#trigger warnings for mob violence

[justatiredghost]

No Freedom from Knowing ch9

The general mistrust of magic as well as dangerous people in his past kept Jonathan Sims isolated, hidden away where he hoped he might finally be safe. Until he met someone who might be worth shattering that peace for.

ao3

-

John woke slowly, the fog of sleep dissipating as the solid weight beside him slowly came into focus, as well as the warmth emanating from there, seeping into his bones. Somehow, he woke feeling content in a way he was completely unfamiliar with, the knowledge that Martin was with him preventing him from panicking at the foreign feeling. 

Waking up beside someone else was not something he was used to. Any previous relationships felt like a lifetime ago, like they happened to a completely different person. John let himself indulge in the feeling, in the warmth that would quickly become stifling, in his arm that was slowly going numb from the awkward position, and the absolute relief and fondness that swepped over him at how perfect it all was. 

He knew there were things he needed to do, concerns and fears he needed to contend with, but when Martin’s eyes fluttered open and eventually focused on him, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, it was the only thing John was capable of caring about. 

John leaned in and kissed him, because he could, because he was allowed to. Because it made Martin smile. He knew his expression had to be one of self satisfaction when Martin did exactly that. 

“Good morning to you too,” Martin said, placing his hand on John’s arm, smoothing his thumb against his skin, and he looked so fond, it made John melt. 

This closeness was still so new, John felt himself somewhat overwhelmed despite how much he wanted to indulge in it. He wanted to stay here forever, but the agitated need to walk was greater and won out. 

“It’s still night, I think,” John said, squinting towards the window. “How about some dinner?”

Martin had barely opened his mouth to agree when John climbed over the top of him. It was either that or climb to the foot of the bed, and this way won a surprised laugh that filled him with such pride and fondness, he decided he’d chosen correctly. 

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Martin muttered, covering his burning red face until John had climbed off of him and the bed, before following. 

It was inevitable that they’d eventually have to talk about next steps. The place was still a mess, but Martin righted the table and chairs so they could at least sit down while they ate. Instead of sitting across from Martin, John elected to sit beside him, which neither of them commented on, although John could tell he wanted to given the pleased and amused smile Martin tried to hide behind his tea. 

“Maybe we can train the chickens,” Martin joked. “They can act as guard… um, chickens.”

“Guard chickens?” John repeated, deadpan. “I’ve been living with them for years and I can’t even get them to lay eggs in their nests like they’re supposed to. I think they’re beyond training, which is a shame, because I for one would love to see Elias attacked by chickens.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Martin said. “I don’t know how useful they’ll be, but I did get some weapons while I was in town.”

“Weapons?” John asked in alarm. While being able to defend himself was certainly an appealing idea, he didn’t actually know how to use— well, anything. He had to admit to himself that he was more likely to stab himself than anyone else.

“Look,” Martin said defensively. “I may not have any proper training with a sword, but I’ve made a few in my time and that includes testing the strength of the blade. I can work out the basics. Unless you’re going to tell me Elias is also a renowned dualist.”

“Not that I know of,” John said. “He’s likely far older than he looks, though, so who knows.”

“Great, that’s just great,” Martin griped, and John hoped it wasn’t obvious how endearing he found it. “Well, what about—“

And then all hell broke loose. 

It sounded like an explosion, rocking the house to its core, sending spiderwebbing cracks up the wall and ceiling, and knocking John to the ground, where he landed hard. His entire body felt like it was on fire, his magic ripped out of him as it tried to strengthen his wards against the unseen magical bombardment, but it was pointless, there was no way he had enough strength in him to combat that sort of power. 

It felt like he was being flayed open and ripped apart, everything he was torn out of him, leaving a ragged hole behind. He couldn’t even cry out, paralyzed by the agony. And worst of all, he could feel the exact moment his protections gave out. Everything that had shielded him from the outside world was stripped away and he was left vulnerable and broken in its wake. 

He tried to gasp, but he couldn’t get enough air in him, leaving him wheezing on the ground, grabbing at the neck of his shirt as if that would somehow alleviate the crushing weight on his lungs. 

“John? John, can you hear me? Please say you can hear me!”

He was vaguely aware of Martin over him, trying to support him. It was all he could do to reach out and cling to him, every movement a tremendous effort, his hands shaking too much to properly hold onto him. 

John could feel tears running down his face. He wanted to tell him to run, that all hope was lost and he needed to get as far from here as possible, but no words would come, only a strangled sob. Martin heaved him into his arms and carried him to the couch, staying close to hold him, to whisper reassurances that John didn’t know how to tell him meant nothing against the horrors of the world. The horrors that were coming for him. 

He could feel the full force of the Eye, of Beholding, glaring down on him now. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be such a target of that scrutiny; the at once intoxicating and horrific power that he was too weak to fight. He didn’t like who he was with it, the people he had hurt, the people he would likely hurt in the future. It had never been this intent on him, and he didn’t want to know what that meant. 

He cried for a long time, there in Martin’s arms, taking comfort where he didn’t deserve it. He should have pushed him away when he had the chance, at least then he would be far from here, where he might be spared whatever was coming. Martin was smoothing his sweat-dampened hair out of his face, trying to talk him down, when he finally got enough breath in him to speak again. 

“Elias will be coming for me,” John said, gripping Martin’s hand where it had been resting on his shoulder. He thought he might have been holding on too tightly, but he was so weak, it was likely Martin barely felt it. 

“Like hell he will,” Martin said, determination and a protective fury in his eyes that both warmed him, knowing someone could care for him so much, and also froze him to the bone, because he couldn’t get hurt, John couldn’t watch that happen. Elias wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he wanted. 

“Please don’t try to fight him,” John said, still gasping for every word. At least the pain was lessening, the tight grip on his chest slowly growing slack. 

“I’m not just going to stand by! “

“Please, I can't protect you from him,” John begged, and he felt the tears in his eyes again. 

“Tough! It’ll be him that needs protecting.”

And, fuck, he loved this man so much. “Help me up,” he said, and Martin did just that, grabbing his cane and handing it to him as well. 

“Come on,” Martin said. “Let’s at least get somewhere more defensible.”

“Oh,” John said, and any remaining shred of hope he had fled from him completely. “Oh, god. They’re all coming.”

He could feel it. He could feel the unnatural tremor through the earth as they came, the fury and hatred whipped up into a supernatural frenzy, and he knew Elias was somehow the cause. He never did like to do his own dirty work. John shouldn’t have been able to see it, feel it, without his wards, but maybe this was one last gift from Elias. 

“What?” Martin said. “What’s going on? John?” 

“Martin, Martin I need you to listen to me,” John said, grabbing his arm tightly once again, desperately, as he spoke as quickly as he could. ”I need you to go out the back. They can’t find you here.”

“Is it the monsters?” Martin asked, and the set of his jaw told him there was nothing he could say to keep him safe. He’d fight them with his bare hands if he had to. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“No, it’s not, it’s—“

“Come out, witch!” A voice yelled from outside, followed by another. “We know you’re in there, sorcerer!”

“Oh. Oh no,” Martin finally saw what he could; a crowd of people from the town, whipped into a frenzied mob, stepping out of the forest and into his clearing, armed with whatever weapons they could find. 

“They’re coming up with new things to call me all the time,” John said, almost hysterically, catching onto the absurd amidst the horror. 

“Maybe you can sneak out the back while I de-escalate,” Martin began. 

“No, no,” John said, stopping him when he made to walk towards the door. “Something isn’t right, I think Elias has done something, they can’t be reasoned with.”

“Are you sure? We have to at least try!” Martin insisted. 

“Look, if you at least stay here, stay hidden, I might be able to do something,” John lied. “It’s just, my magic won’t protect you, you have to stay safe.”

“I can protect myself—“ Martin began, indignation clear on his face. 

“Martin please, we don’t have time,” John said. But even as he begged, he knew there was no chance. Neither of them could leave the other in danger. They just weren’t capable of it. 

“You’re right, we don’t have time,” Martin said, a steeliness in his eyes. 

“Okay,” John relented, trying desperately to think of something, anything that might get them out of this alive. Or at least get Martin out. He didn’t know what was even happening, really, which made it impossible. 

And then, impulsively, Martin pulled him into a burning kiss. John wasn’t sure if the tears were his own or Martin’s. He wanted the moment to last forever, but a crash caused them to jerk apart. Someone had thrown a rock through a window.

Martin tried to position himself in front of John as they heated outside to confront what was happening. There was no way John could let him do that. He was going to face this head on, he was not going to cower. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Martin risk himself like that. It made his chest ache, knowing he would try to shield him from all of this and the pain he would suffer for it. No, they would face this side by side at the very least. 

A few people were at the head of the group, no doubt the spokesmen. This entire thing was beginning to feel surreal. This was the most organized mob he had ever witnessed. That was probably thanks to Elias, though. He always loved order and bureaucracy. 

A roar went up through the crowd when they spotted them and he suppressed a wince. He didn’t have his cane on him and he did his best to walk without limping, refusing to even lean on Martin. If nothing else, he wanted it to be said that he met his end with dignity, not groveling and crying. He would stand tall until he couldn’t anymore. 

There were shouts, demanding to know what he had done, but he couldn’t answer because he hadn’t done anything. He and Martin were left bewildered, trying desperately to figure out what was happening, what they were being accused of, until one of the lead figures called out louder than the rest. 

“We know this isn’t you, lad,” an older gentleman said to Martin. “Step away from him.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin asked. 

“He’s bewitched you.”

“What?” Martin said, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Of all the stupid—“

“Just step away from him, it will all be over in a moment.”

“No! This is absurd, he hasn’t done anything.”

“He’s a monster!”

“What are you even—“ Martin said, furious and completely at a loss. 

“Actually,” John tried to whisper, because on some level he probably was a monster, they all seemed to get their power from the same place, but Martin just glared at him because now was not the time to be joking around. John personally thought, if not now, when? 

“He’ll kill us all given the chance,” another heckler called. 

“He’s been trying to help. He saved my life, probably plenty of yours, too!”

Martin continued to talk, to defend him, but that was when John saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Very casually lighting a cigarette, watching the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the trees, was Elias Bouchard. He was still dressed in his immaculately pressed suit, a strange contrast in the middle of the forest, a slight smile on his face, and John wondered how he ever could have looked up to this insufferable, cruel man. 

Realizing he was being watched, Elias waved briskly, his grin widening. Then, he looked out over the crowd and back at John, and it was clear exactly what he was thinking. Things were moving too slowly, perhaps he could liven things up a bit. 

A shout went out in the crowd and a rock suddenly struck John in the shoulder, causing him to stagger. He looked around in alarm, but Elias was gone and Martin was grabbing him, pulling him behind him, and then all chaos broke out. 

John was thankful, in a way. When the crowd surged forward, he and Martin were both grabbed and ripped apart. At least that meant whatever happened to him, Martin couldn’t be caught in the middle. He didn’t know what he would have done if Martin had taken a rock for him.  

“Stop it, stop! Can’t you see he hasn’t done anything?” Martin was yelling somewhere to his right. “Leave him alone!”

He caught sight of Martin, being restrained by several men, and he breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t taking this out on him as well. If they truly thought he was being controlled, maybe they would let him go when they were finished. He hated that Martin was here for this at all, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to have their positions reversed, but at least he would live. 

He had a feeling where this was going, and while beaten to death wasn’t exactly an ideal end, if Martin was safe, he wouldn’t use his magic. He couldn’t. The idea terrified him so much more than the violence of the crowd. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. He would rip open their minds, expose knowledge and secrets for the Eye to feast on and it would be horrible to see. 

He doubted Martin would be able to look at him the same after that. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself, either. Assuming, of course, that it didn’t consume what was left of him in the process, until there was nothing but the thrill of power, making him as cruel as Elias. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognize Martin anymore if that happened. He wasn’t sure he could protect him from the Eye, or from himself. 

Through the throng, he managed to catch Martin’s eye and he tried to smile, tried to reassure him that everything would be okay, that he was okay with this. That just made the tears begin to flow down Martin’s face and his chest ached to see it. 

Then, someone punched John in the face and he couldn’t see anything anymore as he was sent sprawling. A sharp kick dug into his stomach and he did his best to curl into a ball, covering his head, as another caught him in the back. 

Out of the corner of his eye, back towards the house, he saw movement and managed to turn in time to see someone opening the door and slipping inside. Elias. It was Elias. And as their eyes met, he had the audacity to wink. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and John was brought back to the current situation by a kick to his ribs

He always seemed to end up back here, under the boots of the people around him. He’d wanted to help them, but he’d failed at every turn. He’d done nothing but hide away and protect his own skin, while they fought and died to the creatures lurking in the darkness, the creatures he should have been able to work out, protect them from. 

Maybe this was the end he deserved. Elias had been right, he was a failure. He could do nothing for anyone, living off the work Gertrude had put in while contributing nothing of his own. He would die unmourned and forgotten. Hopefully Martin would eventually see him like that too, so he could move on and forget him like he deserved. 

John was fine with this, with keeping their focus on him, to let them take their rage and hatred out of his body, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them so they wouldn’t turn it on Martin or anyone else. It was a familiar oppressive terror, the hopelessness of knowing no one would save him, as they demonstrated just how far their hatred for him went. 

Somehow that was always more frightening than the physical pain; knowing for certain that whatever self loathing he possessed, their hatred for him was exponentially worse. It was unfathomable in its cruelty, that it could blind them until they couldn’t even see him as a person anymore. He was just a monster. Lower than a monster. And the world would be a better place without him in it. 

Someone stomped down on his ribs, causing him to cry out and flinch from his position, leaving his head exposed and he caught a kick to his forehead, dazing him. It almost made him miss it. There, an oppressive weight, fear and a bloodthirsty intent. But it wasn’t coming from the crowd, at least not completely. It was so much worse, so much bigger than all of them, and it fueled them all in their violence. 

Oh god. They were coming. More monsters than should have been in the forest, pressing in on all sides, feeding off of all of this. He tried to scramble to his feet, to cry out a warning, but he was knocked down immediately, brutally, and he had no breath for words, unable to even protect himself from the assault coming from all directions. 

And then the screaming began. 

First to arrive was the Slaughter, feeding off the long-festering anger of the townspeople and amplifying it, a horrible visage of a man, twice as tall and towering over the crowd, with too many heads and too many limbs, that sliced through those closest with swords and spears and knives. Then the Flesh, and John was grateful for his angle, unable to truly see the form they were taking. The last one he’d seen was hulking and bulging and dripping and he didn’t want a comparison. 

Then there was the fog. 

The crowd had backed off somewhat, distracted by the chaos, and John took advantage of the moment to search for where he’d last seen Martin, but he wasn’t there. Unhindered by the press of the mob now, as they began to scatter, John began dragging himself across the ground, desperately casting about. 

Martin had to still be here. The Lonely couldn’t have taken him so quickly, surely. But if it had, it would all be John’s fault, forcing him to watch all of this, leaving him helpless to stop it. John of all people knew what helplessness felt like, what it could do to a person, and he hated himself for putting him through that, for not even thinking. 

John could feel himself on the edge of desperation, near tears, when someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet. He staggered, forced to lean on the man holding him to stop himself from falling or being choked by his own clothing, his bad leg unable to take his weight. 

“Give them the witch,” a man shouted, and they dragged John forward a stumbling step. 

They were going to feed him to the monsters. And Martin was still out there, he needed his help. He tried to object, to explain it wouldn’t do anything, they didn’t care about him, but he knew it was useless before he’d even begun. Everything was happening in a blur around him, he could barely process any of it, the screaming of the injured and dying drowning everything out, his panic making it all into an incomprehensible wave of noise. 

He was vaguely aware of something hitting the man holding him and it was almost a relief when John was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, where he could press his face against the cool grass. But then he was looking up at Martin and he thought he might weep in relief. 

Martin was trying to check his injuries, but John grabbed at him and pulled him close enough to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling himself closer to give him a desperate hug, more relieved than he’d ever been in his life. 

“We need to go,” Martin said, and he tried to nod along, even though he didn’t know if he could. 

Martin pulled his arm across his shoulders and hauled him up. John bit back a cry of pain at the sudden movement and just tried to hang on, moving one foot in front of the other, dizzy from the movement. They were jostled several times, but Martin stood strong, determined. As they reached the perimeter, the fog grew thicker. 

“Martin,” John said, voice hoarse and painful, still barely able to get breath into his bruised lungs. “It’s coming, we can’t —“

“It’s okay,” Martin said, and the smile he gave him chilled him to the bone. He imagined it looked a lot like the one John had given him before the first blow had been struck. 

“No, Martin, please,” he tried to protest, but he was much too weak. 

And then they were swallowed up by the white, drawn into the depths of the Lonely, by Martin himself. John thought there was a chance he himself might be protected by the Eye, he might be able to retain his sense of self in that oppressive forsaken place, if it could even still reach him there, but Martin had no such protection. And yet Martin was welcoming it in like an old friend. And he was doing it for John, to get him somewhere safe, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

[nerdieforpedro]

Her smile was worth it

Pero Tovar (modern AU) x plus size female reader (La jefa)

Word Count: 1882

Warnings: DARK FIC, mobs and their enforcers, mentions of general violence and graphic violence, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of injuries, solving problems Tovar style, comfort food and tea

Summary: Pero Tovar only has a few people he chooses to interact with willingly. The bookstore owner is one of them. Someone made a very stupid mistake, Tovar will handle it and still have his tea.

Notes: This was written for @iamasaddie ‘s writing challenge 2.0. My color was Mob Enforcer and the prompt was “Hurt/Comfort” and “Who did this to you?” We're longer than a Drabble again, we dribbled quite a bit. Such is Nerdie.

I may have leaned too hard into the ‘hurt portion’ but we’ll see. 👀

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ Writing Challenges

The only good thing about doing collections, was that most of the time, Pero wasn’t using violence. Just intimidation. The shopkeepers knew why he was here and knew the amount they needed to pay to The Family. It’s been the same amount for the past six months, in was raised temporarily for some needed repairs on the club the Valentino family owned. The actual story was that a few of the younger members had been ordered to torture a few members of a rival family and went overboard. The walls, floors and everything needed to be scrubbed. 

Tovar’s been with the Valentino family for fifteen years and as one of their premier enforcers for the last seven working his way up from errand boy. His height and broad frame discourage crossing him, and even if someone is dumb enough to do so, they find themselves bloodied, battered and with at least one thing broken. 

Today’s last stop for collections was planned and one that Pero normally did by himself. The bookstore owner also functions as the town’s librarian since the town doesn’t have one. It’s a smaller town and to get to a library you must drive two towns over. She normally offers him tea and some type of baked goodies. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s grown to have a slight sweet tooth. Maybe. Really, he could care less about the sweets, he usually chats up the owner and barrows books. Considering he is collecting money from her, he felt he should pay but she always said no. He got the sense it wasn’t out of fear, she liked knowing his thoughts on different books. At first, he didn’t like the idea of discussing them. The enforcer wasn’t sure if he could really talk about different themes, symbols, characters and the like he often heard people talk about when discussing these books. 

La jefa (the boss) as he often greeted her didn’t judge him on his answers or lack of them. He’d talk the best he could about what he read, even if he didn’t understand it all. She listens and sips her tea, then asks him questions to draw more answers out of him. It fustrated him at first. But he grew to enjoy the bi-weekly sit downs with her. 

The chime of the bell goes off as he opens the door. The sun is at Pero’s back as he enters the bookstore. He comes early in the afternoon around two. She’s not at the counter, though the shop is listed as open. Calling out for her, she doesn’t answer, and he sucks his teeth. It isn’t like her at all. There’s no tea out either. There are no books that appear out of place and making his way behind the counter, nothing appears to be wrong with the register.

The enforcer goes into the back of the shop, he only knew where the bathroom was back here. He was looking for anything that resembled an office, as he walked down the hallway, there was a sniffle. As he kept going, they got louder. Taking a breath while he stood in front of a door that was slightly ajar, he tried to prepare himself. Maybe it was a bad day, maybe she got a papercut or was reading a sad book or something. Tovar instantly knew none of those were the case when he opened the door. 

Sitting behind the desk, her shoulders were slumped, and her hands were covering her face. He saw the scabs on the back of her hands, defensive marks. “Jefa dejame ver. (Boss, let me have a look).” Her sniffles stop for a moment as she shakes her head, turning her body away from him in the swivel chair. His eyes widen at the mark on her neck he spies it when she turns, it looks like it could be from a palm. Moving to her side, Pero places a hand on her shoulder, “I need to see cariño (sweetheart) or just give me a name. Who did this to you?” She finally drops her hands, but she turns her face away.

“I don’t want you to see. The envelope is on the desk Pero. Please.”  It is on the table, and he’ll put it in his jacket shortly - it is why he came here in the first place, but he can’t just leave like this. On top of her being one of a small number of people who he wants to be around, it could get around that the protection money the shops pay isn’t worth a damn because you could get beat in your own shop, and nothing will happen to whoever did it.

“Then tell me a name.” It’s sterner this time, but he’s released her shoulder and instead picked up her hand, his thumb tracing the scabs on her knuckles. She’d tried to fight back at least. She’s biting her lips when she finally looks at him, most of the discoloration is on the left side of her face though there’s a cut on her chin and one on her bottom lip. A large bruise is on her chest across her right clavicle, partly covered by her shirt. Pero’s able to keep his face motionless. “Por favor cariño (please sweetheart).” He doesn’t recognize the name she says, but he kisses her forehead and wraps an arm around her. “Gracias (thank you). I’ll be back princesa (princess).” 

Pero puts the envelope in his jacket pocket and heads out of the office. “Close the shop now and have the tea ready when I come back. Between eight and nine tonight.” He’s going to be quick about dropping the money off and he’s texted one of his associates with the name she gave. Within fifteen minutes, Pero has a picture to go with the name and a location. Marcello talks way too much, but he’s the best Tovar knows at tracking people.

Pero finds this man himself and tells Marcello to tell the higher ups that he needs to demonstrate a lesson in messaging with the family. He’ll need the basement and he’ll keep the clean up to a minimum. It’s not that there wouldn’t be blood. There might be too much blood so the powers at be approve the basement use but ask that Marcello and a second enforcer be there so that the man isn’t killed. There’s only murder when necessary and it wasn’t they viewed in this case. Pero sucked his teeth for the second time today but would make sure the man in question lives. Just not with all functioning limbs. 

After the submission of the money and subsequent torture was complete, the man’s body was bandaged by one of their doctors on the payroll and dropped off at his home, during a time they knew his family would be home with the message, “The Valentino family suffers no fools.” Pero carved it into his back to emphasize the point. He was still alive but would not be the same. Not after, as Tovar saw it, he’s violated one of his favorite places. 

La jefa has long closed her shop and made herself dinner. Now that she thought about it, she’s never made Pero any of her food, just cookies, brownies and the like. Since he said he was coming back, she would make extra. The worst that would happen would be that he would say he didn't want any.  It also dawned on her that she has not made a book recommendation today. She should pick one out before he comes, straightening out her mint green dress. Turning off the stove, she went downstairs to look for a book and saw Pero standing at the door ready to knock. It was a quarter after eight, he was glad he’d taken the extra time to shower. He didn’t want to be late, but he didn’t want to be dirty either. 

“Ah! Mi princesa del librios es bonita (My Princess of books is pretty). You have our tea ready tonight?” His question follows the chime of the bell above the door as she unlocks it and lets him in. She then locks it again and nods.

“I have tea and I made some extra for dinner. I didn’t pick out a book for you yet.” She seems a bit brighter than this afternoon but still trying to make sure she was facing him with her right side. Pero takes her left hand and tugs it a little, not hard, just enough so she faces him fully.

“Hermosa (gorgeous) you don’t have a bad side. Don’t worry about the book. I haven’t finished with the other one yet. I want my tea and I want to see what you made for dinner.” The corners of her mouth curve and finally she smiles, squeezing his hand and leading him up the stairs. Pero watches her walk up and into her living area. It’s cozy as it has books scattered about as well. 

“I don’t know if you like stew, but I made that and heated up some rolls. There’s butter too. I have water, apple juice, coke, and some rum.” The last option surprised him as he didn’t picture her drinking at all. Maybe she had a glass or two when she sat up here before bed. She poured herself a glass of water as Pero pointed to her glass and held up an empty bowel on the table. She filled both and they sat down across from each other. “I hope you enjoy Pero.”

“I don’t doubt that I will cariño.” The food went quickly as they ate, and she asked what other kind of foods he liked. Pero felt he might be getting greedy. Perhaps he’s been gluttonous of her attention each time he comes here. She gives it so willingly. 

Tonight’s tea is mint like her dress which makes Tovar chuckle as he takes up half of her loveseat sitting down. She takes up the other and they sip tea, speaking of past books they’ve read and things he may want to read. 

Even if he got an urgent call, he’ll ignore it because he’s having his tea. Pero Tovar doesn’t feel like an enforcer or a conduit for violence. He just has an arm around one of his favorite people as she places her head on his shoulder. The tough pads of his fingers touch the injured side of her face while he tells her that it’s been taken care of. He won’t tell her details. Tovar figures she can put it together. If he can just have moments like these where he’s just a man with someone he cares for, Pero can use that to sleep. He prays she can rest without crying or being scared. 

The loveseat has his feet hanging off outside of the blanket he found on the back of it. So far, he hasn’t heard her sniffle again. Pero carried her to bed after she fell asleep in his arms. The faint scent of mint mingling with the earthy smell of the books lulls him to sleep. He had blood on his hands again today, but it was fine. It was for her sake, and she hasn’t cried again.

It was worth it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you're desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

Adrenaline buzzes in your ears and sears through your veins. You shouldn’t be here. Yet this place is no more treacherous than your home. Thing’s can’t get much worse so you may as well try to make them better. 

Or maybe you’re so desperate for it to end, that you don’t care how. 

You stand before the two men in their dark suits. They mutter as if you can’t hear them, “Warren’s girl.” 

“One of them,” the other intones. 

“Boss said not to bother.” 

You sway, your hands twined up behind your back. You expect to be turned away but you’re not ready for it. You chew the tip of your tongue. 

“I can wait,” you say. 

The don’t acknowledge you. They turn to block you out with their shoulders and lower their voices. One glances over his shoulder at you, Walker? Or something. 

“Your daddy send you?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You should probably lie but you’re no good at that. The throbbing in your swollen lip assures you of that. 

“So why should we let you in to see the boss? You out here at midnight looking like a tramp,” he challenges as he faces you again. 

“Hey, she looks like she’s had it bad enough. Don’t be a dick,” the other man reproaches. “Look, sweetheart,” he steps forward. “Man’s busy. With important business. Whatever you’re looking for, ask your daddy.” 

You could sob. Your father has no idea you’re there. If he did... if he knew why... 

Your shoulders slump and you hang your head in defeat. Why did you think this would work? It’s a fantasy. That same escapist wish you make every night when you cry yourself to sleep. 

You close your eyes and see Adrienne’s teary-eyes and Kitty’s helpless expression. You can’t let your sisters down. You can’t stand to see them suffer any longer. You can take it all, but it’s seeing him raise his hand to them that guts you. 

“I need to see him,” you raise your head. “I can wait.” 

You say you can but if your father realises you’re gone, if he finds out where you’ve gone, or even manages to guess why... 

Walker sighs. He elbows the other man. “Go tell him so can come back and tell her to scram on his orders.” 

The other man returns a dark look but goes inside. You hug yourself and shiver in the night air. You have only your quarter-zip sweater and a pair of silky pajama pants. You’re not surprised the men can barely keep from laughing at you. 

You wait. It takes longer than you expect. If anything, you would think they would only pretend to tell the boss. That’s what they all do. They lie. They ignore you. They just don’t care. So why are you here? Why would this go any other way? 

Before you can wave the white flag, the door opens. 

“In,” the man holds the door as he steps out.  

You flinch and Walker sneers at his partner in confusion. You’re just as surprised. The other man huffs. 

“Well, he said you got five minutes, so get.” 

You waver on your feet then scurry forward. You step inside the dark brick building, another man waiting just inside. He’s silent as he points you down the hall. He directs you with the terse gestures; upstairs, to the left, around another corner.  

You stop before a door with another duo standing vigil by the door posts. The left one knocks, tilts his head to listen, the opens it. You’re pointed inside.  

Your nerves flurry and wrap you up in a billowing storm. What are you doing? That question doesn’t matter. It’s too late. 

You drag your feet inside. The door slams at your back. The room is dim, lit only by a lamp with a glass shade on the large desk across from you. Behind that, sit a man. The man. Bucky Barnes. The boss. The king. 

He sits with his elbow bent over the armrest of his chair. He watches you calmly. You stand in silence by the door. He beckons you closer with two fingers. 

“Can’t see you back there, doll.” He says. 

You hold your breath and come forward. You gulp as you stop within a foot of the carved desk. Your eyes scour the vintage print of the wallpaper and the wooden paneling. This place is steeped in history. 

He raises his hand, cradling his face as he brings to fingers to his lips. He watches you patiently. Waiting. You stare back at him. You’ve never seen him this close. You don’t even know if your father has. 

“Why are you here?” He asks at last. 

Your eyes narrow on the gold sheen on his pinky. It’s the only safe place to look. You feel like you’ll melt in the blaze of his oceanic irises. You exhale. 

“I need someone dead.” 

He doesn’t answer. Your words dangle in the air as he mulls them. You purse your lips and wince at the pain in the split along the swollen flesh. 

“A man. The one who did that to you?” He sits up straight and points at you. You follow the glint of his ring. You nod. “Low life. Let me guess, daddy doesn’t know you been sneaking around.” 

You shake your head, “he doesn’t know I’m here. Or that I’m asking.” You take another breath as your eyes water. You bring your hand up to your cheek as it pulses. Your father’s knuckles left a nasty welt. “Because it’s him. He’s the one who did this. And I want him dead.” 

He scoffs, more amused than disbelieving. 

“Warren’s a soldier of mine. You're asking me to off him?” 

“I’m begging,” you finally make yourself look him in the eye. His is formidable man. Dark hair, dark beard, a touch of grey here and there. Even at this hour, he wears a nice suit and sits with authority. “Please, my sisters--” 

“And how are you and your sisters going to make up for his cut. He brings in money. What can you give me?” 

“You can take everything. We just want to be free,” you say. 

He clucks, “what he has now is nothing compared to a lifetime of what he can get.” 

You lower your lashes. That’s it. At least he didn’t laugh because you almost did when you said it out loud. Your father isn’t going to die. He’s so rancid, even death doesn’t want him. He’s not human, he’s a curse. And this man you’re asking for mercy, he’s the same kind. 

“Sorry for the bother,” you eke out. “I was mistaken.” 

“So you were,” he agrees. “Go home. Put some ice on it.” 

It’s like another punch in the face. You nod, “thank you, sir.” 

“You can go,” he dismisses. 

“Yes, sir.” You put your head down and drag your foot back. 

“Ah,” he tuts. 

Your eyes flick up. He extends his hand across the desk. Right. He is still who he is. You step closer as he holds his hand steady. You bow down and kiss the sigil on his ring. An outdated and demeaning gesture. 

Before you can stand straight, his large hand frames your chin. He pushes your head up as your eyes round. You stare at him as his gaze drifts down to your neck. The bruises by the zipper of your sweater tingle. 

“You were never here,” he lets you go. 

“Understood,” you retreat, “sorry again for wasting your time.” 

[karaeilish]

FREAK SHOW ˎˊ˗

۶ৎ — in this godforsaken city, everyone knows her name. everyone knows what will happen if you cross her. but no one had any idea what would happen if you touch her queen.

｡𖦹°‧ mob!billie eilish x fem!reader

ꪆৎ trigger warnings — kidnapping, violence, blood and (detailed) descriptions of such things, sexual content.

ꪆৎ summary; one day you won't come home, the next she'll walk over heads until she's finished with everyone who dared to touch you.

ꪆৎ a/n — this idea’s been in my head for months, i just need a dark romance fic.

ↀ — moodboards

ↂ — intro

Ⅰ — chapter one.

Ⅱ — chapter two.

Ⅲ — chapter three.

Ⅳ — chapter four.

Ⅴ — chapter five.

Ⅵ — chapter six.

will be updated soon. . .

[navybrat817]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist - 2

Welcome to my 2nd Bucky Barnes Masterlist, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy! Here you will find some of my darker fics. These may include triggers such as noncon, dubcon, violence, dark themes, etc. Please heed the warnings. Header and banner by @sgt-seabass​ and dividers by @firefly-graphics​. Check them out! ​

Main Masterlist | 1st Bucky Barnes Masterlist

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing ideas and updates there.

🔥 smut 💓 fluff 💔 angst 💞 AU 🛑 dark content 💙 Navy's faves

Mini-Series and Universes

Soldat and Sparrow Universe (Ongoing)

Your fire burns for the Winter Soldier. And one day, you’ll be free. Both of you.

Winter and Fire  🔥💙

Summary: You didn’t choose to be with Hydra. Neither did the Winter Soldier. 

War and Peace 🔥

Summary: Your first mission together brings inner war...peace.

Soldat and Sparrow  

Summary: No one touches his Sparrow.

Night and Day  🔥

Summary: Will you be another one of the Soldat’s lost memories?

Dark and Light

Summary: You learn the real reason why Hydra wants to keep you.

Black and White

Moon and Sun

Past and Future

The Pakhan and the Printsessa - Mob Newlyweds Universe (Ongoing) 💞

You’re married to Bucky Barnes, one of the most powerful men in the world. And all he wants is you.

Harmonious  🔥

Summary: You may think you’re a pawn in Bucky’s life, but you are his queen.

Hollow  🔥

Summary: Bucky touches on memories from the past and wants to start a new tradition with you.

Husband and Wife  🔥💙

Summary: Bucky has to have you before you get to your wedding reception.

Honeymoon Suite 🔥

Summary: Bucky takes a call during your honeymoon, but you should know that you always come first.

Home Again  🔥

Summary: Your husband opens up to you about his past as you fall more in love.

Honesty and Lies

Honor and Obey

Hope, Faith and Love

Vampire Mob AU (Ongoing)

Power and money mean nothing to the powerful vampire ruler if you’re aren’t by his side.

Around Your Throat  🔥

Summary:  Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat.

Lay Me Down  🔥💙

Summary: You look to the past and future on your last night as a human.

Disturbia - Dark Suburbia AU

You have a beautiful home and a loving partner. So, why does it feel like something is wrong with your neighborhood?

A Plum a Day  🔥🛑

Summary: You wake up beside Bucky, but you don't know how you got there.

Winter and Kisa - Mob AU 💞

The mobster doesn't care that you're an agent. He wants you to be his.

Give Me a Name

Summary: Someone put their hands on you and Bucky can't let it go.

Almost Like Home

Summary: Bucky told you his place would be your home one day. You see it firsthand with his closet.

Dark Club AU (Tagged as Turn It Up AU)

Hold You Tight  🔥🛑💞

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

There's Something in the Water - Coming Soon

One Shots and Imagines (over 1k) *Some fics may get additional parts

Run Like Hell  🔥🛑

Summary:  You weren’t supposed to see the Winter Soldier that day. So you ran. The Soldat loves a good chase though…and you’re not getting away from him that easily.

First and Last  🔥🛑 💞 (a/b/o)💙

Summary:  Masquerading as Beta was an easy choice. Too bad Bucky Barnes had other plans for you.

You’re My Obsession  🔥🛑💙

Summary: You’re the light in Bucky’s darkness. And he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, including Steve.

Best Man 🛑

Summary: Bucky found the girl of his dreams and Steve couldn’t be happier.

Remind Me  🔥💙

Summary: The apocalyptic world is crumbling around you and you need a reminder of who you belong to.

Push and Pull  (features Nick Fowler x Reader)🔥🛑💙💞 (Club)

Summary: Nick wants what Bucky has.

Prized Possession  🔥🛑 💞 (Librarian)

Summary: You’re Bucky’s rare treasure, his most prized possession.

A Debt to Pay  🔥💙💞 (Mob)

Summary: Bucky isn’t a man to be crossed.

What Goes Around  🔥💙 💞 (DBF/BFD)

Summary:  Bucky is your friend's dad and your dad's friend and nothing more. Until he isn't.

Send Me an Angel  🔥🛑 💞 (Bartender)

Summary: Bucky thinks you’re an angel.

Follow You Home (Stalker)

Summary: Bucky just wants to see you smile when he visits you at the flower shop.

Two Sides of the Same Coin🔥 (Bucky and the Winter Soldier)

Summary: A night of passion awakens something beneath the surface of the man you love.

What Happens in Vegas  🔥🛑 💞 (Fae)

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you decide to get married in Vegas.

Within You  🔥🛑

Summary: Bucky shows a different side of himself when you venture into a corn maze.

Ficlets (under 1k)

Read Between the Lines ~ (threat not by Bucky) 

Summary: Things are left unsaid with Bucky during your recent mission.

Loyalty  🔥 (features Dark!Andy Barber x Reader)  

Summary: Loyalty is something you’ve learned to both loathe and appreciate.

Collateral Damage  🔥🛑

Summary: You pay the price when the Avengers try to undo the snap.

Long Night

Summary: Bucky is waiting for you when you come back from a night out.

A Hero’s Reward  🔥 🛑

Summary: Bucky is a hero and every hero deserves a reward.

100 Word Drabbles

Secret Admirer Secret Admirer - Part 2 Secret Admirer - Part 3 Secret Admirer - Part 4 Forced Bond 🔥🛑 Last Call  🔥🛑 His Sparrow  🔥🛑 Stalked

[nomoreusername]

Hallucinations

Pairing:Gally x female reader

Summary:The attack from WCKD left deep mental scars only Gally knows how to properly handle.

Blood.

Blood was the only thing that really made sense that night. Blood was the only thing around. It was the only thing that connected me to reality, the only thing I knew was there, the only thing I knew was real. I had felt it pumping through my veins, the same way I smelt it when I shot Chuck, the same way I saw Y/N fall on the floor clutching the side of her face as it poured through her hands.

Blood.

Blood was the only thing to exist.

We both exist now. She made it through the Maze after a freak accident with a Griever ended with a knife to her eye, I made it through the Maze with yet another sting and a gun, and we got picked up by what was at first just masked weirdos who I wasn't totally convinced wouldn't kill us or do some more weird WCKD klunk.

They didn't though. Right Arm found us, her unconscious from the adrenaline crash and me from having a spear a mere two inches from my heart. She unsurprisingly doesn't like to talk about it. To be fair, she never gets to forget it. When she wears her patch over her eye, people question her about why, if they can see what her eye looks like, how it affects her, if her other senses are good, and every invasive thing they can think of. If she doesn't, they gawk at her like she's their personal entertainment. They act like she's not a person and doesn't have one working eye.

I’m not sure if it's what she experienced in the Maze, the loss of vision in that eye, or a mix, but she experiences all these things that I can't even begin to explain. Night terrors, paranoia, hallucinations, and more. Sometimes she tells me what they are, sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes she lets me know when they're happening, and sometimes she's frozen as she stares at something that isn't real or breaking down on the floor.

She has to avoid certain things more than others. Stress, surprises, sudden big changes, and probably other stuff we haven't figured out yet.

We know about violence though. Violence and loud sounds.

“Absolutely not,”I said firmly.

“We need an extra hand-”

“Then, find one,”I dismissed. Still, Brandon insisted on following me, trying to justify why I should tell Y/N she had to come with us to the city.

“Please? I can't find her-”

“Good.”

“Come on. It's just for a few hours. It won't be-”

“Yeah? Well, a few seconds is all it takes to trigger something. Do you want to risk hurting her like that? And if you're too much of an egomaniac to care about that, you're going to have to answer to me if something happens to her,”I warned, not bothering to look at him. I also didn't have to as he walked off, grumbling something under his breath. Not that I care what. He can call me any name he wants as long as he leaves Y/N alone.

♡ - - - ♡

I was right about having her stay behind. Because they're back. I certainly didn't go into the city with the intention of finding the Gladers, but I didn't plan on a lot of things that have happened to me. I didn't plan on trying to sacrifice Greenie and Teresa. I didn't plan on leaving the Maze. I didn't plan on killing Chuck. I didn't plan on almost dying. I didn’t plan on being in Right Arm. I didn't plan on falling in love with the only person I had left. I didn't plan on sharing a bed with her every night.

I have though, just like I have found connections to our old life that I was sure were as good as gone.

Surprise surprise, Brandon. There were angry mobs, there were bombs, and there were kidnappings. It's almost like taking down a powerful organization that murders people isn't a peaceful thing. Shocker.

She stayed behind, working on the creation of the operation. Planning what the next move would be, finding out what WCKD was up to, thinking of any obstacles, all of it. She's the brains, and I’m the brawns.

So she's not here.

She's not here, and I already know how this will end.

She's not here so I took my mask off and waited for the inevitable.

Thomas stared at me with pure hatred. The rage in his eyes was like nothing I’ve ever seen, chilling me to my core. Not even when I hurt him, did he look at me like that. It was nothing dramatic. No exaggerated wide eyes or open mouth. Just a shocked rage.

As the shock faded, the second he found the ability to move, he grabbed the collar of my shirt and punched me square in the jaw, knocking me to the floor. Staying still, I allowed him to tightly grip my shirt while holding his fist to my face. If he punches me again, he punches me. If he doesn't, he doesn't.

Until I heard familiar soft cries that would haunt my dreams now, that I want nothing more than to be safe and well. But she’ll never be well again. Not completely. She can only do so much.

Not caring about it it made him angrier, I shoved him off of me, pushing him to the ground before carefully yet swiftly sitting with her in the far corner. Not yet noticing, she had both her eyes covered as her sobs grew louder, making her words incoherent.

“Y/N, it's not real. Okay? None of it is real,”I coaxed. Shaking her head, she started rocking back and forth while holding her head in her hands.

She hates it when I do this. She really, really does.

But she needs to see as much of reality as possible. So far, it's been one of the few things that grounds her faster.

Gently grabbing her face, I pulled her head out of her knees, making her look at me. She started shaking while holding her head harder, her palms pressing the back of my hands. Not wanting her to hurt herself, I slowly pried them away while still whispering soothing words.

“Gally,”She just barely murmured before saying something else I couldn't understand.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's Gally, okay? It's me,”I said gently.

“Gally,”She repeated through shaky breaths before throwing her arms around me, burying her face in my neck.

“I know. I know,”I assured her, rubbing her back.

“Thomas. Thomas isn't real,”She insisted. Knowing better than to feed into the delusions and to add something big to her plate when she was in the middle of panicking, I just kept holding her. “It's bloody. The wall’s bloody,”She said through heavy breaths.

“I don't see any blood.”

“I’m not crazy,”She said in a more steady but still barely audible voice.

“Everyone knows you aren't crazy.”

“They think I’m crazy. They don't see the Grievers. They don't see it when they don't have a body. They don't see it.”

“The Grievers are back at WCKD. Remember? They made it to hurt us. And people couldn't be alive if they didn't have a body.”

Gripping my shirt, she sniffled as her breathing started getting a little more even. Knowing she had tired herself out, I kissed her temple before picking her up, pulling her to my chest. Curling up, she gently wrapped her arms around my shoulders as I carried her out the room to get to ours.

Thomas can do whatever he wants when this is over. I don't care if he beats me to the brink of death. As long as I’m good enough to comfort her when she needs it, it's okay.

Walking past the door we leave cracked for exactly this reason, I then shut it with my foot before slowly setting her down on the bed. The second her head hit the pillow, she was out.

I’ll sleep beside her. I always will. I’ll hold her as she takes a nap.

I just need to sit for a moment and keep thinking about the best way to make her better. For real this time.

[crowsofdarkness]

A Fight For Darkness: Chapter Six

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard) x Female!Reader.

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of taking own life, blackmail, blood, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use, arranged marriage, 18+ smut that I will mention at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: An unknown text and a list full of questions for what happened to your sister leads you down to the underground fight ring that belongs to none other than Eric Draven, The Crow. Once he captures your eyes with his, the web you were desperate to untangle suddenly tightens.

Authors Note: This is not cannon to The Crow(2024). Shelly nor her and Eric's love story does not exist in this series. Eric does have his fast ability to heal, though. Tags are open for this series as well!

Okay, so yes, this chapter does end on a slight cliffhanger, but only because I need some time to figure out how I want to explain that part.

Tags: @corawithfanfiction @malenoradgn @voidofsunlight @muchwita

A Fight For Darkness Masterlist

READER

No. 

No. No. 

NO. NO. NO. 

I stood frozen in the middle of the bathroom, watching the bathtub water turn a murky crimson as Eric lay contorted underneath. His top half was underneath the water while his legs hung off the edge and I kept a hard gaze on them, hoping for some sign of life. 

Nothing. 

Eric was dead.

“No,” I choked out, nearly falling to my knees to crawl over to him. 

I know we fought moments before and I found out some truth about my missing sister. I know I told him seconds before he was shot that I wished he was dead. But now seeing the scene in front of me, my heart shattered. I didn’t mean it even though I was angry. There had to have been a reason why he kept the revelation about my sister to himself but now he was dead and I’d never know why. 

The sound of a gun cocking sounds behind me followed by a disgusting chuckle. 

“The bullet was meant for you but I guess this will do.” 

My scalp burned when my head was forced back with a harsh grip and that’s when I finally saw who pulled the trigger. 

“You son of a bitch,” I spat in his face. 

Greg let my spit linger on his cheek, not being bothered to wipe it away, and gave me a sinister smirk. 

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you. I still have two bullets left,” he held up the shotgun with the hand that wasn’t buried deep into my hairline. 

My screams echoed in the apartment as Greg dragged me through it and tossed me onto the bed. The bodies of Roeg’s men still lay scattered throughout and one of them was on the bed next to me, their throat slit from one end to the other. I tried to scurry away from it but Greg was two steps ahead of me, quickly tying my wrists to the metal rods of the headboard, forcing me in place. 

“Help me!” I screamed, hoping someone who was downstairs in the fight club would hear me. 

Although I knew it was futile. If there was someone, they would have come upstairs to check at the first sound of a scuffle when Roeg’s men busted in. 

“Shut up!” Greg bellowed, hitting me in the mouth with the end of the gun and immediately I felt blood pool in my mouth. 

I was still reeling from my other injuries, my eye throbbing and left side hurting every time I took a breath, but now my mouth exploded in pain. 

“Why?” Was all I could ask, blood pooling down my chin onto my neck. 

Consciousness was slowly beginning to fade in and out as my body was succumbing to my injuries but I forced myself to stay awake, not ready to give up the fight yet. I would fight against the darkness that was consuming me. 

Greg let out a long sigh before sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, watching Eric’s body lying still in the bathtub. 

“Eric was a friend; a good friend. But the second you came into his life, shit changed. You brought bad luck and nearly cost him his fight club.” 

I raised a brow. “What?” 

“Remember that muder you stumbled upon? With the hooker and Russian mob leader?” 

All I could do was let out a weak moan in response. 

“Well, Alexi Sokolov’s men were looking for revenge for their boss being killed so they showed up a few nights after the murder to beat Eric into giving them the club,” Greg informed, slowly running his fingers up and down the barrel of the shotgun. 

“He never said anything,” I wheezed. 

He made a low noise. “That’s because it wasn't any of your business. Just because you’re married to him doesn’t mean he should tell you everything. Plus, I still think this whole marriage is a scam.”

Now those dark eyes sliced down at me. “What do you want? His money? Bragging rights?” 

“Fuck you,” there was no malice in my words due to my body beginning to fade away. 

Greg’s fingers yanked my chin to force me to look up at him. “I never trusted you.” 

“Feeling is mutual,” I sneered, weakly pulling on my binds only to fail. 

“Did your husband tell you about your sister?” 

Suddenly what one of Roeg’s men told me earlier sprang into mind and I felt my blood drain once more. Eric knew where my sister was yet refused to tell me. Why was he at Roeg’s place to work out a deal? I had so many questions that went unanswered because Eric was dead. 

Greg took my silence to continue with his revelation, his grip still tight on my chin. “Your sister was a frequent visitor to the fight club. Hell, she came so much, Eric and her got pretty close. If you catch my drift.”

Jealousy and disgust boiled deep within my gut at the thought of Eric and my sister together like that. Although, the logical side of me tried to remind myself that I had no reason to feel this way. Eric and I technically weren’t together, this whole marriage was just for show, so in the end I told myself I felt this way because of the fact he was lying about not knowing my sister. 

How do you know Greg isn’t the one that’s lying?

“You’re lying,” I licked my lips. 

With an annoyed sigh, Greg rolled his eyes and let go of my face so he could pull out his phone. It only took him less than ten seconds to find what he was searching for and when he showed it to me, my stomach fell out of my ass. 

It was a picture taken from some distance in the fight club. Two figures locked in a tight embrace with each other, completely oblivious to the phone taking their picture.

Eric and my sister. 

“They were extremely close, we all thought Eric would marry her. So needless to say we were all surprised when we found out he married you instead,” Greg said, pocketing his phone again. 

I turned my head towards the bathroom, heart shattering at the sight of Eric’s limp body. “I don’t believe you.” 

Just because they were shown together in a picture did not mean they were dating. Yes, Eric lied to me about knowing my sister but there had to have been a reason why. If my sister was involved with Roeg and from what Eric had told me about him, my sister wasn’t being held willingly. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he clicked his tongue while rising from the bed to point the barrel of the shotgun at my face. “I’ll get rid of you and then tell everyone that you both died in a shootout with Roeg’s men. No one will miss you. The fight club will be mine. All is right in the world.”

Fear filled my veins like ice as all of the air was pulled from my body. I was seconds away from death and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Images flashed in my eyes in such quick succession that I barely had time to focus on all but one. 

A pair of bright blue eyes and a bright smile that made my heart flutter. 

Before Greg pulled the trigger, the sound of splashing water echoed in the apartment causing me to turn towards the bathroom to see a body emerge from the tub. I let out a bloody sob, the copper taste lingering on my lips, when I saw Eric stand tall. The large wound on his stomach from where he was shot slowly began to dissolve back into his skin, vanishing right in front of me. 

I know I couldn’t see all that well from one eye but I also knew what I was seeing wasnt a hallucination. 

What the actual fuck? Did Eric just heal in front of me?

Okay, maybe it was a hallucination due to my injuries. Eric is still dead in the tub and my mind is playing what I want it to before I die. 

Greg cocked the gun causing me to look at him. 

“Tell your husband I said hello,” he smiled grimly. 

“Tell me yourself,” a deep voice spoke behind Greg seconds before he fell to the ground. 

Eric stood over his crumbled body holding a baseball bat. I immediately realized that’s what he used to knock Greg away from me. The shotgun clattered to the floor but before he could crawl to it, Eric snatched it up and turned it over in his hands so the end of the gun was pointing up at the ceiling. 

“It’s true,” Greg whispered, astonished at what he was seeing, a small glimmer in his eyes. “No one believed it because there wasn't any proof that you were immortal but here you stand as if I didn’t just shoot you.”

I tried to yank on the handcuff around my wrists which were still bound to the head board, the noise not breaking the trance Eric seemed to be in as he glared down at Greg, slowly raising the shotgun. 

“Believe it, asshole,” Eric snarled. “You deserve a death worse than what I’m about to give you for putting your hands on my wife.” 

“Really? You’re going to kill me for this broad?” He snickered. 

“Fuck you!” I seethed, still pulling on my binds. I wanted to be the one that brought death upon him but something told me with the darkness in Eric’s eyes, he wouldn’t let me. 

“I should skin you alive then hang your body in the middle of the cage so everyone can see what happens when they touch something that’s not there’s,” were Eric’s last words as he brought down the barrel of the shotgun on Greg’s face. 

Not once.

Not twice. 

But five times. 

The sound of flesh and bones breaking made me grimace as I turned my face away from the blood splatter that coated the walls. I felt sick to my stomach at the disgusting squishing sound as it lingered in the air and it wasn’t until an eerie silence fell that I finally looked back at Eric. His bare chest was rising and falling with each deep breath and blood covered his entire face and torso, making the fear fill me again like concrete, weighing me down to the bed. 

I’d seen him covered in blood from his fights but this was different. Eric killed another person for me. Greg’s face was unrecognizable and I felt the bile rise in my throat when I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. 

“Eric,” I sobbed. 

My voice was weak, barely able to speak above a whisper due to how weak I'd become from the beatings tonight and the blood pooling in my mouth which meant he didnt hear me. 

I cleared my throat, calling out to him once more. “Eric.” 

Finally, after another few long beats, he finally gazed my way. His bright eyes seemed dull beneath the blood that covered every inch of his face and torso. They roamed over every inch of my broken body handcuffed to the bed then with a shaky exhale, Eric was quick to kneel in front of me. His large hands brushed away the matted hair from my face so he could gaze deep into my eyes. 

“I’m here, baby,” he murmured. “You’re okay.” 

I didn’t realize it but I was still crying, the tears hot on my face. I stumbled over my words as I tried to ask him how he was alive but the only thing that came out was a blubbering mess. With strength I’d never seen before, Eric broke the handcuff away from my wrist to free me from the bed so he could gently cup my face again. 

“Stay with me, little crow,” his bottom lip trembled. “I’m going to get you some help, alright? You’ll be okay.”

I thought I felt myself being lifted from the bed but my surroundings were bleak, a white noise haze creeping on the edge of my vision. My body felt heavy, like I’d been filled with concrete, and the fight to survive began to slip away. The questions I wanted to ask Eric were meek in comparison to the need to sleep. I began to let the darkness win, slowly allowing myself to succumb to it as my eyes rolled back and I fell limp in Eric’s embrace.

ERIC

The car glided along the darkened road as I sat in the backseat with a sleeping Y/N laying in my lap. I watched her chest with intense eyes, making sure she continued to breath while Jay drove. With the revelation that Greg was the one who shot me, I could only trust one person among my men and that was Jay. As soon as Y/N passed out back at the apartment, I called him for his help. I needed to get far away from there and the fight club for the time being so Y/N could heal from her injuries and get Roeg off our backs. 

Mostly for me to come up with a plan. There were quite a few things revealed tonight, things I didn’t want Y/N to know, so now I had to figure out the best way to explain things to her without her getting upset and leaving. 

Easier said than done. 

“How’s she doing?” Jay’s voice broke through the silence of the car. 

I flicked my gaze up to the rearview mirror, my blue eyes pinning his brown ones. “She’s breathing but I won’t know the extent of her injuries until we get to the safe house.”

Jay gave the smallest of nods. “We’ll be there within the hour. You really should shower once we get there.” 

I’d been in such a haste to pack our backs back at the apartment I hadn’t had a second to rinse the blood off of me, it drying to my skin like a tattoo. 

“Y/N needs to be taken care of first,” I said, looking back down at her. 

Her eye was swollen shut, her lips were double in size, she had bruises littering almost every inch of skin on her ribs, and her ankle looked to be sprained. Anger roared inside of me like I’ve never felt before when images of Roeg’s men beating  her replayed in my mind. I’d been so helpless, handcuffed to the heater and watching her be so defenseless. I could have broken free but that meant I needed to explain to her parts of me I kept hidden for so long, afraid of how she’d react. There was only one person who knew the secret and he was the one driving us to my safe house. 

The safehouse was located a few hours north of Detroit, in a little quiet town that had less than five hundred people living there. It was remote on a small river bank, the nearest neighbors being two miles away. Perfect place for us to hide out for a while.

Again, the only other person besides me who knew about it was Jay and he promised to never tell a soul otherwise I’d skin him alive. 

“I locked up the apartment before we left. I’ll deal with the clean up once I’m back,” Jay’s voice pulled me from my thoughts once more. 

I nodded. “The fight club is closed and the championship fight will be postponed.” 

“Until when?” Jay’s brows furrowed as he took a turn down a dirt road. 

The gravel crunched underneath the tires of the SUV as I peered down at Y/N’s sleeping form, gently grazing a thumb over the bruise on her cheek. 

“Until I bleed Roeg dry,” I seethed. 

READER

I awoke on a silent scream, phantom hands around my throat as they pulled the air from my lungs, and hastily looked around the dark room. It was unfamiliar, only lit by the roaring flames of the fireplace. The all too familiar feeling of fear paralyzed me to the bed because I didn’t know where I was or how I got here. 

Did Roeg find me and drag me here? Alexi’s men?

“How are you feeling?” 

My head snapped to the left, seeing Eric leaning up against a closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. He was clean, the scent of soap and mint lingering in the air, and I sucked in a breath when I noticed no injuries on him. No bruises, no scratches, nothing. Then I remembered how his large bullet wound healed in front of me. 

“I’m alright,” I groaned, adjusting my sore body to the bed. 

I’d risen up so fast, it was just now settling how sore my body was. 

“Where are we?” I asked. 

“A safe house,” Eric answered, still in his same spot. “No one will find us here.” 

I nodded with a hum and then looked down at myself noticing I was wearing a large shirt, nothing else. 

“I changed your clothes when we got here. I didn’t look, I promise. Your other clothes were covered in blood and didn’t want it to get on the sheets,” Eric spoke almost as if he could read my mind. 

“You didn’t wash me?” I teased with a brow. 

This made Eric chuckle while pushing off of the door to take a few steps towards me. “I thought we could shower together once you woke up so you could see me naked.”

Silence fell between us besides the sound of the fire cracking and popping. The orange flames lit Eric’s path as he tentatively sat on the edge of the bed across from me. Images of what happened earlier came rushing back, along with all of the questions I had for him. I expected to feel rage for him hiding my sister's whereabouts from me but instead, I felt relief that he was in front of me. 

“How long was I asleep for?” I asked, playing with the blanket that covered my lower half. 

“Six hours.” 

My eyes nearly dropped out of my head at his answer, not thinking I was out for that long. Maybe two hours but not six. 

“It did take about four hours to get here,” Eric continued. “Jay drove us.” 

“Do you trust him?” I couldn’t help but ask, given what happened with Greg. 

Something dark flashed over Eric’s face. “Jay isn’t Greg. Jay has been by my side since day one, we can trust him with our lives, little crow.”

I chuckled with no humor behind it. “I’m pretty sure you said the same thing about Greg.” 

A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Greg is taken care of.” 

Images of Greg’s face smashed in appeared rather quickly and I felt nauseous all over again. 

“He showed me something,” I said after a beat. “It was a picture of you and my sister in the fight club. She was wrapped in your arms and it didn’t seem like you were going to let her go.”

Eric hesitated but I didn’t give him the chance to come up with a bullshit excuse. 

“Don’t bother lying to me. Roeg’s men told me that you were at his house when you saw my sister there. You’ve been lying to me for weeks about not knowing who my sister is. Why?!” I tossed off the blanket to rise from the bed, nearly falling due to my bad ankle. 

“Y/N,” he reached for me. “You need to rest.” 

“No!” I yanked my hand away from him, all the anger from earlier resurfacing. 

From our fight in his office, to Roeg’s men attacking us, and then Greg. Today had been a long fucking day and I did not want to be brushed to the side with more of Eric’s lies. I wanted the truth and I wanted it now.

“Are you dating my sister?” I questioned with my hands on my hips. 

The color of the flames bathed Eric in a sunset like glow but I hushed the voices in my head telling me how good he looked. I needed to stand my ground to get those answers, I refused to crumble because of my growing feelings for him. 

“No,” he answered with a firm conviction meaning he was telling the truth. 

“But you know her?” 

Eric sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes. She was a frequent visitor to the fight club.”

I raised my hand up in the air. “Then why did you lie to me that first night when I asked you if you knew her?” 

“Your sister is involved with a lot of deep and dark shit, Y/N. I lied to get you out of my club. You had no idea what you stumbled on that night and I was desperate to get you far away.” 

I scoffed. “But you brought me back in. You invited me back to the fight club.” 

He ran a hand over his face. “I couldn’t stay away from you. The best way I can explain it is the moment I saw you looking so lost in my office that first night, I was hooked.” 

I did my best to ignore the way my stomach fluttered and asked my next question. “What is my sister involved in?” 

“Can you sit down, please?” Eric patted the bed next to him. “You need to be resting. You sprained your ankle pretty bad, I don’t want you to risk it.” 

As much as I wanted to be defiant, I had to admit that my ankle was screaming at me to sit down. Not only that but it hurt my ribs every time I took a breath which told me that those had to have been bruised. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know I had a black eye since it was difficult to see out of it. 

Eventually, I nodded and allowed Eric to help me back into the bed. He propped a pillow behind my head and then one underneath my bad ankle. Once I was comfortable, I urged him on with a nod. 

“Your sister is in deep with Roeg. When she first started coming to the fight club, it was innocent. Then she started betting on the fights and found herself deep in debt. So she went to Roeg for a loan but ended up losing more money.” 

“How much does she owe?” I asked, hopeful that if I pay off her debt she could come home. 

I didn’t have much in my savings but I’d drain it for my sister. 

“Half a mil,” Eric said. 

Well, shit. 

“How did you allow betting to take place? Isn’t it illegal?” 

“It’s an illegal fighting ring, Y/N. Betting is the most tame thing that happens there during fight nights,” Eric’s lip twitched with a smile. 

I stared past Eric’s shoulder towards the fire that began dwindling down to ash as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, trying to make sense of everything. 

“One of Roeg’s men said you saw my sister at his house when you showed up to make a deal,” I said. 

He was still sitting on the end of the bed across from me when he nodded. “It was the night you moved in. I went there while you were asleep. I thought if I paid off your sister's debt Roeg would release her.” 

Jealousy stung deep into my bones. “Why would you do that if you aren’t dating her?” 

Eric shifted in his spot and I could see a flicker of indifference in his eyes as he fought with himself on how he should answer my question. 

“It’s complicated,” he finally spoke with a deep sigh. 

“How? If you’re not dating her then what? Are you fucking her?” 

His hesitation was everything I needed to know. The urge to run out of this safe house, far away from Eric and never looking back was strong but I didn’t know where I was and I wouldn’t get far due to my bad ankle. 

Eric was sleeping with my sister and he was willing to go pay off her gambling debts with Roeg in order to get her back. What did that mean for me? Would he kick me to the curb, divorce me, just so he could have my sister back in his life? The whole marriage was a sham, I knew that. But I could no longer ignore the feelings that grew every day we were together. 

“I’m glad I was here so you could pass the time until my sister gets back,” I sneered, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“It’s not like that,” Eric pleaded while rising to his knees so he could get closer to me. 

“Then what is it like, Eric?” I snapped, gazing up at him through watery eyes. “Because I just found out not only do you know where my sister is but you’re also fucking her!”

“She liked me. Your sister tried after every one of my fights to sleep with me but I turned her down every time. I never liked her that way. The picture Greg showed you? It was a night where Roeg’s men cornered her in the club so I had them kicked out. She was thanking me, that’s it. I don’t have feelings for her that way,” Eric said. 

“Then why were you willing to pay off her debts?” I shot back. 

“Because when I found out she was your sister, I knew I had to do whatever I could to get her back. But Roeg would only release her on one condition.” 

“Which was?” I asked with a raised brow. 

Eric swallowed thickly. “You. Roeg wants you.” 

I blinked. “Why? Why would he want me?” 

“Because he knows you stumbled on the murder that first night. The hooker? She was Roeg’s mistress and he thinks you killed her.”

There were too many revelations tonight and I was afraid if I heard one more, I would crumble to a matter of air. I let out a shaky breath and wiped away a stray tear from my tender cheek. 

“You could have given me up,” I muttered under my breath. 

Eric lifted my chin with a finger, his warm breath fanning over my lips. I traced over the lullaby tattoo over his eyebrow with my gaze, drinking in the sight of how deep his eyes were. It felt like I was sitting on the ocean's edge, the tranquil peace becoming my home. 

“You’re my wife, little crow. It may have started as something for your protection but now, I would rather die than let you out of my life. I like you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I would,” Eric proclaimed, resting his forehead against mine. 

My heart lurched in my throat as I reached for his shirt, holding him close to me. “I like you too, Eric. Even though you’ve lied to me.” 

“I did it to keep you safe,” he sat back on his knees so he could gaze in my eyes. “This life I dragged you in can kill you. Fuck, it has almost killed you. But I’ve realized my lies only put you in the crossfire.” 

“It’s not your fault. But can you promise no more lies? We will deal with Roeg and get my sister back together as a team.” 

He brought my palm to his lips, leaving featherlike kisses. “I promise.” 

With a deep breath, I sat up straighter. “I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said to you earlier. I didn’t mean any of it.” 

“I’m sorry too. It was wrong of me to say those things to hurt you. If you haven’t realized, I have sort of a tempter.” 

I chuckled in agreement, seeing it first hand. Once more, a comfortable silence fell between us and when he stood from the bed, I held him back. 

“I have one more question,” I said. 

When Eric’s face scrunched up with confusion, I bit my lip before slowly raising the end of his shirt over his stomach to where I dragged my fingers over smooth skin. He shivered underneath my touch and I swore I saw his cock twitch underneath his sweats. 

“I saw you get shot,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the spot on his stomach where there had been a large wound. “You died, Eric. How are you standing in front of me?”

My nails dragged over the chain and lock tattoo then the good boy tattoo before I finally looked up at him. Those blue eyes were now dark as sin as he stared down at me. The air shifted around us, bringing with it a cool breeze from the open window and in a flash, the fire had gone out blanketing us in total darkness. 

“Little crow,” Eric’s deep voice anchored me in the darkness. 

“Don’t lie to me, please,” I begged. 

Suddenly a soft click echoed in the quiet and the room was lit by the light on the end table next to the bed. Eric was kneeling in front of me on the bed and he held my hand against his chest. A different sound filled the air which gave me pause causing me to glance over my shoulder to the open window where a crow was perched on the ledge. 

“What the fuck?” I cursed at how perfectly still the bird was. 

Calloused fingers turned my face and I was met with Eric’s eyes again. “It all started a few years ago.”

[followingthebutterflies7]

Sweeter Than Honey | Part Six: From The Ashes

Mob Boss!Spencer Agnew x FBI!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Series Summary: You were sent undercover to infiltrate the world of the most dangerous mob boss on the FBI’s list, Spencer Agnew. But the more you find out about him, the more you lose yourself.

Series Warnings: Mature themes that include emotional manipulation, psychological tension, dubious consent, morally grey relationships, violence, organized crime, and mild language.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

--------------------------------------------------------

Part Six: From The Ashes

It had been a year.

A full year since the mission collapsed. Since the fire, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Since your name was erased from every Bureau record and your life as you knew it was scorched down to ash.

You had changed your name to something forgettable. 

Something soft, something with no sharp edges. Something that wouldn’t flag any system or trigger any watchlist. Something quiet.

There was no more Agent Dahlia. No more Elise Hawthorne. Just you and a simple name. The kind of name no one remembers. 

That was the point.

You were a ghost now, even while breathing.

The town you now lived in was barely on the map. A forgotten patch of road where time moved slower, where no one asked questions, and nothing important ever happened.

There was one main road that went right through the center of the town, two stop lights that only worked half the time, and a single corner diner that had terrible coffee and was closed on Sundays. The town was so small that if you blinked, you would miss it. 

You worked at the only bookstore. The only one for fifty miles. It was always filled floor to ceiling with used books. It smelled like mildew and history and the faint perfume of mothballs that never quite left the walls. You liked it. Or at least, you didn’t hate it.

You volunteered to work the night shifts. Your boss, who might have been ninety or two hundred, happily gave them to you. 

You would come in a couple hours before closing, help your boss tidy up, and then close the store by yourself. You interacted with the least amount of people this way, and that is just how you liked it. After closing, you would pass time by wiping down the counter, sweeping the already spotless floor, and reshelving the same books that no one had touched in years.

No one bothered you.

No one recognized you.

That, too, was the point.

After work, you would walk home along the cracked sidewalk, one hand on the pepper spray in your coat pocket. Old habits died harder than you thought.

Your government-assigned apartment was small. You lived above a nearly abandoned antique shop that hadn’t had a customer since you moved in. The landlord was nearly deaf, which suited you just fine. When you cried at night, he never heard.

He knew something was wrong, but he would never press for information. He would just look at you with big, sad eyes, and would bring you homemade soup once a week. He never questioned why you were there, and never asked why your rent came from a bank in a different state.

You had neighbors too. Just a very sweet older couple who lived across the hall. They were kind, always smiling and waving when they saw you. You thought that you might remind them of their granddaughter. 

They would bring you cookies on holidays and asked nothing in return. You were grateful for them. You just couldn’t make yourself accept kindness. Not anymore. 

You were polite. Smiling when necessary. They were the only people you would speak to, if only briefly. 

But they didn’t know your name. No one did. Not your real one. Not the ones that came before.

They never would.

You hadn’t spoken to anyone else in over twelve months. No one from your mission. No one from the Bureau. Not even Marlowe. 

Your security clearance was burned. Your credentials were void. Your name, once feared, now didn’t even register on the system.

You had disappeared.

And the world had let you.

The bracelet was the only thing that kept you grounded. The slender gold chain with its shine half-faded from wear. It lived on your wrist like a second skin.

You touched it often. It was a lifeline back to a world you couldn’t prove had ever really existed.

Sometimes, you thought you made it all up. The missions. The lies. The love.

Him.

Spencer.

You didn’t speak his name aloud anymore. Not even in dreams.

But his voice, his eyes. They never left you.

Every night you would collapse into your bed after working in the bookstore, lose the fight with sleep, and the nightmares would come without your consent. 

Every night. 

He would haunt you. 

He would just look at you.

With those eyes.

The ones that looked at you like a weapon, a lover, a betrayal.

The ones that flinched when he realized what you were.

The ones that couldn’t look at you when you finally told him the truth.

The nightmares were worst in the beginning.

You were strapped to the chair again. Blood-soaked and suffocating. Screaming for Spencer. He would just stand at the door. Watching. Then turning away.

You’d wake up clawing at your throat, sweat soaking the sheets. The scar on your shoulder would throb like a pulse.

Then the dreams shifted.

Softer. Slower. Crueler.

Still a nightmare. 

You were in his bed again. His arms around you. His breath warm against your neck. He’d whisper your name, your real name, and you’d cry into his shoulder, because for a few fleeting moments, you believed it.

You believed he was still yours.

And then you’d wake up.

Alone.

Those were the worst.

Because they didn’t feel like dreams.

They felt like loss.

You told yourself they were nothing. Leftover grief.

But the ache didn’t go away.

Not during daylight. Not when you looked in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.

You stopped sleeping at all after a while. Just lay there, eyes open, waiting for the sun to rise so you could put yourself back in motion.

You expected the nightmares to break you. They didn’t. The waking did.

It started small.

You glanced up in the bookstore and swore you saw someone in a dark coat. A flash of curls. A shadow lingering just a second too long. You had looked away before realizing what you had seen. 

Your heart jumped. Your head turned, hope blooming in your chest. 

But when you looked again, they were gone.

That fleeting hope shattered to pieces.

You told yourself it was nothing. Sleep deprivation. Nightmares. Wishful thinking. Ghosts.

Until it happened again.

And again.

In the grocery store. You passed an aisle, seeing the all too familiar slope of his shoulders. You would spin around on the spot, dash back to where you saw him in the corner of your eye, only to be met by an empty store and rows of canned vegetables. 

Walking across the street. You would glance up on your walk home, seeing a figure standing under the flickering street lamp. You would pick up your pace, wanting to run to him, only to find the spot empty when you arrived. 

In the mirror. You washed your face in the bathroom after waking from a nightmare. Your face had been wet, stained with tears you didn’t know you had been shedding. You pulled back from the sink to see him. You looked around only for no one to be there. 

Every time it happened, your pulse would stutter. Every time, your heart would ache with a hope you hated yourself for.

Until one night, it nearly undid you.

You were nearly finished with your late night shift in the bookstore. You were shelving books. The shop was quiet. Too quiet. And then-

Footsteps. 

Soft. Steady. Familiar. 

You turned. Unable to still the thumping of your heart. 

He was there.

Spencer.

Standing just inside the door, looking exactly how you remembered him. His dark hair curled gently across his forehead. He was in a black fitted suit, not a single wrinkle across the fabric. His hands were loose at his sides, unmoving. 

His eyes were tired, but they were looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

The books you were holding tumbled from your hands. 

You didn’t care.

Tears sprang to your eyes. 

He was here. 

Here.

Spencer.

Your Spencer. 

You didn’t think.

You just ran. 

“Spencer, I-”

But when your arms warped around him, there was no body. 

No breath.

No warmth. 

Just air. 

Just… nothing. 

Spencer wasn’t here. 

You hit the floor hard, bruising your knees. You didn’t notice the pain.

It was nothing compared to the gaping hole in your heart. 

You wept. 

You curled into yourself, sobbing, arms shaking from where they’d reached for someone who wasn’t there. You stayed there until the lights clicked off overhead.

You told yourself that was the last time.

You were losing your mind.

You had to stop.

You had to stop looking for him.

But the next night, when you passed the bakery window and saw his reflection, you still turned.

Still hoping.

Still grieving.

Still in love.

And every night, when you made it home, when the door was locked and the lights off, you’d sit by your window with the bracelet pinched between your fingers.

You’d close your eyes and force yourself to remember the truth. To remember what really happened. 

You remembered the gun in his hand. And how he pointed it at you. 

He was going to shoot you. Kill you. 

But then he walked away.

Why had he hesitated?

You thought that had meant he cared for you. That he didn’t want you dead.

But he had left you alone in that room with Alex. And Alex had been about to kill you on Spencer’s behalf. 

You told yourself each night that it meant Spencer didn’t love you. That hesitating truly didn’t mean anything. That if Spencer had truly cared, he would’ve come back to save you.

Some nights, you convinced yourself you should go find him. You wanted to track him down. Finish what you started. Hear from his lips that he did not love you. But you never did. Because every time you almost believed in him- You remembered the explosion.

You remembered waking up in a Bureau hospital, your file with the final word: DISCHARGED.

And you remembered what Marlowe said: He left you.He ran.He left you to burn.

So you stayed.

Alone.

In a town with no noise, no danger, and no love.

--------------------------------------------------------

That night, you sat in the shower with your clothes still on. The water ran cold long before you moved.

You’re losing it.

He’s not coming.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eyes hollow, jaw tight, hair stuck to your skin in tangled strands. You touched the bracelet on your wrist like it might explain the hallucination, like maybe it had summoned him, conjured him from grief.

The next morning, you told yourself it really was the last time. You wouldn’t chase shadows anymore. You wouldn’t mistake memory for presence. You wouldn’t let yourself hope.

He wasn’t coming.

Spencer Agnew did not love you. He never had.

You were sure now.

So you buried your memories of Spencer. Somewhere deep and dark in the corner of your mind. Buried it beneath routine, beneath silence, beneath your own aching denial.

You got up. Went to work. Smiled politely. Took inventory. Pushed forward.

But still something lingered…

You tried to ignore it at first.

Just a flicker in your periphery. A prickle on the back of your neck. A rustle of leaves where there shouldn't be. The scuff of a boot against pavement just a beat too late behind your own.

Nothing.

Right?

You were tired. Fragile. Still healing.

Just trauma, you told yourself. Just leftover nerves. 

But that didn’t explain the car.

A beat-up black sedan rolled down your street slowly, engine low and steady. You watched it through the blinds, every nerve in your body alert. The glass of your window trembled faintly under your palm. The car didn’t stop.

Not that time.

Three days later, it did.

It parked at the corner across from your apartment. Always just out of reach. You stared through the peephole in your door for a full five minutes. Waiting for movement. 

No one came out of the car.

It sat there for over an hour. Just... idling.

You paced your apartment, twitchy and unsettled. You made your rounds in your home, making sure the doors and the windows were locked. Twice. When you finally checked again, the car was gone.

But the feeling wasn’t.

The next night, it happened again.

Same car. Same parking spot. Same silence.

Then a shape inside the bookstore. 

A man would stand at the philosophy shelf for twenty minutes without touching a single title. He never made eye contact. Bought nothing. Said nothing. 

You were sweeping the floors, keeping track of him out of the corner of your eye, when he would suddenly start in your direction. 

You raised the broom, gripping the handle like a weapon. But he was already out the door, the bell announcing his exit. 

The next day you bumped into someone on the sidewalk, a stranger in a baseball cap. When you turned to apologize, he was already gone.

Just… gone.

You’d try to shake it off. You’d laugh under your breath, bitter and breathless, you’re just being paranoid. Your mind is playing tricks, your trauma is manifesting in new shapes. 

Sometimes you even said it aloud just to hear one voice in the room. Just to ground yourself in something real.

But the pit in your stomach never eased.

You knew better than most: when your instincts whispered, you listened. You knew what surveillance looked like. What a soft tail felt like. This wasn’t a coincidence.

You took precautions. The bookstore didn’t feel safe anymore. You rearranged the furniture near the front register so your back was never to the door, and you would have a clear exit.

You walked home on different routes each night. Switched up your hours. Kept a box cutter in your coat pocket instead of the usual pepper spray. Slept with your door locked and a kitchen knife on your bedside table.

But the feeling didn’t go away. That buzz. That sixth sense you never could shut off. And that was when you knew:

Someone was watching you.

And even though you were scared, a part of you felt something else too. Something cold and aching, like anticipation.

You were trained for this.

So you waited. Waited for the stalker to make a move.

And when it came, it didn’t come as a person.

It came as a message.

You found it four days later.

You were coming home from the bookstore, dusk already falling. The light was gold and sharp and strange. The kind that made the world feel suspended in amber. 

You climbed the cracked concrete stairs to your apartment, keys already in hand, when your eye caught something on the floor just outside your door.

A small, matte black envelope.

Your breath caught.

It was just resting on your welcome mat like a curse.

Your pulse quickened. You glanced down the hallway. Empty. Silent. The light above flickered once and then steadied.

You stared at it for a long time. It didn’t disappear. With trembling fingers, you picked it up.

It was thick. Expensive. No stamp. No return address.

Just one faint symbol embossed in glossy ink on the seal.

A knight chess piece.

Your blood ran cold.

Hands trembling, you tore the envelope open.

Inside was a single card. No threats. No explanations.

There were only four words, written in clean, deliberate script:

He never stopped looking.

Your heart stopped.

You didn’t need a signature. You didn’t need a return address. You knew that handwriting. Knew it like you knew fear.

Alex Tran.

You stood frozen on your doorstep, the card clutched in your fist. For a full minute, you didn’t breathe. Then you turned and bolted inside, slamming the door behind you. You locked it. Deadbolt. Chain. Every latch.

Your heart was thunder in your ears.

It couldn’t be real.

You stared at the card again, reading the words over and over like they might vanish.

Alex knew where you were.

You sank to the floor, spine pressed against the wood.

Alex was here.

And in that moment, you knew, you weren’t paranoid.

You were found.

--------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t sleep that night. You didn’t even try. 

The envelope never left your side. You read it so many times you started to see the words even with your eyes closed. The knight chess piece stamped into the card stared back like it knew something you didn’t.

He never stopped looking.

Your thoughts and mind were clouded with smoke. You wandered burning buildings. Walked empty halls. Heard voices echoing around you. Sometimes it was Marlowe, whispering traitor. Sometimes it was Spencer, whispering I’m sorry.

By morning, your knuckles were white around your coffee mug. You didn’t eat. Couldn’t.

You considered leaving. Just packing a bag and disappearing into the world again. To be anywhere but here. Because if Alex had found you, who else could?

But you didn’t run. Not this time.

You were tired of running.

So you stayed.

And waited.

It happened three nights later.

You came home after a double shift at the bookstore, rainwater soaking your coat, your fingers numb from gripping the box cutter in your coat pocket too tightly. You were so tired your eyes burned. You didn’t bother locking the door behind you when you stepped inside.

You should have.

There was no knock. No warning. Just a subtle change in the air. You were in the kitchen, staring blankly at the kettle you were willing yourself to turn on, when your instincts flared. The air changed, and got heavier. 

Then the smell hit: leather and cologne. Not Spencer’s. But familiar.

You turned slowly. The room behind you was silent. Still.

And then a voice from the shadows:

“You look like shit.”

You spun fast, already reaching for the knife block, when he stepped forward into the sliver of light from the hallway.

Alex.

In the flesh. Standing in your apartment. Like he belonged there. Dressed in black. Hands clasped in front of him. Relaxed, but only in that terrifying way snakes rest before striking.

“I’d put that down if I were you,” Alex noticed the butcher’s knife clenched in your fist. 

You didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. You just stared at him like he was a mirage.

He looked the same. Same sharp eyes, same guarded expression, same unflinching cold, but there was something else now. Something heavier in the way he carried himself. A tension he didn’t bother to hide.

You took one step back.

“Get out,” you said.

Alex didn’t move.

“Not until you hear me out.”

“No.”

“You owe me that.”

You scoffed. “I owe you nothing.”

He took a measured step toward you. “You’re wrong.”

“What do you want?” You raised the knife. 

He tilted his head. “To talk.”

“Liar.”

He smiled. Slight. Unkind. “You always were sharp. No wonder he loved you.”

You stiffened. “Don’t say that.”

Alex studied you like you were an enemy behind glass. But then something shifted in his eyes. Something almost like regret.

“It’s the truth.”

And that was it.

Whatever had been holding your heart together, gave way. 

The dam burst.

You exploded.

“You think showing up here is some kind of twisted kindness?” Your voice cracked, raw and aching. “You think dropping a damn note on my doorstep makes up for what you did?”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t kill you.”

“No. You just drugged me, shot me, and left me in a building wired to explode.” You advanced on him, tears burning hot in your eyes and the knife gleaming in the evening light. “And then you let him think I was dead.”

“He already thought you were.”

You stopped. Your heart lurched.

“What?”

Alex held your gaze. “He thought you were dead before I ever pulled the trigger.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“No. He ordered my execution,” you said quietly. “He knew what he was doing. I was in the room. I saw him turn his back.”

“He did, I will admit that.” Alex shrugged. “But he considered the woman he loved to be dead the moment he read your file. He was going to kill you. But he hesitated.”

You laughed bitterly. “Wow. What a romantic gesture.”

“I’ve seen him kill people for less, you know that,” Alex snapped. “But with you? He broke the second you confessed to him in his office. He looked at you like you ruined him. Because you did.”

Your breath hitched.

“He didn’t come back.” you spat, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I didn’t let him.”

Your blood ran cold. 

“What?”

“I made your death a reality. It was the only way to get him out.” Alex’s voice was steady now. Low. Controlled. “I told him we had to go. That the building wasn’t safe. That if he went back, he’d die too.” 

Your knees weakened, but you didn’t sit.

“He wouldn’t have left you otherwise,” Alex added, almost gently. “You know that. And he listened. For once, he listened. But he never forgave me for it.”

You blinked. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Alex took something from his coat pocket. The envelope. Another one. Same black paper. Same seal.

He held it out.

You didn’t take it.

“He’s different now,” Alex said. “Changed. We all are. But he never stopped looking for you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

You stepped back. “Is that what this is? Some second-chance recruitment pitch? You want to drag me back into the fire and watch me burn for real this time?”

“No,” he said. “Spencer doesn’t know I’m here.”

That hit you like a slap.

“I don’t understand.”

“I found you on my own,” Alex said. “I needed to know if there was anything left of you. If I’d made the right choice leaving you behind.”

“And?”

His face didn’t change.

“You’re still standing.”

You turned away from him. Your hands shook. You put the knife down on the kitchen table. 

“I don’t want this,” you whispered. “I don’t want you here. And I don’t want him.”

“You’re lying.”

You spun back around. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”

“I know what you feel.” His tone was flat. “I watched you tell me. That night. In the chair.”

Silence.

He stepped forward again. “I didn’t believe you then. But I do now.”

Your breath caught.

Alex looked at you. Really looked. The way you imagined Spencer used to.

You stared at him, heart pounding. Alex just placed the envelope down on your kitchen table, on top of your discarded butcher’s knife. 

“I’m not giving you an invitation,” Alex said, stepping past you toward the door. “I’m giving you the choice.”

“I don’t trust you,” you said. “I don’t trust any of you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” he said quietly. “But I had to try.”

Alex opened the door halfway, then paused.

“I didn’t like you. I still don’t.” He looked back over his shoulder. “But he did. More than anyone.

And then he left. Alex was gone.

You stood alone in your kitchen, staring at the door long after it shut.

--------------------------------------------------------

Days passed.

You didn’t open the envelope.

You thought about burning it. You thought about opening it. You thought about throwing it in the river that sliced through the edge of town.

Instead, you left it on your kitchen table, like a wound you refused to clean. 

The dreams got worse.

Not violent, not loud. Just aching. Spencer in the passenger seat. Spencer leaning against your doorway. Spencer laughing at something you said and looking at you like you were the last good thing in a world full of rot.

And then, always: flames. Smoke. A bullet ripping through your shoulder. Spencer’s voice, calling your name, but always too late.

You stopped trying to sleep. You had to get away from the dreams.

Your neighbors asked if you were okay. You lied.

You always lied.

Until you couldn’t.

The breaking point came on a Thursday. You were nursing a now cold cup of tea, just staring at the black envelope. It was covered in crumbs and coffee stains. 

You couldn’t find the strength to get rid of it. 

It seemed to be calling you. 

A sweet melodic sound, begging you to open it. 

You couldn’t resist the siren song. 

You put down your cup, reaching for the black paper. You had to know what was inside. Was it a trap? Alex had put something inside to finish the job? Or had he been telling the truth? Giving you a one-way ticket back to the man you loved.

You tore open the paper, finding a card similar to the one you had received days ago. But this time there wasn’t a message. 

There was just a date. 

Today. 

No time. No address. No signature. Just the knowledge in your bones that you were meant to return somewhere. And you knew exactly where to go. 

You called in sick to work. You packed a bag, barely packed anything. Just your coat, the bracelet still on your wrist. 

And just like that, you left the little town behind and drove toward the wreckage of your former life.

You didn’t know exactly what you headed towards. 

But something inside you knew it was time.

--------------------------------------------------------

It had been a year. Since the fire. Since your confession. Since Spencer. 

The building was still there. Or what was left of it. The old Agnew Syndicate base had been reduced to scorched concrete and shattered rebar. A few charred beams still jutted up from the rubble like ribs of a broken beast. The security systems gutted, and there was no trace of the men who once guarded it. 

And in the middle of it all: silence.

Just like your apartment.

You stepped out of the car slowly, each step crunching glass and ash beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of soot and damp earth. You pulled your coat tighter around your body and stepped into the graveyard of your past.

The foundation of the building still held its shape, like a skeleton trying to remember its body. You passed through the ghost of the main entrance, your eyes catching on the scorched frame of a doorway, the twisted remains of the entrance to Spencer’s basement office.

You let your hand brush a wall that no longer stood.

Images flooded back. Shards of memory sharp enough to bleed:

Spencer standing in his office, leaning against his desk, watching you with a smile he gave no one else.

The chair where you were restrained. The gun in his hand. The moment he let you go.

And the moment he didn’t come back.

You swallowed hard. The ache bloomed in your chest like it always did.

There was nothing here.

Just smoke, memory, and your own foolishness.

Still, you didn’t leave.

You continued to walk the ruins, finding exactly where the interrogation chamber had been. The room had once been hidden behind reinforced steel and cement. Now it was open sky. 

You stopped, looking down into the pit. You closed your eyes, letting it all return to you. 

His voice. His eyes. The pain in his expression when he realized what you were. The heartbreak when he believed you were dead.

He didn’t come back.

He didn’t save you.

You opened your eyes and whispered, “I forgive you.”

The wind stirred. You let it carry the words. You meant them. You had to.

And then you turned to leave.

And stopped.

A man stood at the edge of the wreckage.

A figure in a dark coat. A shadow against the setting sun. Standing silent and still,  like a shadow cut from the past.

You froze. 

Your heart slammed against your ribs. No. Not again.

Not another hallucination.

Not here. 

You blinked hard. “No, no, no…”

He didn’t vanish.

You took a step forward. Then another.

He was tall. Solid. Alive. 

But your brain had betrayed you before. It had conjured Spencer in your apartment, in the bookstore, in your dreams, in the corners of rooms that were never full. It was always your imagination. Always a lie.

“Go away,” you whispered to yourself, eyes burning. “You’re not real.”

The figure stayed. But he didn’t speak. Just stood there. Still. Watching you.

You walked forward slowly. 

Step by step. Dust crunching beneath your boots.

The figure didn’t move. 

Not until you were a few feet away.

Then… he stepped forward.

Slowly. Carefully. Like you were a deer about to bolt.

His coat billowed in the breeze. His eyes, dark and wide, locked on yours with something between disbelief and devastation.

“...You’re alive,” he said.

You didn’t breathe.

“Spencer?” You could barely whisper his name. 

He took another step. “I-” His voice broke. “I can’t believe it.”

You flinched backward, hands trembling. “No. No, you’re not real.”

“I’m real.”

“You left me.” Your voice cracked. “You left me to die.”

Spencer’s face crumpled. Not in confusion. Not in anger. 

In guilt. Real, raw, bone-deep guilt.

“I thought you were dead,” he said. His voice broke on the last word.

“You pointed a gun at me.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“But you didn’t stop Alex.”

“I came back.”

“You left.”

Silence fell again, deafening.

You were shaking now. Tears gathered in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You had dreamed of this moment. You had rehearsed this confrontation in your head every night for a year. You had pictured yelling, violence, fury.

You hadn’t expected… this.

Spencer stepped forward. Slowly.

You flinched.

He stopped. Slowly and gently, Spencer reached out, offering his hand like he was taming something feral. 

“Touch me,” he said softly. “I swear, I’m real.”

You stared at his hand. It was the same. The same hand you had been longing to hold. Then, with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you reached forward.

You waited for your hand to go through his. For his fingers to give way to air. For you to blink and he would disappear forever. 

Your fingers touched his.

Warm. Solid. Steady.

Real.

He was real.

You choked on a sob. You yanked your hand back like it burned.

And then-

-you hit him.

Your fist slammed into his chest with no real force, just grief. Then another. And another. Your hands pounded into Spencer’s skin like rain thundering across a roof. He didn’t stop you.  

And then you collapsed into him, sobbing like a dam had broken inside your chest.

He caught you immediately. Pulled you in and held you like a man who had lost everything and just gotten it back.

“You didn’t believe me,” you choked. “After everything we shared. Everything we became. You didn’t believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, quietly. Honestly. “I am so sorry.”

You let out a fresh round of tears. 

“I looked for you,” he whispered into your hair. “Everywhere. I didn’t stop.”

“You should’ve come back,” you cried. “You should’ve taken me out of that room.”

“I tried. They told me you were dead. Alex said-” He stopped. Shook his head. “I broke when I thought I lost you. I burned it all down. But I never stopped trying.”

You looked up at him, trembling. “You didn’t believe me. Not when I told you the truth.”

Spencer’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “I was afraid. I thought you were playing me. And then I realized... you weren’t. But I was too late.”

“And now?” you asked.

“Now I know,” he said. “Truly, I had always known. But I was blinded. I was scared.”

You scoffed through your tears.

“What could Spencer Agnew possibly be scared of?” You asked, sarcasm dripping like venom. 

Spencer opened his mouth. Then he closed it. 

You stared at each other. Every unspoken word hanging in the air between you.

And then… finally…

“Love.” He said. “I love you.”

Not a whisper. Not a mutter. A confession. A surrender.

You closed your eyes and wept again. Not from sorrow. From relief.

He loved you. He said it outloud. Confessed it to you and to the world. Something you had only dreamed of. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. To say it,” Spencer apologized again. “But I didn’t think I would ever get the chance after what I had done. I am so sorry, my darling.”

You stared up at him. And that was what filled the gaping hole in your heart. 

Not the apology.

But the look in his eyes. The way he saw you. The way he always had.

Then you kissed him. 

He kissed you back. 

It wasn’t like the first time. Not full of heat or hunger. But full of grief. Full of survival. Full of love too long denied.

When you parted, you just stayed there. In each other’s arms. Together once again.

“Darling, I have something for you. If you will accept it.” Spencer reached into his coat and pulled something from his inner pocket.

The gold queen pin.

“I never let it go,” he said. “Even when I thought you were gone. I knew I’d give it back. Someday.”

“I thought it had been destroyed in the explosion.” You confessed, looking at the pin in Spencer’s hand. 

“I never want to lose you again,” Spencer confessed, his voice choking with emotion. “I love you, and I want you by my side. For as long as you want to be there.”

You cupped his face in your hands, looking him in the eyes. 

“Spencer, you have never lost me. I have always been yours.” 

The smile on Spencer’s face could have blinded the sun. He looked at you like he always did. And now you knew that when Spencer had been seeing you, looking at you, it had always been with love. 

It was everything you needed.

--------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, you stood at the threshold of a new world.

The air was crisp, the morning fog clinging to the treetops. Before you loomed a fortress of glass and steel, silent and impenetrable. Spencer Agnew’s new stronghold. The building was angular, elegant, and terrifying in its quiet power. Nothing remained of the old compound. That world had been reduced to ash. What stood now had risen from its grave like something reborn.

The past was gone.

But he had made space for the future.

Your future.

A sleek, silent car had brought you here, tires crunching down the forest road with careful precision. At the final bend, the iron gates opened before you like a curtain to a stage. 

Just inside the gates, stood a man in a charcoal grey suit. He held up a hand, commanding the car to stop. He walked up and pulled open the sedan door opposite of you. 

Alex slid into the seat. 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The rumble of the car tires on the gravel was the only sound. Then Alex nodded once.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said. He didn’t smile. He just looked at you like a man who had watched too many people disappear and was still surprised when one came back.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make sure of it,” you answered dryly.

He huffed a breath. “Spencer would’ve killed me.”

“Maybe he should’ve.”

The edge of his mouth twitched, almost like a smile. Alex didn’t argue. But he didn’t apologize either.

The sedan rolled to a stop at the front of the compound. You went to open your door and get out of the car, but Alex stopped you, placing his hand briefly on yours. 

You looked at him, confused. He slipped from his seat, walked around to your side, and opened your door for you. 

Alex offered a hand. 

You hesitated. 

But then you took it.

His grip was steady. Warmer than you expected. He helped you out of the car like a knight would his queen. Alex escorted you up the steps to the compound, and through the large, heavy front doors. 

Inside the compound, everything thrummed with quiet authority.

It wasn’t chaos like the last operation. No frantic energy. No brittle alliances. This was sleek, unified. You passed by security stations, modern war rooms, glass-walled strategy cells. Everyone moved with silent purpose. Weapons at their side, files in hand, eyes always watching.

And then… they saw you.

Some stared outright. Some faltered mid-step. One woman you passed nearly dropped her tablet. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need to.

Your presence was enough.

The hallway opened into a wide corridor of obsidian tile and steel support beams, leading to a pair of dark double doors. Alex stopped just before them and turned toward you.

“He’s inside,” he said. “He’s different now,” he said. “More vicious. More dangerous.”

“So am I,” you replied.

Alex gave a quiet nod. No more suspicion. No more walls. Just respect. Maybe even… reverence.

He opened the doors.

You stepped in.

And there he was.

Spencer Agnew.

He stood at the head of a long table made of dark, polished stone. The walls were lined with screens showing live feeds, encrypted code, and territory maps. His inner circle of lietenants sat around the table, whispering in low voices. 

But he wasn’t looking at any of them.

He was looking at you.

And for a moment, the room fell away.

The table. The lieutenants. The empire he had built in your absence.

All of it vanished beneath the weight of his eyes.

He stepped forward slowly, like you were something sacred.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

You walked toward him with measured steps. One beat. Then another. 

He reached for you, fingers brushing yours, and you let him. His hand was steady. Warm. Real.

You laced your fingers with his, finally whole again.

At the table, whispers rippled like wind through glass.

“Is that-?”

“She’s alive?”

“I thought she-”

Spencer turned back to them.

“I trust you all remember her,” Spencer said smoothly.

A few nodded stiffly. One paled.

“This,” he said, his voice loud and clear, “is my partner.”

A ripple of unease spread across the room. Most straightened in their seats. A few looked uneasy. One lieutenant, younger, green around the edges, leaned forward slightly, his brow drawn in a frown.

“With all due respect, sir, how do we know she won’t betray you again?”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut bone.

Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

Alex stepped forward instinctively, gun already half-raised.

But you held up your hand.

Alex stopped. 

You stepped forward.

No raised voice. No theatrics. Just you. Steady, centered, and unafraid. 

You didn’t look at the lieutenant right away. You looked around the room, at the faces that still didn’t know what to make of you. Let them wonder.

Then, at last, you met the lieutenant’s eyes.

“I didn’t come back for your approval,” you said softly.

Not a threat. Not a plea.

Just the truth.

You let the words settle. Let him feel their weight.

“I don’t need to prove myself. Not to you.”

The lieutenant shifted, uncomfortable but silent.

“I’ve walked through worse than your doubts and came back standing.”

The lieutenant opened his mouth.

You raised a single brow.

“Try me.”

He shut it again.

Alex lowered his gun.

“You all know who I am. Don’t forget.” 

Across the room, Spencer smiled. He didn’t need to say anything. But he did, anyway.

“And if you don’t,” Spencer added, “you’ll learn.”

A few chuckled nervously. Others didn’t dare.

You turned to Spencer, walked back to his side. Spencer watched you with something unreadable behind his eyes, something caught between awe and devastation.

He stepped closer, just enough that his voice didn’t carry past the two of you.

“I never should’ve doubted you,” he murmured. “You’ve always known how to hold your own.”

You glanced up at him, heat rising behind your calm expression. “Took you long enough.”

He huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

Then, gently, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out the queen pin.

It had been polished. Preserved. Protected.

Spencer held it up, then pinned it carefully to your lapel, his fingers brushing against the fabric near your heart.

“You came back sharper,” he said softly.

“I came back real,” you replied.

His hand lingered on the pin for a moment longer.

Your eyes found his. The same eyes that once held doubt and hurt. Now they were filled with something else entirely.

Love.

“Still sweet, though,” he added quietly. “Underneath all that fire.”

You met his gaze evenly. “Only for you.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into the faintest smile. He leaned in, his lips brushing just behind your ear. “Sweeter than honey.”

You felt that warmth bloom in your chest again, slow and heady and unmistakably his.

You squeezed his hand once, grounding yourself in his presence.

Then you both turned back to the room.

Spencer looked to you. “After you, darling.”

You stepped forward. Your voice rang out, clear and absolute.

“Let’s begin.”

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Surprise! Just when you thought the story was over… one last twist.

This is the real final part, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading, loving, and sticking with me on this wild, emotional journey. Your support, comments, and love have meant more than I can say.

I poured everything into this series, and getting to share it with you all has been such a gift.

Thank you for every like, reblog, message, and moment.

With all my love,

Lauren💛

--------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @tenderhornynihilist @sbrewer21 @happyclifford @65percentleg @mazzyowl @spennininomenon @superstinkychimp @and-claudia

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

hello! can you recommend some feel-good and no drama vibes BL series? 😭 been a stressful month, badly need a relaxing series 🫠 thankyouu!

Hello beautiful Anon 🌹

It is a pleasure for me to recommend you some feel-good series! It is not that easy to find series without drama, because people think a series without drama is not a good series, but sometimes we all need this swoony, relaxing series to calm our system and to let us believe in life and love again.

I tried to keep the drama level as low as possible, but most of them have a little bit of drama at some point, just to keep the story going.

My main criteria were personal experience and feelings while watching and rewatching those series and how many trigger-warnings there should be (like violence, prosperity, cheating, mobbing, etc.) - in the best case, there should be none and how heavy the topic is. For example: I absolutely adore the series "The Day I Loved You". It is such a beautiful, wholesome series, but the topic is so heavy, it wouldn't fit here.

The only order this will have is by country.

Thailand

Well let's get started with one of the most unproblematic and innocent, happy series out there:

My School President

Tinn likes Gun. Gun is a little rascal and the singer of the school's band Chinzhilla. Tinn is the school president and son of the principle. Chinzhilla needs to build up their reputation and win this year's Hot Wave Music Contest to make sure the band will still be around next year and to be able to date. And now it's Tinn's time to shine and help Gun reach this goal. It is such an unproblematic, fun and sweet watch.

Cherry Magic Thailand

Karan is the model employee. He is everything Achi wants to be. Achi's confidence is weak and the things he does, he doesn't see them as valuable or important. But somehow he is exactly what Karan wants, because he is kind and attentive. A story about self-acceptance, loving yourself and seeing your valuable traits through the eyes of someone else. And hearing other people's thoughts might help as well. I love the story and yes, Japan's version is gem, but I really like the thai one and TayNew did such a good job, imo.

We Are

People said nothing is happening here. But that is not true. The story might not be drama-driven, but that is exactly what I sometimes want. I want to watch friend groups coming together, sharing secrets with each other and fall in love. I want to see this daily life. The story is wholesome and cute and perfect for a rainy sunday to warm up your heart.

Ingredients

This miniseries is a slow burn between two roommates, one loves cooking and the other one music. And they are just the sweetest. I watched this while I was sick and it made my life so much warmer and less tiring and annoying. Jeff and Gameplay did such a good job in portraying these two characters.

Bonus:

Every You, Every Me

This series is not completed and is airing every sunday. There are only two episodes out and I am completely in love with them and the concept of this series. Every week we see those two fall in love again in different timelines. The story about soulmates and the fate to be together in every universe. My romantic heart can't deal with it! It is exactly what I need after a stressful week.

Taiwan

Well Taiwan is more known for heavier themes and emotional series with a lot of trauma included, but there are some lighthearted series too.

Be Loved In House: I Do

I have no clue how many times I watched this series. Is it that good? Well, for me it is one of the most comforting series out there. For others? Not necessarily. The conflict is a little bit dumb, but it is so good to watch these two to slowly overcome their differences and getting all soft with each other. It is just a sweet series where you don't have to think too much about.

History 2: Crossing The Line

The story of a young troublemaker who likes to pick fights and the manager of the school's volleyball-team, who can't play volleyball anymore because of an accident. I mean, I love volleyball and bl, so this is the perfect combination for me. It is funny and somehow emotional and so good to witness the troublemaker finally having something worth to put his energy in.

South Korea

I absolutely love korean bls. They are my favorite, but most of them come with huge baggage and trauma for the main characters. As much as I love them, I wouldn't call them easy watches to relax. But there are a few I want to mention here.

Our Dating Sim

A second-chance love story. They meet again after being separated for years and finally are able to talk to each other about everything that stands between them. And yes, there is some light trauma, but it fits the story very well and isn't that traumatic for the viewer, imo. As a given for korean bls, it is a short watch and perfect to binge after a tough day.

Roommates of Poongduck 304

A fun and short watch about a rich kid who has to work for the first time in his live to understand the value of money and work and his new landlord who is also his subordinate at work. These two need to work together in every parts of their lifes and it is just so good to watch them getting closer. And don't get me started on their chemistry! If you haven't already, do yourself a favor and watch the behind the scenes!

Sing My Crush

Han Baram wants to become a professional musician. He has the talent and the will to achieve it, but most of all he has Im Hantae, his biggest fan and supporter and his best friend. While Baram already knows what he wants, Hantae needs to figure it out in the cutest way. This series just feels so good! It is one of my favorite bls ever. And the music is good too!

Japan

Japan is the king or queen for cosy and wholesome bls! There are so many, I can't list all of them. I really enjoy diving into this yellowish warm world.

I Cannot Reach You aka Kimi ni wa Todokanai

While Yamato has to deal with his popularity with the girls and being in love with his best friend Kakeru, Kakeru really wants to be as cool as his schoolmates and wants to get a girlfriend too, just to notice, that his heart obviously wants something or someone else. This is such a sweet series. It is wholesome and so freaking soft! And the soundtrack is soooooooooooo good!

Takara's Treasure aka Takara No Vidro

Takara once helped Taichin and with that he influenced his life deeply. In the beginning I didn't understand this series and the actions the characters took, but with every episode this little series grew more and more on me. Both of them are searching for something in their lifes and find it in each other. They are the perfect match and watching their connection deepen will comfort your heart.

If It's With You aka Kimi To Nara Koi Wo Shite Mite Mo

I think this series is highly underrated and didn't get the recognition it deserves. The main character Amane is gay and doesn't keep it a secret. He has made some bad experience in the past and doesn't believe in love anymore. Until he meets his schoolmate Ryuji, a kind and hardworking young man, who is so open and accepting that Amane is not able to not fall in love with him. This is such a beautiful series. Highly recommended.

Our Dining Table aka Bokura no Shokutaku

This is an absolutely wholesome series about found family and food. Be aware watching this might make you very hungry! Tane, the younger brother, is such a sweet child and the best wingman. The drama in this series is not the prominent aspect of it, but the healing from it through love in all kinds and forms, acceptance and finding a place for yourself in this cold world is. And after watching this you feel loved and warm and hungry.

Old Fashion Cupcake

A well played age-gap? Finding joy in life? Food? Living your life in the best way possible? Check, check, check and check. This series means so much to me. Meet Nozue, almost 40 without any real joy in life, because he thinks he is too old for it and Togawa, ten years younger, attractive and obsessed with the idea to make Nozue enjoy his life again. And that with eating together. I love this series so much! It is so good!

Honorable mentions:

Fukou-kun was Kiss Suru Shikanai!

Takara-kun to Amagi-kun

Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai

BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank Up Hen

Perfect Propose

Living with him

Kieta Hatsukoi

Anon, I hope there are some series which can give you some relaxation after such a stressful month! And I wish you more quiet and less stressful month to come! Stay safe and enjoy watching bls! 🌼

[syntheticavenger]

Bad Decisions - Six

A big thank you to the commenter who reblogged my little story and gave me the inspiration to write this piece again. I appreciate you so much!

We are at the end of this tale.

Please let me know if you like it and as always, if you were keeping up with this story throughout the years, I appreciate you reading and being apart of my little circle.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, angst, language, HEAVY violence mentions, mentions of pregnancy, murder, a lot of death, angst, mentions of breeding kink.

Mob Boss Bucky Barnes x Right Hand Female Reader

Frank Adler x Right Hand Female Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary | Being Bucky’s right hand gets complicated when he decides to marry a girl from a questionable family that provides no answers to his decision, only more questions.

“It was you all along.”

The betrayal in his voice is strong, his hands up in the air as you follow behind him, hearing the muffled shouts of Dot who is tied up on the ground. You don’t spare her a second glance, the gun still trained on the back of his head as tears well in your eyes.

“What was I supposed to do, Barnes? Let you burn down your empire?”

He stops in his tracks to answer you.

“Yes.“

Gritting your teeth, you look over at Dot, her mascara caked and runny down her dirty cheeks. She’s been there long enough to know he plans on finishing the job, her hands and feet bound. True to his word, there’s not a scratch on her, just her terrified eyes on you, silently begging you to save her.

All you have for her is contempt, remembering how quickly things had fallen apart since she had arrived.

How much you and others have lost.

“Steve needs peace,” you continue. “You spill any more blood and he’ll have it.”

“Did he promise you that?” Bucky fires back, turning around to face you, both your hands gripping the gun as he takes a step closer.

“Don’t,” you demand.

“Steve said no more blood. Is this a bluff? You’ve killed for much less. And deep down, you know I’ll kill her if you don’t. Steve’s threat may be a promise but at least I’d see it through to the end.”

A tear slides down your cheek when you shake your head, trying to keep your cool. Still calm and collected on the surface, as Bucky tends to me, as if resigned to the fate that is in your hands.

“Why her?”

Your resolve is slipping, forcing yourself to focus on something other than his intense gaze.

”It was an expansion. Business,” Bucky says, looking over at Dot as she whimpers.

“Business,” you repeat. “Look where it got you.”

“That’ll happen when you let your guard down. But you didn’t, did you? You’d known all along, trying to warn me. You built your own expansion, turned yourself into a made woman,” he clarifies, looking back at you. “Frank’s proxy and Steve let it happen. That’s fucking poetic.”

He gives a sarcastic laugh, lowering his hands as he takes another step closer, the barrel pressing into his shirt.

“This is your final test, you know. Steve’s not dumb. You kill me and it’s all over. He gets his peace.”

“You could have left it alone. It’s too much loss.”

Cocking the hammer back, Bucky doesn’t move at your action.

“This could have gone another way,” you begin, another tear slipping down your cheek. “I hated it, every minute you were with her, knowing she was going to betray you and you pushed me aside because you knew best. Volstagg is dead, Pierce is going after Steve and it’s all because of your bad decisions. And it’s because I love you that I have to end this the way it should have ended.”

His eyes widen when the gun is turned toward Dot, the flash of the bullet in near slow motion as he calls out to you, anguish in his tone when another pull of the trigger drowns out the noise.

-

Steve looks out at the city skyline, his men in the background as he waits for a phone call. Loose ends should have been tied up already, his fingers gripping his glass in mild annoyance before the phone finally rings.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him,” your voice says on the other end, emotionless as Steve stills.

“He’s still alive?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

”I did,” comes your reply. “Natasha will see to handling her body.”

Steve straightens at your words.

“I said no more blood on my doorstep. I’m sure you remember our little conversation, especially since it wasn’t that long ago. You spare him but finish the job,” Steve says, finishing the last of his drink as he rolls his shoulders. “It’s a pity, you know. I liked you. But as I said, I enjoy my peace.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you answer.

“You get no protection. Frank will stand down, Thor will stand down and if Bucky knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of this once and for all. I’ll give you a day to say your goodbyes. You can’t hide in this city, doll. I hope you know that.”

“Goodbye Steve.”

Steve smiles, leaning back into his chair as he checks his watch.

“See you soon.”

-

Sam watches Bucky button down his black jacket, armed to the team before he pulls on black leather gloves.

While it’s quiet inside Bucky’s compound, the streets are loud - practically buzzing with the news that you’re on borrowed time.

“You can’t think this is a good idea,” Sam says after a moment. “It’s a suicide mission. You don’t even know where she is. She’s off the grid.”

“And yet, they’re still talking,” Bucky reminds him, adjusting his jacket. “Pierce is still out there.”

“Then he takes care of her and then Pierce. Or Pierce and then her. Steve’s lost his mind.”

Bucky shrugs. His friend hasn’t lost his mind - he’s protecting his assets, something Bucky can understand. He watched one of his own slip through his fingers, your gun carefully placed in one of his holsters after you’d kissed him goodbye, pushing him away before he could register what was happening.

“Dot is gone,” Sam counters slowly. “Steve gets his peace and quiet.”

“He’s a man of his word. More blood spilled, he’s going to keep his promise.”

Sam shakes his head in denial.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Bucky smiles brightly, smoothing back his hair for a moment. There’s a clarity he hasn’t felt in months, knowing his goal is clear.

“Then you take over,” Bucky says, turning on his heels to leave. “Like we talked about.”

“Bucky!” Sam says behind him. “You’re no better than her!”

-

The waves crash around your feet, the first stretches of dawn on the horizon, not a single soul in sight.

Yet.

You’d said your goodbyes, aware of how you’ve been tracked through the city. It’s laughable to think that Steve wouldn’t be invested in your every move - depressing to know that the mobster was a man of his word, sending you a countdown when you were down to twelve hours.

There’s something to be said about the way you’ve been treated. Where there was respect for Bucky’s name and influence, you have your own, doors opening for you and knowing looks where there used to be passing glances. You’ve stood your ground even in the face of impending death and you have no regrets.

If you don’t let yourself feel, it’s almost bearable, knowing your time is almost up. Frank, bucking tradition, has offered to get you out of the country, going against his cousin to keep you safe. Natasha, for her efforts, shed more than a few tears when you had said your goodbyes.

You don’t feel an ounce of remorse for pulling the trigger. Natasha had come quickly but Bucky had helped, something you found out later when the headlines mentioned Dot’s untimely death. A simply placed article, wrong time and wrong place meant that to the untrained eye, nothing was suspicious, no one was the wiser - poor Bucky Barnes who suffered so much loss would no doubt lick his wounds in private.

Nevermind that you had it set in your mind when the tears had come, months of anguish and angst, culminating in his literal confessions of wanting to expand.

You’d built her up, put her on a pedestal that she had never belonged on, Bucky behind the scenes dismantling everything he had done once the truth was exposed.

A truth you had brought to light.

A jogger catches the corner of your eye. An upscale neighborhood like this has no shortage of unsuspecting elite, wanting to get their first run of the day before the rest of the world.

You’ve banked on this.

Staked it out.

The silencer on your ghost gun fits smoothly, not another person in sight when you see him get closer, your back to him as he jogs past, mouthing the words to a song he’s listening to.

Within seconds, his body hits the pavement, your gaze on him only for a moment before the sun begins to rise, walking toward him as you put your gun away. You don’t stop when you walk, snapping a photo of the man before continuing on.

Six more hours left.

-

“You don’t make house calls,” Steve greets his longtime friend, coming down the stairs as he adjusts his cufflinks. “To what due do I owe this occasion?”

It has been too long, this much Bucky knows when he sees Steve. Marriage and impending fatherhood suits him, still armed to the teeth but his eyes show a kindness that makes him want to lower his guard.

“I can’t let you do this, Steve.”

“Are we negotiating?”

“Call it whatever you want. She did it for me.”

Steve finally smiles, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Love does that to a person. Makes them empowered, makes them feel untouchable. Makes them come to my door to beg for forgiveness.”

Bucky laughs at Steve’s response.

“I’m not here to beg for forgiveness. I’m here to tell you that if you go after her, I’ll kill you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at his threat. He seems slightly entertained at that fact, merely nodding.

“It’s a good strategy, posturing in my own home, Buck.”

“You said it yourself enough blood was spilled.”

Steve tilts his head to the side for a moment.

“And I wonder who started it? Couldn’t have been the loverboy himself? Drawing a line in the sand to make sure that the one who knew him best didn’t get close to the expansion that you were craving. How did that work out for you?”

“You don’t know how much I paid.”

“But I do,” Steve says, circling him slowly. “My own cousin installing her as his proxy, watching her wield her power over his men without a second thought. She took care of his business and for that, she’ll always have my respect. But this? This cat and mouse game over a goddamn family who came from nothing and back to the dust they came… a mild irritation lodged in the back of my mind. Until you wouldn’t let it go.”

Bucky swallows at the raw anger in Steve’s tone, his fingers rolling into tight fists in his black leather gloves.

“She did what she needed to do.”

“I’m sure she did. Got Thor riled up after Volstagg was killed and he threatened me. Not a good look for the Norseman,” Steve says with a sigh. “That’s still lingering somewhere up here in my head. What he’ll do when he’s back to his full strength. It’s bad enough his wife took charge and killed Helena right under his nose. He never saw it coming. More turf wars when all I asked for was peace. He thinks I had something to do with Helena, you know.”

Bucky knows Thor was pleasantly surprised his own wife could be as cold as he could be, knowing the backstory of everything Pierce had put her through.

But this isn’t about Thor.

It’s about you.

“So then the score was settled.”

“I’m a man of my word, Buck. I said no more blood spilled.”

Steve’s vibrates in his pocket, getting his attention as he pulls it out of his pocket to study it. He’s surprised, a look Bucky hasn’t seen in years. He stares at it for several moments until it rings, Steve answering it quickly.

”Thor.”

After a few moments of silence, Steve nods, smiling brightly as he turns to Bucky.

“Within the hour,” Steve says before hanging up.

-

Pierce hangs over the balcony of his seaside penthouse, blood pouring from his nose and running down his cheek to his eyes.

“Did you think… did you think you would see yourself like this?” Pierce asks with a strained laugh, the waves crashing below. “You call the shots now. Far cry from a… driver.”

“It ends with you and me,” you snarl.

“So we’re dead,” Pierce says with a sardonic laugh, looking at the water. “At least I won’t die alone.”

“I’ll give you a chance to repent,” you pause, Pierce quiet as he attempts to lift his head. You’ve injected him with a muscle relaxer, his body limp as he coughs.

“That’s all you’ll get from me,” he says, saliva dripping from his mouth. “Was it worth it? Knowing the truth and being ignored?”

You think for a moment, fingers gripping his belt.

“Yes.”

With a final pull, gravity takes over, Pierce plunging down onto the sea as you watch. A bullet to the brain was too merciful, watching the waves for a moment before turning back around.

Tears wet your cheeks, your fingers shakily wiping the evidence of your emotions away.

There’s no clean up. Not this time, Pierece’s home in disarray from the scuffle that had ensued. You don’t even check the time, knowing that the hour is drawing close.

You’ve said your goodbyes to Sam and Thor, despite Thor’s wife offering you protection that you had politely turned down.

It’s just you now, alone with your thoughts and the idea of how much blood you’ve spilled as Steve is on the way to make sure you’re finished.

It’s a fitting end, you think, knowing he’ll snuff out one life and welcome another in a few months. That’s the way of life, especially in the business you’ve found yourself in. It shouldn’t bother you but it does, wishing that you’d had more time to talk some sense into Bucky, to not let your emotions get the better of you.

Somewhere your phone vibrates, looking around at the broken frames and vases, finding it on the floor.

Resigning your fate, you answer, wondering how close he is.

“Oakley,” Steve says in a greeting. “I have questions but not at the moment. The more I ask for peace, the less you understand.”

“Loose ends,” you answer.

“Bad decisions get good outcomes. I’m not sorry, Steve.”

“I’ll send my men out later to retrieve Pierce’s body.”

You’re stunned at Steve’s words, silent until you find your voice.

”And me?”

“You have my respect and my protection. Can’t kill someone who did me a favor, can I?”

At your silence, he continues.

“He’s at his wits end, threatening me in my own house. The balls of him,” he chuckles. “But I have to wonder how that will work, seeing as I told him I would dispose of you and told him to wait for my call. Do you think he listened? I guess you’ll find out. Goodnight.’

He hangs up, leaving you speechless as you look around, relief flooding you as you realize you’re not going to die. 

The door flies open, Bucky’s gun cocked and ready, calling out to you before you finally see him. A man deranged, his eyes red as he stops in his tracks. Looking around the fractured penthouse, he lowers his gun.

“Tell me you didn’t do it.”

“I did.”

Bucky looks away from you, muttering to himself.

“Did you want it to continue? To be saddled with the guilt? I finished it for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to. Do you realize he’s coming this way?”

“I did him a favor.”

Bucky shakes his head in denial.

“You did Thor a favor. You settled the score with Volstagg.”

“And Steve’s wife. Oakley was hired to infiltrate Steve’s territory and take out his wife. To finish the job he started when Steve’s wife was a teenager. He killed her father.”

Bucky is stunned into silence, seeing you sigh, your shoulders falling in defeat.

“Spared,” you tell him. “Is that why you were trying to warn me that he was coming?”

“To protect you.”

“Since when do I need protecting?”

When you try to walk away, he pulls you into his arms, his gun clattering to the ground as you look up at him.

“I saved your territory,” you remind him, your voice shaky. “Even when I had nothing, I still looked out for you. Put my life on the line for you.”

“That’s the last time you’ll ever do it,” he promises, smoothing back your hair. “We end this now.”

He gets down on one knee, removing the chain from his neck as you realize what he’s doing.

“No,” you answer softly, seeing him place it into your hand. “I can’t accept this.”

“You take it all. Take the fucking empire, I don’t give a shit. But don’t leave me again. I’ll be your right hand, guide you in any decision when you need the help. I won’t lose you again.”

Your fingers close over his chain as his head settles on your stomach.

“Don’t go,” he whispers against you. “I thought I was lost before. I’ll be done for if you go. Stay.”

Your fingers rest on his shoulders, Bucky looking up at you as tears stream down his face. The fierce mobster on his knees because of you.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll stay.”

-

In the middle of the night you wake, the moonlight shining through and luminating the bed you share with Bucky. Whatever dream you had is now forgotten, floating between sleep and awake.

“You have a meeting in the morning,” Bucky says against the top of your head. “The first of many.”

It’s too early to think about that, feeling him rolling over, his hands on either side of you. Your matching chains nearly shine in the moonlight, his lips on yours as you earthly return the kiss, feeling his rough but warm hands part your thighs.

“This empire isn’t going to build itself,” he says with a grin. “We’re behind schedule.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

“Come on, doll,” Barnes takes your hand and leads you across the room. You follow as you will for the rest of your life; obediently. 

His grip is like a vice as he guides you through the hall and down the stairs. Silence meets you at the bottom as your sisters no doubt hear the descent. Yet he doesn’t let you go nor make a move to leave. Instead, he brings you into the front room. 

He squeezes your hand, pressing the large ring into your finger, and releases you. He steps forward as Kitty turns away from the window and Adrienne stands from the sofa. He commands any room he enters and you don’t think you’ll ever be used to that. 

“Sisters,” he declares brightly, “that is what I will call you from now on.” 

He goes first to Kitty and places a kiss on her cheek, then does the same to Adrienne. Each watch him in confusion. You stare blankly. 

“And you can call me brother and ask for anything and everything you need,” he says. 

“Sir,” Kitty moves towards your younger sister. 

“I ask discretion for the time being as I tie up a few loose ends,” Barnes explains. “And we get you all settled where you need to be.” 

Your sisters blink at you then each other. You can’t say it out loud. That makes it real. 

Barnes turns on his heel, “speaking of loose ends, I should go.” 

He comes towards you and takes your hand again. He raises it, certain to show off the glaring diamond, and kisses it. The gesture makes your blood run cold. It is a statement. It isn’t the same as when you kiss his ring, it isn’t deference, no it is a show of ownership. 

“Have a good night,” you say at last. 

He pulls back and lowers your hand. He grins, “it’s already spectacular, doll.” 

He lets you go and steps past you. You stand, stuck in place, as he leaves. The door opens and closes, the hinges jarring you into motion. You go to lock it behind him and Kitty calls your name. 

“What’s going on?” She appears in the doorway. 

You take a breath before you face her. You shrug. Adrienne scrambles around her and snatches your hand. 

“Oh my god, it’s huge.” 

“Stop,” you try to tug your hand back. 

“You’re marrying him?” Kitty’s voice deflates by the last syllable. “Why?” 

You look between them. You can tell one sliver of the truth. “To keep us safe.” 

“Us? We’ll be fine. Barnes says we get an inheritance, we get houses, money--” 

“And then what? It’s not enough to last forever,” you argue. “Even if we can find work, we’ll never make enough to keep that. How long did you work at the yogurt shop before daddy threatened to burn it down? And I have about a week’s experience down at the diner.” 

“We can start now--” 

“We can start now and never reach the finish line,” you insist. “Kitty, you know who daddy was. You sat there and watched what they did to that man today. This isn’t a life you walk away from, even if he’s dead.” 

Adrienne sniffles. She’s on the edge of tears again. 

“So, you do it over? Marry another one? Go through it again?” Kitty challenges. 

“He can make sure that neither of you have to--” 

“We don’t need you to be our martyr,” Kitty argues. 

“I’m not--” you seal your lips and sigh. You wish you could tell her. You wish you could say I shot that fuck and he deserved it because you know she would have loved to do the same thing. Yet, saying it out loud means admitting that you’re all trapped for that moment of vengeance. “Kitty, how much choice do you think he gave me?” 

She stares at you. She knows exactly how it works. There is no asking with these men. 

“We could all go. Disappear.” 

“And they wouldn’t find us? How far could we get, really?” 

“Not far,” Adrienne pipes in. “Kitty, would you rather daddy still be here?” 

Your older sister is silent as her jaw squares. 

“I could marry instead. Maybe not Barnes but someone else. It shouldn’t be you. I’m the oldest--” 

“It is me,” you say, “and it could be any one of us but this is how it is. It’s... not the worst.” 

“It’s not?” Kitty says. “That man stood and ordered another beaten to death. He didn’t flinch.” 

“I know,” you say. 

“No, you don’t know,” Kitty insists, “you can’t be sure that he isn’t like daddy.” 

She’s right. Barnes might have helped vanquish the monster but it can’t erase his own misdeeds. Yet, you asked for all of this. You went there in the middle of the night and sold your soul. You could excuse yourself with naivete, but you deserve more to be branded by it. 

“If it keeps you two from men like daddy--” 

“Stop,” Kitty grabs you by the shoulders. “None of us deserve it.” 

“You stop,” you wrap your fingers calmly around her forearms and peel her hold off of you. “Should I go hand that man his ring back or do you want do it for me?” 

She untangles her wrists from your grasp and recoils. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes up against the threat of tears. She stamps her foot in frustration. 

“You tell me,” she points her finger at you. You’re almost stunned by the fire in her voice and face. Kitty is the sweet one, she’s gentle, but she has your mother’s quiet strength. “You tell me if he ever puts a bruise on you. You fucking tell me.” 

“Kitty,” you murmur. 

Adrienne covers her mouth and watches, swept up in the fraught emotion of it all. 

“No, because I spent a lifetime watching you two cry over that beast we called a father,” she snarls. “I will not waste the rest of my life doing the same. I thought—I thought we were free. I wanted us to be free.” She curls her lip and exhales heavily. “So, you will not lie to me again. And I will know. I will see right through him so you don’t even try to cover it up. One bruise...” she wags her finger then throw up both her hands with a frustrated growl. “I sound like him.” She turns and drags her feet to the stairs. She sits on one and hangs her head. “I sound like daddy. I’m just so... tired.” 

You look at Adrienne and reach for her. She gives you her hand. You bring her over to Kitty and touch your elder sister’s shoulder. She looks up through sparkling eyes. 

“You will know. We will all know. We are sisters and this doesn’t change that,” you say. “We stick together, no matter what.” 

“Oh, we will,” Kitty insists, “I will be at your damn house every day and I will look at that man and I will see all the cracks. Trust me you. He will not take you from us.” 

“Kitty, Ade,” you look from one to the other, “no one can take us from each other. If daddy did one thing, it was making sure of that.” 

[lostberet]

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ MOB DAYCARE teaser | min yoongi (m)

𐙚 synopsis: After almost meeting Satan himself, Agust D is forced to take a hiatus from his underwork mob work. However, during his hiatus, he is stumbled upon a 4 year old. And so far, being a guardian is harder than being a mob leader.

༘⋆ genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , romance , violence, suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au , parenthood au .

༘⋆ disclaimer: Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, eventual smut, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

༘⋆ a/note: coming back with a new series even though I have not yet started HeartBurn, but I will soon!

NEXT

Have you told Agust D, the Panther mob clan leader he would be left to die 2 years ago, he would have laughed in your face before pointing a gun to your face and pulling the trigger. 

Have you told him he would be in a scenario in which he had to take a hiatus from his work a year ago, as he lay in the hospital, he would not believe you. He would not put a gun to your head, in fact, he would only shake his head. Because a year ago, he would have been almost sent to meet Satan himself. A year ago, he would have almost lost his life, a taste of death. And he didn’t like it.

Agust D stared blankly at the toddler sitting on the stairs outside his home. His mouth was dry as the burning sun stabbed his back. The man looked up at the sun, squinting. August D had been forced to leave work- his dirty work for a while. He had been taken to the mountains, far from the underground base to recover. Far from the city..

So far.. From the city.. So why was a toddler sitting on the stairs of his home? 

“Ay.. kid?” Agust questioned, his voice cracking from the dryness. The toddler only looked up at him, big eyes staring back at him, “where’s your mom? Dad?” 

The child only stared at Agust for a second. A second was enough for Agust to notice the sunburn cheeks of the child as well as the dried tears and dirty face on the child. As he stared hard at the child the kid’s bottom lip trembled before bursting into sobs, standing from where he sat and running towards the man. Startled by the sudden approach, Agust took a step back, catching his balance as the toddler hugged his leg, “mama!” 

The child cried as he gripped onto the older man harder, “ay! I ain’t your mama!” 

After an unsuccessful mission of leaving the child, Agust took him into his home. Setting him down in his beautiful living room with cartoons playing on the TV. With a frown on his face, Agust turned to look at his main group, “Whose fucking kid is this?” 

He received confused looks and frowns, “hyung..” The younger man started, clearing his throat, “there is no one living on this mountain..” Agust's face scar itches, causing him to wince, his head turning to meet the other, “so you’re saying this kid just got dropped off and left to die?” Agust grumbled, “Jungkook, please..”

“Jungkook is right, hyung,” Namjoon stated, looking up from his phone, “A possible failed kidnapping?” Agust- Yoongi stared back at Namjoon, “find this kid’s parents.” 

And as his team left his home, Yoongi looked back at the child, who stared at the TV, his small fingers in his mouth as he bit his nails. Biting the inside of his cheek, Yoongi called back to the group, “and bring some clothes for this kid, too.”

2024 © LOSTBERET, all rights reserved. please do not copy, plagiarize, translate, repost, or steal my work.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Nothing But Trouble | 1

Summary: Belonging to a mafia family wasn't something you were interested in. The moment you were given the opportunity to jump ship, you did. Yet, somehow, you were in the pockets of every syndicate in New York City. More importantly, Brooklyn's Commandos and their leader practically kissed the ground you walked on. But betrayal always tastes bitter. But Bucky never expected the first real love he's ever had to be behind the trigger of that betrayal. However, you keep maintaining your innocence.

THIS IS A DARK(ish?) FIC!

Warnings for the Series: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Assault. Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con and Dub-Con. Psychological Trauma. Not Canon Compliant. Manipulation. Hydra.

Pairing: mob!Bucky x reader, eventual Stucky x reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I don't really know if anything about reader's race will be brought up but I like to always note that at the beginning because black readers deserve stories too so if hair or culture does start to get brought up, it doesn't just come out of nowhere.

(Series Masterlist coming soon)

Mob life was never really your thing. Surprising, considering who your family was. The Rumlows ran their territory with an iron fist. You weren’t sure if you were the number one crime syndicate in New York City but your family was definitely in the top three. When people muttered about The Avengers Syndicate, the HYDRA family’s name appeared right behind them. So, it was a shock to the world of organized crime when HYDRA’s princess invited them all to a gala. 

The gala was nothing new. Balls made for perfect neutral territory no matter where they were held. And you had done a good job of inviting so many random citizens that there would be no justifiable way for anyone to start something that could only be ended with violence. Slightly tipsy and with full bellies, the heads of all the families — along with some of their children — happily obliged your request to meet in the private conference room of the hotel that the gala was being thrown at.

They had expected this to happen once they realized that you planned the gala for the same night as your sixteenth birthday. It was a common date for their children to choose. Either the 16th, 18th or 21st birthday. Eyes went wide as you pulled off your gloves and took off your necklace and bracelet with your family’s symbol. 

“I’m going to culinary school. I don’t know if I’ll be accepted here or not but wherever I go for school, I’m coming back to New York afterwards and I want to open a bakery. If you ever need to make a deal when my father has passed then please speak with my brother and not me.” 

Eyebrows raised. Brock was adopted when your parents found out that both of them had fertility issues that made conception near impossible. Not impossible enough because only a couple of years after adopting Brock, they had you. A lot of families wondered if he was going to be kicked to the curb but he stayed just as loved as he was before you. It was no secret that you were going to take over the family as the biological child.

However, when you confessed to your older brother that you didn’t want this life, Brock was overjoyed at the chance to be the head of the family. He made it a mission throughout middle school and most of high school to come up with a plan for you to get the life you wanted. You felt confident enough in his plan to host a gala and enact it. 

“I’d like to propose my bakery as neutral territory. A token of good faith and belief in my words. I’ll open it away from Harlem, in one of your territories, and pay a protection fee split amongst all the syndicates. If you need to make a business deal or discuss plans, please feel free to use my space as a permanent neutral settlement. No appointments needed. A code to the backdoor will be provided.” 

“Who’s territory are you suggesting?” one of the women asked. 

“Whoever will have me? I’m willing to move into an owned building or pay an additional rental fee simply for being there.” 

You were surprised at how many families were suddenly interested in what you were proposing. From the other end of the table, your brother gave you an approving nod. No one received a reply the night of the gala. Your family took time to look at everyone’s proposals and deals. In the end, your parents believed that it would be smart to pick one of the more central territories in Manhattan even if it involved higher charges. A central location that was convenient for all of the mobs was more likely to keep you safe no matter what. And that was how you found yourself working in Chelsea for years. 

Was your bakery the most popular in the city, let alone the neighborhood? No. But it was stable with lots of customers and plenty of regulars. And true to your word, the back door was always available. It was a rocky start at first. You sometimes forgot and thought people were breaking in. Sometimes the mobs would forget that you were running a completely legitimate business and weren’t spying when you would stumble into the backroom for another bag of flour. But the flow you settled into was one that offered you complete comfortability. 

There was now a shelf for guns right by the door whenever they entered, knives were still allowed as long as they weren’t throwable. You added a little tv in the room that connected to some of your security cameras so they were aware that you were coming in. One of your little neon signs that almost blended in with all the other decor only lit up when the rooms in the back were in use. All in all, it was a good situation. You thought as much even as you nearly jumped out of your skin when you looked up from the display case to see Steve Rogers walking in like he owned the place despite the ungodly hour. 

Steve smirked as he waited for you to finish up your little decorating and start up the espresso machine. He wasn’t sure why you were so afraid of him, although he had a few ideas. He never bothered to clean up before showing up to any meetings which meant more than once you’d seen him covered in blood splatters. Or maybe it’s because you happened to be picking up a flour shipment at the actual manufacturing warehouse at the same time that the Avengers were interrogating a man. Steve laughed to himself at that memory. 

None of the guards watching out front had warned you of the scene inside. Everyone important knew your face. So while the Avengers were prepared for you, you were unprepared for them. Sam had finished handing Steve a thicker pair of pliers before asking what you needed. 

You feebly held up your receipt as you watched the man in the interrogation chair get another one of his fingernails ripped out by Steve. The Avengers all chuckled at the squeak that left you when the man’s nose crunched underneath the blonde’s fist. You were only able to look away when Sam came back with a wagon full of flour, telling you to just leave the money for the factory owners on the table with the torture tools. They almost thought you could have been a track star with how quickly you ran out of the building. 

“Here,” you said, trying to steady your breathing. “Mr. Barnes’ usual and dark roast cappuccinos for everyone else.” 

“Thanks, doll.” 

He was almost out the door when you suddenly called his name. You came from around the counter with an envelope in hand. 

“I almost forgot, I’m going out of town for a family vac— I mean for personal time.” Steve snorted at your horrible attempt to cover up that you accidentally told him the entire Rumlow family was going to be out of New York at the same time. You delicately placed the envelope between the coffees in the drink tray. 

“There will be a temporary employee here and he doesn’t know about all this. He’s already been given specific instructions and I moved all of the ingredients to the hallway and locked the room door on my side but he doesn’t know about the money either. Can you make sure all the fees go to everyone, please?” 

“What am I your little errand boy now?” 

“N-no, no I’m sorry, I ju—” 

“Rumlow, relax. I’m just fucking with you. Everyone’ll get their money, can’t have the best bakery going under for some stupid shit. See you when you get back from your… personal time.” 

Steve walked out with the coffees, leaving the bakery empty once again. While your bakery had never crossed anyone, Bucky still only trusted his closest friend to pick up his drink. There was a small but real possibility that someone might tie you up in the storage room and poison your inventory just to get back at someone without being caught easily. Or that one of his own was bought out and replaced his coffee with something else. Or a whole host of reasons Bucky could think about. So, every morning he sent the second in command to head into Chelsea specifically for the team’s coffee. 

Most of your regulars were, in fact, syndicate members. The neutral territory meant that you could be trusted for a meal with no questions asked. Most of your menu was at request of them. They did good on keeping their neutral meeting ground safe and afloat. Which is why you were surprised to see Bucky Barnes himself and the heads of nearly every other syndicate in New York City sitting in the cafe portion of your bakery when you and your brother walked in the morning that you got back from your vacation. 

“You can’t just be hiring anyone when you want to take a vacation, Rumlow. Your little employee was busted stealing from the safe. One of Drysdale’s men,” Bucky said, throwing your brother the bags of money stolen from your safe. 

Your blood ran cold. Ransom Drysdale was well known to you. He wasn't from New York which meant he didn't play by New York rules. It wasn't common to be messed with from outside the territory but lately Boston syndicates wanted a piece of the real estate that was New York crime. You wanted nothing more than to play the dumb little naive girl about why your bakery was a target but you couldn't. You left the inner workings of mob life but you never left the life completely.

Not when you struck this deal so you could pretend to be a normal civilian. Not when you allowed the storage rooms to be meeting places. And not when you were the only business not directly owned by a syndicate that they could scrub clean their dirty laundry through. The obnoxious amount of money in your safe was a testament to that. 

It shouldn't have been there. And even if you were the most famous bakery in New York, it should have been deposited properly in the bank before the amount got too large. But no, you agreed to exchange the money bit by bit whenever customers paid and give the syndicates clean money they can use without raising suspicion. Another way to ensure you were protected but a dirty job nonetheless. All these little things add up if someone looked hard enough. Clearly the Drysdale's, maybe more Boston mobs, had been looking. 

“From now on, our men work here. Pick as many as you like. You need something, you tell them and they'll report back to us. Got it?” 

All you could do was nod. You were very aware of the new nickname that had been whispered behind your back for years now. You went from being HYDRA’s princess to the syndicates’ princess. It was something you would roll your eyes at before but now you actually felt like it was a nickname come true. Here you were in the middle of the bakery with the offer of nearly every man and woman in the city’s syndicates to be at your disposal. 

“Whoever you choose, I’m reassigning Zemo and Pierce,” Brock said. “They arrive before you start work and they don’t go home until you lock up.” 

“I don’t need babysitters.” 

Your brother snorted. “You think you would have outgrown this stubbornness. They’re bodyguards not babysitters. What if next time Drysdale’s men show up you’re here, huh? It’s not forever, okay?” 

“Two months.” 

“It’s not going to be that quick either. They’ll stay out of your way.” 

“Fine.” You went back to facing the other families. “Um, I’ll take Peter, MJ, and Wanda if that’s alright?” 

“Perfect,” Tony and Bucky said at the same time. 

You figured it was safe to use their people. The Starks and Barneses were essentially one family even if they denied it. Everyone was well aware of their ironclad alliance and the fact that they both worked under the Avengers identity — Bucky in charge of Brooklyn’s Commandos faction and Tony in charge of Tribeca’s SHIELD faction. In their entire existence, there was only one mild fallout that occurred and was resolved before the holidays even came. You knew their men got along and figured that would be nicer to deal with daily rather than near warring factions. 

“Parker and MJ will pick up Wanda every morning. They’ll be here by opening,” Tony ordered, looking to Bucky to see if it was okay with him. “Great. See you tomorrow, Rumlow, get some shut eye.” 

The first week of your new life wasn’t easy. Unlike what your brother had claimed, you were very aware of Zemo and Pierce’s presence. To their credit, they did try. But you were aware of their every movement. At least teaching your new employees wasn’t so bad. Wanda and Peter seemed to really enjoy baking. MJ, despite the near permanent scowl, had great customer service. And the three of them weren’t complaining at all when you made them every meal fresh. Neither were their bosses. Every time Peter, MJ, and Wanda came to headquarters, they brought huge catering boxes with them. 

Bucky rolled his eyes as everyone dug in like rabid animals. Although, his curiosity was piqued at the newest dessert sitting in the corner of the box. He wouldn’t admit it but Bucky was starting to develop quite the sweet tooth, specifically for your bakery. He knew every dessert on the menu. And these cherry tarts were new. He blinked when Wanda set the dessert in his hand. 

“She made this for you.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah, her brother is hosting some large party for New Years’ and plans on inviting everyone. Y/N wants to know everyone’s favorite desserts and I might have mentioned that you liked cherries. There’s a survey in here somewhere to fill out.” 

“Since when were you on a first name basis with Rumlow?” Nat asked, taking another croissant to hide away for later. 

“She’s so nice,” Wanda gushed. “Mob life was definitely not made for her. Poor thing couldn’t even remember how to handle a gun properly until MJ showed her.” 

“Are you serious?” 

The woman nodded. “She said it’s been ages since she last handled one. Her family isn’t too pleased about that.” 

The Commandos all nodded. Your family wasn’t wrong. Self-defense was still important to know even if you never had to worry about it between all the syndicates watching over you. Bucky bit into the cherry tart, savoring the flavor, as he made a mental note to ask if you needed a gun safe for the bakery. There was no way he could ever let a place with such amazing pastries go under. 

The cherry tart wouldn’t leave Bucky’s mind no matter how much he wanted it to. Sam and Steve wouldn’t stop sharing knowing looks behind his back or teasing him to his face. They weren’t sure if it was truly the dessert or the baker behind it. Their friend could deny it all he wanted but they knew the truth. It was confirmed when Bucky was up earlier than he ever had been before, telling them that he was coming with them to get the coffee. 

“Welcome to Th— oh, hello, Mr. Barnes,” MJ said, making you turn with a quickness from the display tray that you were setting new cookies in. 

“We were thinking of sitting in today. Would it be too much to trouble you for some pancakes, doll? I know you took those off the menu a few months ago.” 

“No trouble at all,” you blurted out. “I’ll be right on it, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Take your time.” 

He settled into the booth closest to the counter and kitchen. Up close, Bucky could see what Wanda meant. It was almost hard to believe that you were Brock’s sister. Rumlow had never even stuttered in the presence of others but you were a nervous wreck. Maybe it was wrong of him but he found it kind of endearing. Not the nerves themselves but just how the deer-in-headlights look made you even prettier. A sort of softness that contrasted against the gruff of his everyday life. 

You came back out with a tray of drinks and pancakes. The three men noticed how you refused to look Bucky in the eye but also avoided getting too close to Steve with a vengeance. Sam was the safe option. The only naturally friendly face. Sometimes you weren’t sure how he was in the mob. There didn’t seem to be a darkness or violence behind his eyes like with the others. 

If they weren’t afraid of scaring you, they might have laughed when you noticed the bit of blood on Steve’s rings and gasped way louder than you intended. The blonde pocketed the jewelry, muttering that he must have forgotten. Neither Bucky nor Sam could understand why Steve scared you so much. Sure, he was usually the one getting his hands dirty but your brother’s work wasn’t exactly nice and clean. Of course, they didn’t know that you had never discussed family work whenever you visited your parents or brother. 

You gasped for a second time when you realized that nearly jumping out of your skin at the sight of the bloodied rings caused you to spill some coffee right onto Bucky. He froze up when you grabbed his metal arm without hesitation, dabbing it dry with as many napkins as possible. Even Sam and Steve stopped smiling to just watch the scene in front of them. No one but them had ever touched Bucky’s prosthetic. Not only was it a sore spot for the mob boss but it simply freaked others out. He was the prototype for Stark Industries latest start-up in partnership with Wakanda’s outreach program. 

Tony saw a way to kill two birds with one stone back in the day. He earned the cleanest and most legitimate business possible in the tech field with this partnership, washing his money through a foreign country without raising an ounce of suspicion from law enforcement. And he also had a token of good faith to make up with the Commandos. Bucky received the very first iteration of their prosthetic arms, with a lot more tech than what was going to hit the market.

Everyone was aware of the extra perks in Bucky’s model and that made them hesitate to get close to him. But you didn’t even think. You just reached for the metal limb and tried to clean it off before any coffee got into the grooves between plates. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barnes. I di—” 

Bucky covered your hand with his other one, taking the napkin. “It’s fine, doll. Thank you.” 

You nodded. “I’ll be back with a refill for your coffee. On the house.” 

When you came back, Bucky couldn’t help himself. He lightly touched your elbow under the guise of keeping you steady so you wouldn’t spill on him again. All three men observed how you didn't flinch at all at his touch. It was almost like you didn't even notice the metal. Steve and Sam gave each other knowing looks. Even if he didn't admit it now, they knew Bucky was going to be a goner for you.

Their friend wasn't shy by any means. He had plenty of men and women over the years, especially women, before the accident. That didn't stop just because of his new limb but Bucky was aware of how it made all the interactions different. Even the workers at his clubs couldn't help themselves but freeze up or flinch when the vibranium brushed against them unexpectedly. 

Throughout the impromptu sit-down breakfast, Bucky kept finding reasons to touch you with his metal arm. Sam shook his head in exasperated fondness. You were being tested and you didn't even know it. And with each stage of the test, you passed in a way Bucky had never experienced before outside of his immediate inner circle. 

Ever since that morning, Bucky incorporated eating proper breakfast at your bakery before it opened into his schedule at least three times a week. He would go every day if duty never called. But he never went long without showing up, even once the holidays rolled around. Sometimes it was just him, other times him and part of his inner circle. Steve and Sam tagged along the most frequently. You had gotten used to seeing the mob boss at the table near your counter that seemed to be his permanent spot in the cafe. So used to the sight that even his second in command didn't frighten you anymore. 

You were still scared of Steve but it was more of a wariness than a proper fright. You knew what he was capable of and that didn't just go away overnight. But now, you no longer gasped at the suddenness of his arrival or flinched at every one of his movements. You simply avoided orbiting too close and rarely met his eyes if you had spotted any blood or dirt on his clothes. It wasn’t right for them to revel in it. But, Steve did like knowing that he still had a fearful reputation. Amongst other mob members, especially his own team, it was hard to tell if he still had that edge sometimes. You more than confirmed that for him. 

However, he and Sam didn’t get how you weren’t afraid of Bucky. Or more specifically Bucky’s arm. If Clint brought a shiver up your spine when you almost brushed against the hidden knives in his jacket sleeve then surely the very obvious and very deadly hunk of vibranium that rested on the table and drummed its fingers should have had you running for the hills. It was a couple of days before the New Years’ Party that your brother was throwing and Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know the truth no matter how much glaring he would receive for the next few weeks. 

“How come you never jump whenever metal man puts his hand on you?” 

“Huh?” You looked down to see Bucky’s fingers retreating quickly from where he held your elbow steady as you prepared pour over coffee for their table. “Am I supposed to be afraid of a prosthetic?” 

“Most people are,” he murmured quietly, blue eyes narrowed at Sam instead of focused on you. 

“Well, that’s fucking dumb.” You ignored the snorts that came from all three of them. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then people should be more afraid about your knife skills and trigger finger rather than an arm that can be thrown in the dishwasher.” 

Neither Steve nor Sam could hide their laughter. Even MJ, Peter, and Wanda were snickering in the back. The only thing Bucky could do was give you a lazy up-down, not even trying to hide that he was doing so. Sure, he might have finally admitted the other day that he kept coming because you were attractive. But he never gave his fantasies any thought past bending you over the bakery’s counter and fucking you until your legs were shaking and you’d have to be carried to the car for round two back in his bed. You seemed too naive or fearful past that, even if Wanda testified otherwise. But here in front of him was a bit of that wit that he heard about. And Bucky really liked it. 

“Doll, this thing is too precious for the dishwasher.” 

You scoffed. “I’ve washed necklaces worth more than that in my dishwasher since I was seven. Opal, soft stones. Never damaged. I think a little vibranium will be just fine. Would you like to try it, Mr. Barnes?” 

The entire bakery went quiet when you held out your hand expectantly. MJ had half a mind to jump over the counter and pull you into the kitchen before you got hurt. Steve was preparing to talk his friend off the ledge while silently communicating with Sam to get ready to push you anywhere but within their friend’s reach. No one touched Bucky Barnes’ arm without his permission. And no one had ever requested he remove it.

Even Steve and Sam rarely saw him without it in the privacy of their own home. Not a single one of his lovers were given the privilege, having never gone far enough in the relationship for him to grant them that. Bucky just stared at your hand for a moment before flitting back up to your face. There was no teasing, no hint of malice, no demands. And yet he felt like he was being commanded nonetheless. As if you knew he would hand it over simply because you asked for it. 

One corner of his mouth started to pull up. Bucky knew exactly what he was about to declare with such a simple gesture. He knew he was fucked and yet he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he was sure that he might be enjoying it. 

“You’re trouble, princess,” he said, twisting ever so slightly on the arm so it would pop out. “And it’s Bucky.” 

“I’ll be right back, Mr. Ba— Bucky.” 

You cradled the arm gently, setting it in the top shelf of the dishwasher. As if it was one of your speciality bakes, you set a timer so the arm could be returned to its proper owner in a timely fashion. Bucky watched you flit around to finish cleaning and organizing before going back to his meal. 

“Are we going to talk about that?” Steve asked. 

“Nothing to talk about.” 

“Like hell there isn’t, Buck.” 

You came back roughly fifteen minutes later with a freshly cleaned arm. Bucky paused as he popped it back into place. The faintest hint of peppermint dish soap still lingered on the metal. He wasn’t sure how long the scent would last and he found himself not caring. 

“Thanks.” 

You weren’t sure where the sudden rush of confidence came from. But as the three men stood up to pay and then leave, you adjusted Bucky’s collar and reached into his coat pocket to pull out his wallet. Peter, MJ, and Wanda watched on in shock as you pulled out all the cash from the folded up leather and replaced it with cleaned money from the cash register. 

“Any time you want that cleaned, let me know. Free of charge.” 

“I’ve got to give you some sort of tip.” 

“Be my date to my brother’s party.” 

“Me?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“The only other man I talk to as frequently as you is Peter and he’s taken if you hadn’t noticed. Wanda scored a date with Mr. Stark’s tech guy Vis or something so she’s off the market as well. I thought you all said I was a princess. Well, now I am requesting a knight in shining armor.” 

Bucky let out a laugh, a genuine one, when you gestured to his prosthetic. He swiped his wallet back from you and dug through it until he found his second set of business cards that only had a blank slot for names and a print of his signet ring that he liked to use as a stamp. Scribbling your name in the blank, Bucky handed the card to you. 

“The driver will pick you up at five thirty. You can get ready in Brooklyn. I’ll see you soon, Trouble.” 

“It’s Y/N.” 

“I know,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I think Trouble suits you better.”

✭

(part 2 coming soon)

[spitdrunken]

Cannibal Town Mob Characters & Reader, Rosie & Reader (not x Reader since there is no explicitly romantic content, though it could be read as such.) Notes: (consensual!) cannibalism, amputation, noncon mention (unrelated to reader), death mentions, AKA Reader is kept for meat by Cannibal Town and gets protected in return.

Please don’t read this to upset/trigger yourself, this is essentially a cannibalism kink fic, though it doesn’t contain any sexual content or graphic violence. You have been warned.

There are two main ways to make quick cash in the Pride Ring.

One of these is to sell your soul for money. It certainly is not unheard of for some deals to be struck, especially not for those particularly desperate or down on their luck, but most would not want permanent servitude in exchange for money alone. A soul is a hefty price to pay indeed, no matter what is offered in return.

The second, and far more popular method, is to sell one’s body. Usually, this refers to sex work. There are a dime a dozen demons offering to suck you off or fuck you silly for, frankly, self-abasing prices. But this work is far without its own risks. If you don’t rely on your instincts, you could easily get butchered by a trick. Even if you can, quite literally, pull yourself back together afterward, that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. Not to mention, if you get too popular, you could easily get swooped up and ‘forcefully employed’ by someone like Valentino.

There are some who, because of the risks of the former, choose to take another route. It is not much better of an option, really. But if one wants quick money without working, how can they expect to have a game rigged in their favour?

The last, and least used way, to ‘get rich quick’ in the Pride Ring, is to sell your body parts to Cannibal Town. The rarer and more special type of demon you are, the more money it’ll fetch you, of course. The citizens of Cannibal Town might just as easily gang up on someone and tear them apart for coming too close, but there are those who simply want to cook up a nice meal for their husband at home, or the like. The meat for this is provided through such means.

The reason why such a thing is not far more popular is because, despite being unable to die and one’s limbs regrowing without a shred of doubt, is that it is excruciatingly painful to go through. Cannibals, as a rule, prefer their meat to be as untarnished as possible. Anything such as sedatives, drugs, or sleeping pills, is certain to ruin the flavour, in one way or another. According to them, at least. No matter one’s desperation, to get willingly dismembered or disemboweled is a bridge that only a scarce few are willing to cross.

You are not among those people. Though you hadn’t stayed in Cannibal Town for the money, either.

Rather, it was the protection from all kinds of demons running around the streets of Pride, the unpredictable and unforgivable nature of life there. You’re a rather humanoid-looking demon, at least from a distance, and aided you in your popularity within Cannibal Town. Sinners with such appearances as yours are rare, after all. That was the sole reason you weren’t torn apart on the spot when getting close to the town in what citizens would have described as ‘improper attire’. No, one of them had recognised your worth for what it was, and brought you over to Rosie.

She was utterly delighted to see a cutie such as yourself, and seeing the haggard and twitchy state of your being, immediately offers you an agreement. The entire protection and care of the colony, in return for a… Hm, a regular consumption of your body, is that how she shall put it? Rosie talks of the subject with an airy tone and a genuine smile on her face, the entire attitude of hers entirely surprising to you.

To put it frankly, she was the nicest demon you have met in Hell so far— And the most honest about her intention of hurting you, too. The sharpness of her teeth isn’t something that passed you by, nor the way she keeps looking you up and down. If it weren’t for her beliefs in decorum, you have the feeling she would be salivating.

She can sense your obvious nerves, and pulls back a little. You don’t have to offer your soul, if that’s what you’re worried about, dear. Just look at it as… A mutually beneficial relationship! You won’t have to worry about a thing for the rest of eternity anymore, and we will get another regular food source! Rest assured, you’ll be able to get plenty of rest in between. You shift from one feet to the other, both nervous from the mere discussion of the situation of being eaten, and the general idea of having an Overlord sitting in front of you, being so nice to you. You swallow. Will it… Hurt? You ask. Because, really, if it doesn’t, you might seriously start considering this. It is an insane thought even to yourself, but life in Hell hasn’t been easy for you, one who wasn’t gifted with physical strength nor some kind of strange power. You’re merely a run-of-the-mill Sinner, and for demons such as yourself, you have to resort to doing some strange things in order to survive. Rosie’s smile softens. Oh, dear, is that what you’re so worried about? She flicks her wrist as if waving away all of your worries. I’m sure you have seen my people out and about, tearing up some poor, unfortunate fellow, haven’t you? Is that the image you have of us? You nod, immediately and rapidly, feeling your eyes widening. Rosie laughs a little at the strength of your response, and leans forward, elbows leaned on the table in between the two of you. The tea in her cup moves a little, nearly sloshing over the rim. Well, let me tell you a little secret. I won't lie, and say that doesn't happen often, because it does. But it won't be your fate, dear. In fact... That’s not what you’ll be treated like at all! She leans back, hands folded in front of her on the table. No, I can promise you that, as long as I’m here, it’ll be as comfortable and painless as possible! You’ll get treated like royalty, I promise. Now, the specifics of such a procedure are not the type of thing appropriate over teatime, my dear, but I will tell you that you will be all blacked out sooner than you can count to ten!

You know that you can never truly die down here, still, the idea of being hurt is still terrifying to you. It would place in an immense amount of trust in the hands of the other party, to allow yourself to be torn apart, and have the belief that you simply won’t be tortured into infinity. And yet… You know that, out there, you would simply return to a life on the streets, knowing that every demon you look at wrong might as well bash your skull in. Would it be… That bad to try? You’d heard stories before, but never met anyone, who’d gone through with something like this. So, rather than immediately denying, you ask for more details. The protection of the colony means exactly what it sounds like. Within the confines of Cannibal Colony, everyone looks out for each other like a family, and, then, that would include you. If you were to venture outside of the colony, you could always have to get someone accompanying you. But I don’t believe you would want to go out much once you get settled in. Rosie tells you. Plus, this protection is to a point. You seem to be a sweetheart, dear, so I don’t think I need to say this, but no angering Overlords, or anything like that! That’s all on you, if it happens. Care, on the other hand, meant that you would get all of your needs provided for. Things like food, clothes, and shelter would all be taken care of for you, rather than a possible disaster waiting to happen. (Oh, I know my people can seem a little rough… Well, ravenous, around the edges. But they really are sweethearts at their core, you know!) You make a choice that could either ruin the rest of eternity for you, or make it a whole lot more pleasant. …Could I try it out, just once?

The first time going through it all, you were incredibly nervous and antsy. Even despite the beautiful room, the well-fitting clothes, and the regular meals provided to you, you were afraid that they would simply jump at you and tear you apart at any moment. And, sure, some of the inhabitants do look at you like a slab of meat walking around, especially during first meetings. You even got your arms pinched once or twice, but it never went any further than that. It had always seemed to you that the people of Cannibal Town were an uncontrollable force, driven by pure bloodlust more often than not but, it seemed, they were perfectly capable of restraining themselves when the situation called for it.

You come to know some of the other demons in similar situations to you, and there are not a lot of them. Either they look entirely ‘familiar’, whereas you look nearly identical to a human person, there is a female demon who looks as close to a sheep as they get, there are also a few who are downright strange— So unlike any other demon you’ve ever seen before, that you may understand why they would be interested in how one might taste. They’re all good-natured (it seems that Rosie isn’t all too fond of allowing troublemakers inside her little community), and happy to have someone new alongside themselves.

You quickly learn that most of the meat found here is either from unfortunate victims wandering in, or from people selling parts of their body for some quick money. You, on the other hand, would be considered a more ‘premium’ product, taken good care of and preserved carefully. One might think that this would create a kind of divide between you and the rest of the citizens, but it hardly does. There’s no lingering fear of death hanging over you, after all, even if parts of your body are consumed, even if all of you were consumed, it wouldn’t actually be going anywhere.

You find something in Cannibal Town that you haven’t found anywhere else in Hell: a sense of community. The men and women alike welcome you with open arms, always happy to welcome a new face open to their ways. Because you’re such a prized inhabitant, you never have to do any actual work, any of your attempts at doing so waved away.

But you’ll be taught how to dance and sing, which are favourite past times of the vast majority of citizens, dragged along from one celebration to the next. You’ll be taken to tea parties and asked to go on dinners, always greeted by everyone with a smile (Well… With a few exceptions) and, generally, treated well. You haven’t been this well-rested and fed since… Well, ever, down here, really, and you find yourself appreciating the choice you’ve made.

All the while, however, the idea of being eaten looms over you. And, eventually, you are awoken one day, and told that it’s time. It’s Rosie herself who comes to take and bring you to your appointment, as cordial and nice as ever.

Demons tend to get a little flighty, when it’s their first time. She tells you. I’ll be there to look after you, and make sure everything goes alright. You know what that translates to, really. She’s here to ensure you don’t take off running after all their hospitality, her hand clutched around your wrist, gently pulling you along. As long as she’s here, you know that you can’t escape.

Despite the reassurance from the other demons staying there (unlike the ones being paid in cash to offer their limbs) the process is nearly painless, you can’t stop the trembling in your legs. You are being dragged to your execution, or so to speak. Rosie rubs little circles on your skin with her thumb, but of course, it’s not enough to kill your nerves.

You’re made to undress behind a screen, and when you emerge, arms and hands covering your sensitive areas, shivering and covered in goosebumps, Rosie cooes at you. Oh, you poor thing. I promise, it’ll get better after the first time! Your eyes flit about the room. There’s a large table in the middle, seemingly made of steel, free of any suspicious stains. It’s wide enough to easily fit two of you on it, and Rosie pats it for you to sit on. She’s not the only demon in the room, another one standing in front of the doors, and another one in front of a curtain-covered window.

After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down, seeing no other way out of here. Rosie places her hand on your shoulder, and pushes you down until you’re in a lying position. Without a hint of hesitation, and her smile never wavering, she takes your arms, and places them next to your body, telling you that it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, dear, no need to be ashamed! And of course you still are. You feel exposed, in multiple senses of the word, not even physically, but also in the amount of trust it takes for you to lie here, unrestrained, and allow yourself to be taken apart— Knowing you’ll emerge once again, one day, but still. It’s almost… An intimate act, despite the clinical feel of the room.

Rosie places a hand on your cheek. With the other hand, she reaches for a pocket hiding amongst the seams of her dress, and takes out a knife. It’s long and sharp, the light catching on the blade just right, and making it gleam.

Now, I will tell you how this is going to go. Keep your eyes on me. She tells you, voice still as light and airy, as if you were merely talking about the weather. That really was one of her talents, you believed. She could sound completely harmless, regardless of the reality of the situation. Of the weapon in her hand.

I’m going to use this to pierce your heart. It will hurt for a moment, I cannot deny that, it’s simply the reality of the situation, my dear, but it will only be for a moment. After that, it’ll be like going to sleep, and once you wake up, all of this will be over, okay? You will be going into recovery, and all of us will be here to guide you every step of the way.

She shows you the tip of her blade, running it up the side of her finger. You’re frozen, every primal instinct left inside you screaming at you to run, but all of the colliding feelings of shame and fear and the knowledge of the futility of your struggle and the inevitability of it all leave you unable to move.

You have been so focused on Rosie’s words and explanation, to the blade pressed so close right above your racing heart, and absentmindedly, you wonder, why it’s not moving, your heart’s hammering against your ribcage, so why isn’t it creaking, why isn’t it bursting through?, that you haven’t noticed the other demon coming up behind you, the window in the corner now left unguarded. There is a sharp pain at the back of your neck, there is the sensation of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and then there is nothing.

Rosie’s blade never even penetrated your skin.

You wake up in your own room, your assigned caretaker smiling wider as soon as you wake up. They are ready with an apology and an explanation, telling you that the kind of distraction used on you is procedure for the first time. It’s easier when you’re focused on something else, and don’t think anything’s going to happen yet; there’s less chance for you to struggle, and possibly hurt yourself. How are you feeling?

You are feeling… Better than you expected. Sore all over, exhausted, and your throat is parched. When you ask for water in a raspy sort of voice, a little cup is immediately pressed to your lips, and you can drink to your heart’s content. You’re scared to look down at your own body at first, nervous to see how much is taken from you. But you can feel the parts of you that are missing. A constant burning and itching travels through your shoulder and right thigh, the feeling of your limbs regenerating themselves. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not painful, either. The wounds are bandaged neatly, and they’ve already stopped bleeding. It takes a couple more days of bed rest, before you’re out and about again, rolling yourself around in a wheelchair specifically for this purpose.

And then, you are greeted with something you hadn’t been expecting. One of the Cannibal Town girls who helped teach you the kinds of dances you’d only recognized from old movies, approaches you with an even wider smile than usual. She presses a quick kiss to both of your cheeks, before saying that it’s so lovely to see you again! Oh, she really has to tell you, though she’s sure you’ve heard it before, but you are absolutely delicious— Did you know that? She giggles a little, taking out her fan and waving it a little, hiding her expression. It’s the best compliment you can get around here! Really, they’ll have to start a waiting list, with how many people are wanting to get even a little taste of you…!

It’s a strange compliment to receive, definitely, but it’s also… Oddly flattering? You can’t really do anything about tasting a certain way, but it’s still nice to be on the receiving end of such positive attention. Because she’s hardly the last to approach you with similar sentiments that day. Apparently, word has traveled fast, or little bits and pieces of your limbs have been shared amongst a large group of citizens, because almost everyone has something nice to say.

There are the ones who simply compliment you on your taste. Besides that, there are some who, in a way that seems to be closer to flirting than anything else, tell you that they wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of you raw any time. A few people share their ideas for recipes using your meat, while also making suggestions for types of diets you should consume, in order to steer your flavor into a certain direction. It’s a, honestly, overwhelming amount of attention, and you don’t know how to handle all of it.

Even Rosie invites you to teatime afterwards, not immediately getting into the heart of the topic. First, while offering you a cup of tea and a cookie, she asks you whether or not they got the right arm— We wanted to make it a bit easier on you by not taking your dominant hand! And then talks a bit about how the weather has been, and any large shifts around town that took place in the couple of days that you were down for the count.

Still, after a bit, she shows you the enthusiasm characteristic of her and her people, telling you of how she had one of your fingers for a snack, earlier, and oh, it was simply delightful! What’s your secret? She says, laughing hard enough for you to know that it’s a joke.

Please, she says, Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help your recovery along, dear! I knew you had potential the moment I saw you, and I’m glad to be proven right! She hums in thought. Next time, and, oh, it’ll be a while yet, don’t you worry, we’ll be taken all of your limbs. There will be someone assigned to take care of you as you regenerate, to feed and look after you. Dear, usually there’s a bit of a slower buildup, but demand is soaring as it is…!Something shifts in her gaze as she leans her chin on one of her hands, pupil-less eyes undoubtedly focused and yours. …And I wouldn’t mind getting a bit more of a taste, either.

It is a reminder that Rosie is still one of her people, and an Overlord for good reason. (There was also no room for argument, in regards to her taking more of your limbs.) It should scare you, perhaps, but these demons have treated you better than anyone else. Though there’s some lingering fear at the idea of a next time, you still smile at her in return. I hope everyone enjoys me next time, too.

[shmuel-ben-sarah-kcd2]

i'd love to hear more of your thoughts about samuel! maybe the scar lore? maybe his and miriam's relationship? 👀

howdy there! So I’m going to start this off with a MASSIVE Trigger Warning for antisemitism, depictions of violence, and spoilers for Exodus onwards. This shit gets pretty heavy chat and we’re having a bad time.

It is stated in the game that Samuel, Sara, and Rabbi Jehuda lived in Prauge for a few years before returning to Kuttenberg. I set the year of his birth to 1379, after Rosh Hashanah, so he’s twenty four in the events of canon, and he’s nine years old on Easter of 1389.

“Easter Sunday that year coincided with the last day of Pesach. A priest who was leading the Easter procession through the ghetto was hit by some pebbles and caught in the cross fire of some Jewish children playing in a sandbox. The priest, who was carrying an eucharistic wafer claimed that pebbles hitting him, made him drop the host.

He insisted that the community purposely plotted against. him. The priest's followers beaup the boys. The parents of the boys came to the defense of thair children. The clergy led byJesek Ctyrhranny riled up the mobs to take vengeance. A mob was then incited to attack the ghetto. Jews were bludgeoned to death with axes and killed with bows and arrows.

The synagogue was destroyed and the Torah scrolls were trampled and stepped on.

The buildings were set ablaze and the homes were pillaged.

According to a Latin parody Christians fell upon all Jews, amputating their limbs one by one....”

five hundred of us were slaughtered, half to two thirds of our population in Prauge.

I count Samuel, his mother, and his Zayde among the survivors. I count his Bubbe Chava, his aunt Esther, and his best friend, Benjamin, among the massacred, the martyred.

Samuel and Benjamin were among the boys playing in the street. And it was Samuel whose aim slipped.

the burn scars, the jagged gash across the back of his head from being slammed into the stones on the street, several of the blows by blade, and the piercing wound of a pitchfork going through his leg, these are all from the pogrom.

by all accounts, he should not have survived. He was knocked unconscious, and as he was not a girl, the mob moved on to slaughter others. His Zayde pulled him, carried him to safety, until the two of them had made it far enough out of the city to see the flames but not hear the screams.

it is there, that Jehuda stops, does what he can to bandage his grandson’s worst injuries, giving the boy a knife to defend himself, telling him that if he didn’t come back, Samuel should run that way to try and get to the next tow over. then rabbi Jehuda hides his grandson, placing his hands on Samuel’s head, and whispering a brucha. And so Samuel became a man. (This is nearly word for word what happened to my Czech Jewish great grandfather when the soldiers came…)

While his Zayde was able to find Sara alive, he was unable to save anyone else. All three will blame themselves.

Now, as for Miriam and Samuel. When Samuel moved back to Kuttenberg he was a lonely boy, still recovering, scared to play lest he begin another pogrom. But Miriam and her older brother Moshe kind of forced their way into his life. He taught them both how to read Czech and German (Moshe learned Hebrew in Cheder, and taught Miriam how to write Hebrew script and Yiddish is phonetic mostly anyway) and they taught him how to read a man (Miriam) and gut an animal the kosher way (Moshe, their father aas a butcher by trade) and to close a wound.

the three were really thick as thieves. Samuel had a little bit of a crush on both of them, to be honest. And of course, with all the fighting, the three organized a self defense milita. It had to be kept hidden from the goyim (we were not allowed to own weapons) but it was the ghetto’s only hope when a pogrom came.

Miriam and Samuel eventually parted ways, Samuel going to yeshiva for a year before returning to Kuttenberg, Miriam getting hired to work for Von Bergow, to keep an ear to the floor so she could warn her people when the next attack was coming.

[crowsofdarkness]

Arranged: Chapter Twenty

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Tags: @sakuracyberhex

The birds chirped through the open window as my eyes fluttered open, the blurriness of the room faded. Memories of what happened came back and I sat up in bed with a start. I lifted my shirt over my stomach and gasped when I noticed the bullet hole was gone, the skin looked like it had never been torn. 

“The serum worked.” 

I jumped slightly, shirt falling, and saw Bucky sitting in the chair across from our bed. 

“How long have I been out?” I asked. 

He ran a hand over his chin and I noticed how tired and bloodshot his eyes looked. 

“Few hours,” he admitted. 

“Oh,” I nodded. 

The sinking feeling in my stomach wouldn’t subside until I knew what happened.

“Are Steve and Sam alright?” 

Bucky gave me a half smirk. “They’ve dealt with worse.” 

I began fidgeting with my fingers when I realized that the pain I felt inside still wouldn’t leave. “Did you, uh, take care of John?” 

Bucky nodded. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll.” 

Tears welled at the corners of my eyes when the disgusting feeling filled me once again. It was overwhelming that I gnawed on the inside of my cheek in hopes to keep myself from getting nauseous. 

I thought that killing John would give me a sense of satisfaction for avenging my parents but it only made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be here. I wish that the serum hadn’t worked. 

My soft sobs filled the room and Bucky was at my side in a flash, sitting on the edge of the bed. With his vibranium thumb, he began wiping away the tears. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” 

I sniffled. “I thought that I would feel better about my parents dying if I was the one who pulled the trigger but I feel so disgusted with myself that I did that.” 

Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the gun.” 

“I don’t know if this feeling is ever going to go away,” I admitted. 

He brushed his soft lips across my forehead then leaned his against mine. I could feel his warm breath over my face. 

“I’ll be here for whatever you need,” he vowed. 

My lips trembled with a sob as I pulled away from him and shook my head. “No.” 

Bucky looked at me puzzled. “What do you mean?” 

I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my head on them. “I think I need some time alone.” 

His mouth fell in sync with his shoulders. “Wh-what?” 

“With everything that has happened, it might be best for us if we spend some time apart, Bucky. We were rushed into this marriage because of the arrangement and instead of using the time to get to know each other, we spent it finding my parents' killer.” 

“So let’s get away, just the two of us. Our honeymoon,” Bucky suggested as he reached for me. 

I hastily got out of bed, not wanting him to touch me. If I felt his skin on mine, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I would break and end up staying with him. 

“I need space, Bucky. Can you please understand that?” 

He ran a distressed hand through his hair. “Okay, I’ll go stay with Steve for a few days.” 

Tears rolled down my face, the saltiness tasted bitter on my tongue, and I shook my head. 

“I need to leave. Get far away for a bit.” 

Bucky was fast on his feet, head shaking rapidly. “No, Y/N. I’ll go stay with Steve and you can stay here. Take all the time you need.” 

I held up my hands to stop him, sobs shaking through my body. “Stop, please don’t come closer. I’m afraid that if you touch me that I’ll fall into you and stay. I can’t.” 

“Doll, we can figure this out,” Bucky said. 

“I love you, Bucky! Don’t you understand that?” I blurted, biting my lip right after. 

He stared at me wide eyed, his chest rising with a very deep breath. My admission had knocked him off of his feet, him falling back onto the bed. His blue iris dilated and he did his best to find the right words, hesitant breaths falling from his parted lips. 

My shoulders slumped. “I love you. Even after everything you lied to me about, I still fucking love you. Which is why I need to leave because I can’t stay with you knowing that you don’t feel the same.”

Bucky was still silent, not knowing what to say.

“I would love to stay with you, Bucky. But this life,” I said while motioning around the room, “This mob life isn’t for me and I can’t make you give it up. Because it’s clearly important to you.” 

“I can keep it separate if that will help you,” Bucky said. 

I let out a shaky breath. “It’s not enough.” 

“I only lied to you to keep you safe, doll. Please understand that,” Bucky insisted. 

I was tired of the same excuse. Nothing changed from the first time he used that excuse and nothing was going to change with us. I couldn’t stay with him knowing that he was only using me to cash in a wife.  

There was also a quick thought of if I hadn’t agreed to this marriage, my parents would still be alive. They wouldn’t be too happy with my choice but at least they would have been around. 

“I need some time to pack my things and I’ll be gone. Give me a few hours.” 

I turned on my heels, ready to walk away, but cold fingers gently wrapped around my wrist to stop me. I looked down at Bucky’s broken face and saw a lone tear roll over his cheek; the rest of the tears pooled at the corner of his eyes. 

“What about this?” He asked, lifting up my left hand. 

My wedding ring glimmered in the setting sun that broke through the curtains on the window and felt guilty for even thinking of doing this. 

I went to take it off, ready to give it back to Bucky, but he wrapped his hand over mine to stop me. 

“If there’s even a small chance that this could work out between us, keep it please,” Bucky’s voice cracked. 

I nodded. “Okay.” 

The warmess from his grasp was gone, a chill washing over me, and I couldn’t help but stand there awkwardly in front of him. The decision to leave was already made, I wasn’t going to change it. But there was a small part that wanted Bucky to say those words. 

“Can you tell me that you feel the same?” I asked. 

Bucky faltered. “Honestly, I don’t know how to feel. You’re leaving me, doll. If I tell you what you want to hear, will it make you stay?” 

The last bandage that had been holding my broken heart together faded, pieces falling into the pits of my stomach. There was no surprise that he didn’t feel the same, I had a feeling. But it still hurt when I heard him admit it. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” I bent low and left a firm kiss on his lips, savoring the way he tasted for the last time. 

He always tasted like mint, from either his toothpaste or gum. 

Bucky had no issues with returning the kiss, his hands gripping tightly to my hips to lock me in place. Fingers ran through his hair and I grasped the back of his neck to deepen our kiss. 

“Y/N,” Bucky moaned into my lips. “Stay, please.” 

Reluctantly, I pulled away and rested my forehead against his. “I love you.” 

With my own shaking hands, I removed him from my hips and left him behind on our once shared bed. With my back turned, I didn’t see the way that Bucky put his head in his hands and with the way his body shook, he let the tears finally fall.