.

“We need it on record,” Bella jabbed.

“No.” Edward said softly gazing down at her and bringing a hand to caress her face. She stared up at him for a moment longer and then pulled away slightly to turn and face Grace. Grace was still glued to the same spot stretching her fingers out, her face set in a hard line.

“Grace?” Bella prompted.

“Who me?” Grace choked out.

“Yes.”

“Why do you want my vote?” Grace was genuinely surprised, aghast even that Bella even considered her opinion on this obviously outlandish vote. Bella waited patiently. Grace let out an exasperated huff of air and shook her head, “Bella, I love you, so so much. But this….I know you think this will make you happy. But Bella...this will start a war. One I will have to fight and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose anyone,” she looked around the room. She didn’t know then, but when she said ‘anyone’ she meant everyone standing in that room as well.

Bella sucked in a worried breath and fiddled with her fingertips. “I understand-”

“Do you?” Grace interjected, finally taking the steps forward to stand in front of Bella and clasp her hands over hers. “The treaty...the treaty states that if a Cullen bites a human, then the deal is off.”

“We’ll leave.” Bella whispered. “I know we’ll have to leave.”

“Bella. They’ll follow you. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop them.” Grace watched her face closely. “Just think about it. Think about….Jake.” she choked out. “This will kill him.” Tears sprang to her eyes now.

“Grace,” Bella pulled Grace into a hug and kept her there, whispering in her ear, “I promise I won’t do anything to put you or Jake or the pack in danger. I promise.” She pulled back and looked at her face. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” Grace knew that there was no way to win tonight. So instead, she nodded, let the tears drop from her face onto the cleanly polished mahogany floors and sucked in a deep breath.

Carlisle was next to her in an instant with a handkerchief, that Grace gladly accepted and wiped her eyes with. She chuckled out a loose thank you and Carlisle kindly nodded.

“I should get you two back home. It’s late.” Edward said. He looked at Grace appreciatively glad to have someone on his side in this fight for Bella’s life.

But Grace wasn’t so sure he had the same goal. If this affected no one else, Grace would have supported it because she recognized that Bella was happiest with Edward. And to stay with him this way, she had to change. It made sense, even if Grace thought it should be a last resort. But in the back of her mind, she knew what it was like to want to be with someone that you couldn’t in the way you were now.

Tucked in the safety of Edward’s backseat, Grace let her head lean against the cool window. Just as she was drifting off, she heard Edward gently say, “Grace.”

She sat up and looked around her quickly. Edward was staring straight ahead out the windshield. Bella had fallen asleep. Grace squinted out the windshield and saw just inside the tree line six pairs of glowing eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath and looked to Edward.

“They don’t look happy.” Grace said sarcastically.

“Hate to be a Spirit Bird right about now,” Edward said quietly.

“Or a vampire,” Grace retorted. Edward chuckled. “Okay, I’ll get out first and you get Bella upstairs.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Edward said, his eyes still glued to the forest.

Grace got out of the backseat easily, her nervous energy shaking any tiredness from her body. She strode across her lawn toward the forest and then stopped just past the walkway. She kept her hands at her side in case she felt like she needed to block them. Edward was quick and quiet and in the house by the time Grace came to a stop.

The crescendo of angry voices laced with hurt, betrayal, curiosity, and more prominently, anger, were loud and clear. But something in her held her in place and she conveyed as best she could without speaking that everything was going to be alright. To which a low howl accompanied by a bevvy of growls rang out. The flood of emotion coming from the pack was so strong that she had a hard time hearing any full sentences. They all overlapped each other in outrage. And then, she heard one clear voice ring out like a shot.

Is she alright? It was Jake’s voice. It was firm but void of any desperate anger like the others. He was upset but remained more level headed in his tone to make sure his message got across.

“Yes.” Grace said quietly out into the trees to him. Then suddenly, the voices stopped like someone at given a silent command. Grace could hear the relief of silence and crickets, and animals creaking around in the forest. She was grateful for it and nodded once toward the trees, conveying an unspoken decision to the pack and moved swiftly into the house.

------

“Well, you’re both grounded,” Charlie had his hands on hips, donned in his chief getup, and was standing in front of Grace and Bella as they sat on the couch.

“Wait! Why am I grounded?” Grace said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t seem fair dad, she tried to stop me,” Bella defended her and Grace nodded enthusiastically.

“Because not 12 hours after Bella got home, you snuck her out to see Edward in the middle of the night.” Charlie stated matter of factly, pleased as punch with his findings.

“Wha-” Grace said.

“Sam called.”

“Aaaah, what a little-” Grace started.

“I’d save it. He was only looking out. Soooo,” Charlie pointed to Grace first, “Two weeks, school only, trips to the rez accompanied only by Jacob or….what’s his name?”

“Paul.” Grace said dejectedly crossing her arms.

“Yes and 7 p.m. curfew. And you,” he pointed to Bella who looked at him expectantly, unafraid. “Grounded for the rest of your life. That means no seeing Edward, no phone, nothing.” Bella nodded biting her lip.

“Saw that coming,” she replied. “But dad I’m 18 so-”

“Well as long as you live in my house, you’re grounded.” Charlie said.

“Then I’m moving out.” Bella said back.

“Okay woah,” Grace halted the conversation. “Bells, you’re not moving out. We’ve got 2 more months of school and you know that’s not the way you want to leave,” Grace gave her a knowing stare.

“Fine, but I still get to see Edward.” Bella crossed her arms looking up at Charlie. He considered this for a moment.

“5 p.m. curfew, no school nights. You can go to the reservation whenever you’d like to hang out with Jacob. If you head anywhere else, I’ll know.” Charlie conceded. Bella looked at Grace who rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘Sam.’

“Grace gets a 7.p.m curfew, why can’t I have that?” Bella challenged. Charlie started to get red in the face.

“5.p.m when your with him. 7p .m. when you’re with Grace or Jake. That’s it, Bella.” to this Charlie turned and started walking toward the door. “Now get to school. You’re going to be late.” When he swung open the front door, Edward was climbing the steps. “Oh jeez!” he let out, annoyed.

“Chief Swan,” Edward said, giving him a gentle smile.

“Get out of here, they’re both grounded.”

“Dad, the truck is at school, we don’t have a ride.” Bella said as she passed him and beelined it for his car. Grace hiked her backpack on her shoulder and moved past him too. Charlie dragged a hand over his face and threw his hands up.

“Fine,” and walked off toward his police cruiser.

In the car, Grace opened her phone and scrolled aimlessly through the onslaught of text messages in her phone that had been building up since late last night. She only looked for one name though. He hadn’t been one of the many frantic text messages last night though. Still, for comfort, she looked at the last message he had sent her, trying to channel his warm, soothing voice in her head.

I’m so sorry, Grace.

Let me know when you want to talk.

#twilight fanfiction #twilightfanfic #twilightfanfiction #Bella Swan #edward cullen #jacob black #jacobblackxoc #the cullens #the pack #new moon #chapter 17 #a monster lives here #paul lahote

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

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do what you please to me, i won't resist

summary: requested: (1) um UM um okay that scene in defending jacob when andy says "well i'm gonna level with you. I don't really give a shit what you want" all I'm thinking ab is reader begging him to let her come or begging him to stop while he's overstimulating her and he says that as a response and i oof. plz. (2) more Andy Barber, you ask? definitely don't think about him working late in his office, even though you've asked him not to bring his work home (not that he'll listen to that) and you've just had too much of not seeing him forever after he comes home bc you can't fall asleep without him in bed with you. so you go into his office in his favorite, most expensive lingerie to try and distract him. he makes you ride his thigh with your hands behind his back with his tie and does not touch you once

warnings: hardcore smut. some shit. the same shit i always put in. a lot of begging and andy is a DA so he’s having none of it.

word count: about 3,600

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: i know i’m using the lyrics from the same song for some of these but that’s just bc they’re technically in the same “world”. there’s really no order and ultimately, they’re completely unrelated.

You were not a demanding partner. You knew Andy had a job and that he loved his job.

That did not mean you didn’t miss him sometimes. He was the kind of person who could throw himself into work unintentionally and not even realize it.

But there had always been lines he didn’t cross. You did not like sleeping without your husband. You very simply couldn’t.

He was working on a case that you knew next to nothing about because Andy never talked about cases because he never wanted to tell you any sort of bad news. Beyond “I won”, you were mostly in the dark about his cases. If he didn’t win, you always knew, but he never said it.

You tried to give him space when he so clearly wanted it, but this was just too much. He also needed to sleep, he would be no good to anyone if he was dead on his feet.

And okay, maybe you were feeling a little less understanding because you might have wanted something from him, something more than just him being in bed next to you.

Since your first major date with Andy, you’d gathered a wide collection of lingerie. You’d never met a man who appreciated you in lace so much. He treated undressing you like a religious experience.

It had started with Valentine’s Day, you’d had sex with him prior, but it was always so...not bad, definitely not, but not as fun as it could be. It was usually after a date, always at your place, and he left soon after, way sooner than you would like but he had his career and you had your life, too.

You had wanted the night to be special, you wanted to see if you could make him stay until the morning, so you went to Victoria’s Secret for some scrap of material that was way too expensive. A sleeveless, lacy white bodysuit with a plunging neckline and thin ribbons laced down to your navel. It really hid nothing, and it was more irritating trying to find a dress that wasn’t so tight that it showed.

But when he was on your bed, watching you undress, you knew it was worth it. He immediately sat up, crawling to the edge of the bed so he could grab your hips. “Move in with me.”

Definitely not what you were expecting, but you said yes without hesitation. Since then, he wasn’t interested in hiding how much he loved seeing you in lingerie. He also wasn’t opposed to buying you what he wanted to see you in. That was why you had a secret collection that you had for truly special occasions. His birthday, last Christmas, and now.

Now, as he was in his damn office just 30 minutes until midnight, and you fucking missed him. He would leave early, get home late, and then work. You hadn’t had dinner together for two nights.

So, you slipped into a gorgeous pink corset that was very overpriced but if he fucked you tonight, it would be worth it. The clasps were in the front, he always liked to start at the bottom, inching his mouth up your body until your breasts were exposed and then he would just worship them with his teeth, tongue, and lips. It wasn’t too much lace because you wanted to tease, the cups were so small you were practically spilling out of them, and the back was decorated with a pink ribbon lacing through until it settled in a huge bow at the small of your back. The matching thong covered nothing, of course.

You slipped your robe on before you headed down to his office. You didn’t bother to knock because you personally didn’t care if you interrupted him. He didn’t even glance up as you entered, just kept his eyes fixed on the computer screen before him.

Now, you weren’t complaining. You loved this about Andy, you loved how much he cared about his work. It was important work. And it wasn’t that he made you feel he wasn’t interested in you, that definitely wasn’t a concern, but sometimes, you needed him, and he needed to be told that.

“Andy, it’s time for bed.”

“In a minute.”

“You said that four hours ago.”

He blinked, glancing at the time on the corner of the screen. “Wow, sorry, I had no idea it was this late. Head up, I’ll join you in just a second.”

“No, Andy, I want you to come with me now.”

He sighed. “Baby, this is important.”

“I know that, it’s always important. But taking care of yourself is also important.” Taking care of you was another very essential thing, but you would have sounded bratty if you added that.

“I promise, I’ll come home early tomorrow—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you because I’m going to keep working.”

You kept your eyes on his face the entire time as you reached for the tie on your robe and yanked it loose. He arched an eyebrow at you until you let the robe fall to the floor.

“So, that’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here because I refuse to sleep in a bed without my husband.”

“Has nothing to do with you wanting to get fucked?”

“Very little to do with that,” you claimed.

He scoffed, sliding his chair back a little. “Well, come here.”

Okay, you were expecting victory, but not that easily. You cautiously made your way toward him.

He tapped his thigh. “Sit right here.”

You made your way around him to his left thigh and went to sit until he made a disapproving noise. Oh. He didn’t want you to sit. You spread your legs and straddled his thigh, trying not to squirm too much as he watched you.

“Haven’t seen this one before.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful on you. You know what seeing you in pink does to me.”

Yes, you knew. You smiled and leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head before you could.

He reached up to loosen his tie. “It’s been a long time since you were this bratty.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Well, it’s been a long time since you left me unsatisfied.”

“Oh, unsatisfied?”

Huge no. Andy took satisfying you as seriously as he took his job. Implying that he was failing was the best way to get your ass spanked hard enough that sitting for two weeks after was quite the task. But you weren’t going to take it back.

“I’ve had to take care of myself lately.” That was a lie, but hell, you were in this deep. Why not take it all the way home?

He pulled his tie off completely then turned to you. “Did I give you permission to touch yourself?”

“No,” you immediately responded, purely out of habit. When he asked you something, he expected you to answer. It was your pride that kept you talking, “I don’t need your permission.”

He snorted. “Is that so?”

Andy wasn’t an angry man, not really. Sure, he had his moments, everyone did. But his expression of anger was unlike most. He didn’t yell, he didn’t throw things, he didn’t slam doors. He was very calm outwardly, but he had his tells. His eyes got darker, he set his jaw when he didn’t like what he was hearing. And specifically, with you, his hands needed to be doing something, you theorized it was because he was itching to spank you.

“Hands behind your back.”

This was not what you wanted. Sex, just sex. It was almost midnight, you were tired. You pictured him fucking you for a couple of rounds and then falling asleep together. You did not want this entire elaborate scene. But you didn’t tell Andy no, not when he was like this. Besides, if you did, you knew he was just going to point out how wet you were, you knew he could feel it through his pants by now.

So, you brought your hands behind your back and tried no to startle when he began binding them together with his tie. He eyed you after, making an appreciative noise when he saw how propped up your breasts now were, but he didn’t touch you.

“Get yourself off.”

“What?” you huffed.

“I want to feel your cunt grinding on my thigh and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to.”

“Andy—”

“I’m not asking.”

You knew he wasn’t, and you knew the longer you put this off, the more he was going to drag this out. You rolled your hips experimentally, trying to find a safe place to relax and ride his thigh. It took you a while and you were way too humiliated to look at him. He loved doing that to you, apparently, judging by how easy it was to rub your pussy against him, you also did.

He never touched you, never once helped you. He didn’t move at all until you were so close, but that was only to resume typing on his computer.

“Andy!” You gasped.

“Keep going,” he directed, tone full of warning.

You did mostly because you wanted to come but also because you were a little scared.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back, moaning through your orgasm. You received no response from him. He didn’t look at you, he didn’t tell you how good you were for doing what he asked. The only thing that got him speaking was that you had comfortably settled on his thigh.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You were still attempting to catch your breath, obviously not made easy by the tight corset you were in. “Andy—”

“I’m going to keep count of how many times I have to remind you to listen to me, and baby girl, you will not enjoy the punishment that follows.”

You whimpered something unintelligible and began moving once more. You wanted his help, you want to feel his hands on your skin, but you didn’t necessarily dislike this. You could see how hard he was, how he was straining against his pants. Your slick left a large portion of his pants wet already and you’d only just come once. There was a part of you that was somewhat curious about how far Andy would take his controlling habits tonight.

You finished a second time and once more, he didn’t react. You got louder, you moved faster, you angled your body so you knew he could see your breasts bouncing. A third, a fourth, but still, you had no success in getting anything from him.

Your pussy was tired, overstimulated, and your muscles were starting to ache. How long did he want you to do this?

“You’re slowing down.”

“Baby—”

“Be quiet and let me finish my work, baby.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He turned to you, cooing, “Oh, my baby wants to stop?”

You nodded. “Yes, please!”

His serious tone returned, “Well, I’m gonna level with you. I don’t really give a shit what you want.”

“Andy!” You laid your head on his shoulder, but kept your hips moving. He didn’t bluff about punishments. “Please let me stop.”

“No, keep it up.”

You whined his name again, but he said nothing further. You weren’t sure how many more you managed but you had to lean on him completely. The mess you’d made on his pants covered most of his thigh and that only served to embarrass you more. You were sweating now, body aching because you were tired, shaking because this was too much but also because you still wanted him to touch you.

“And look at that,” he announced. “A little after midnight and I just sent the last email I needed to. Maybe if you weren’t so impatient, I would be upstairs right now fucking you.”

You didn’t believe that for a second. Had you not come in, he’d had still been doing things that could no doubt just be done in the morning.

“You can stop.”

You let out a sigh of true relief as you collapsed into his chest.

Finally, his hand found the back of your head and he brushed his fingers through your hair as he shushed you and told you that you were kind of good. Which was such shit, but you were too tired to argue, probably what he wanted. Soon, his hand trailed down your back all the way to your ass. He was still so hard, and you knew he was not going to let you rest yet.

“Think you got one more in you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I can take one. Will you come inside me?”

He hurriedly got to his feet, bringing you along with him, and turned you to the desk just to bend you over it.

You heard him moving his belt and pants out of the way. He teased the tip of his cock through your folds, reveling in the moans and mewls that spilled from your lips. You were still so painfully sensitive that when he entered you, your legs buckled.

He held you by the tie around your wrists, slowly continuing until he was completely buried in you.

You were laid out flat against the desk, one cheek pressed to the surface. He reached out to push your hair back so he could see you. He wanted to watch your face as he pulled out and pushed back in all soft and sedate.

Your eyes filled with tears when he hit that spot inside you, you really couldn’t give him another orgasm. You were tired and overstimulated. “Fuck, Andy, that feels so good.”

“You still don’t wanna come?”

“I can’t,” you insisted.

“Okay.” He let his hands glide over your ass, thumb slipping under the string of your thong. You felt his thumb moving around where he had you on his cock, but you didn’t know why until he began pressing it into your asshole.

“Baby, please no, I can’t—”

“You will take what I want to give you. That’s the rule when you’re a brat and interrupt me when I’m working.”

You shuddered as he picked up pace with both his thumb and his cock. You would come like this, it wouldn’t even take long.

You were mindless, your body moved on its own, the sweet sounds you made tumbled from your parted lips. He noticed this distant look in your eyes and knew how this would go. He knew when he fucked you like this, sometimes you entered this euphoric state where you were utterly reliant on him. He loved taking you there, loved how soft you could get, cuddly and needy, refusing to let him go.

“Andy,” you sobbed, “please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for anymore. Yes, you were tired, but with his thumb in your ass, you now craved that stretch only his cock could give you.

He pulled out, grabbing your shoulders to stand you up. As he turned you to him, he sat you on the desk and untied your hands.

You immediately touched his face, his jaw especially. You would never get enough of his beard. Every time you saw him heading to work, dressed in those suits, you could feel his beard pricking your thighs and pussy, no matter how long it had been since you last felt it.

He spread your legs and brought you closer to the edge. Never once did his eyes leave yours as he began sliding you down his cock. Just as soon as he was completely buried, he pulled you off and then took your ass.

You had to hold onto his forearms, worried you would fall back otherwise. He pulled you down slowly, inch by inch, never losing his patience or control.

His arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you against him, his hips jerking up to force his cock deeper in your ass.

You were a babbling, crying mess and he loved it. He loved that he’d fucked you so good your brain wasn’t working, that you couldn’t speak, that you couldn’t hide how much you enjoyed what he was doing to your body.

“Hold on, baby girl.” He settled you back on the desk and brought your hands up to his shoulders, you instantly gripped his shirt tight.

He started at the bottom of the corset, his hips moving nice and slow as he worked his way up. Once he had your breasts exposed, his mouth latched onto a nipple and he bit down hard.

You screamed, pulling him against you closer as you arched your back. His hand closed around your opposite breast, kneading your skin almost painfully hard.

He pulled back to look at you, hands gliding along your waist and down to your sides. His hips became wild because he understood the harder he fucked you, the more your breasts would move.

Andy had a strict standard for dealing with you after he’d already told you no, but you still insisted. It was his way of re-establishing his control. He thought himself fair, he never told you no just to upset you. So, he expected a degree of respect for his refusals.

Anyway, if he was speaking to you and you were answering even partially coherently, his job was not done. That was why this had gone for another half hour. He’d bent you over the desk once more because you couldn’t sit up on your own.

His cum was still dripping from your pussy and your ass and your thighs were covered. Your hands were shaking, incapable of holding the edge of the desk. You knew he was wrapping this up, but not until he felt that the point had been communicated.

He leaned over you to kiss your face. “Are you good?”

You weren’t sure how you responded, but sufficiently, you guessed, as he stood up and pulled out again. He kept one hand on your lower back to keep you there for a moment, then he cautiously began stepping around the desk.

You turned your head to the opposite direction, confused when you saw him pointing his phone at you. You didn’t feel self-conscious. It was just Andy and there wasn’t a part of your body he didn’t appreciate. But you were still unsure of what he was doing.

“Sit back in my chair, baby.”

You turned away again, searching behind for where he’d left his chair. He’d moved it closer at least, which meant you only had to take about five shaky steps until you could do what he asked.

He made his way to you, camera sliding down your body until he reached your thighs. “You are beautiful covered in my cum.” He reached for the thong you were still wearing and yanked it down your legs. “Show me your pussy.”

There wasn’t much you could do at the moment, but opening your legs for Andy was second nature at this point.

“Touch yourself.”

You could only stare for a moment, trying to convey that you weren’t sure if you could. Your arms felt fifty pounds.

“Again,” he said firmly, “I wasn’t asking.”

He made you make yourself come. He didn’t say anything further but the look on his face was clear. You’d come in here, his office, with one goal. And he was giving it to you, it was out of the question to tap out. It was out of the question to tell Andy that he was giving you too much. Not because he wouldn’t like to hear it, but because you wanted to keep your pride intact.

After he was satisfied with his video, he tossed his phone onto the desk and picked you up. You were already falling asleep halfway up the staircase. He was done being controlling, though. Now, he was your sweet, doting husband that was whispering to you about how good you were tonight, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead.

He laid you out on the bed and you attempted to pull him down with you. “Hang on, I want to get you cleaned up a little.” He started between your thighs and moved up until he cleared his cum from your skin.

He disappeared into the bathroom and you heard him moving things around. You wanted to order him to get into bed with you but talking seemed like such a task. When he returned to you, he wasn’t wearing anything. He grabbed a blanket from the chair in the corner of the room so he wouldn’t have to make you get off the blankets you were laid on.

He settled in at your side, pulling you against his chest before he situated the blanket over the two of you. It was you who reached for his cock and guided him in between your legs, he pressed his hips up slowly until he was buried inside you.

You couldn’t do anything else, but you wanted to feel him. You wanted to fall asleep and wake up with him inside you.

He kissed you briefly before touching your face. “Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. I won’t work that late again, okay?”

You simply nodded and pressed the side of your face against his chest. Would he do it again? Probably. Would you interrupt him again? More than likely. But this was fun for both of you, so why try to change it?

#andy barber x reader #loveddddd writing this one #this man being a control freak has me feeling things #my writing

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