#except part of the reflection is how much they both love Mob | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

champagne problems

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: smut

a/n: oooo smut. the next chapter is the last and i’m depressed about it already

TOLERATE IT - TIS THE DAMN SEASON

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers, you’re not sure which is worse ...

Her shift dragged; it seemed as if the clock was stuck and moving only a minute after three hours had passed and even though there was the same sea of people coming through the doors of the club, the shift felt slow. Everything was in slow motion and her eyes daren’t move from the bar. Bobby was still on holiday and as such it as merely her, ignoring everyone and every word which came her way and ignoring Edward who kept nagging her about Mr. Barnes, a person who she didn’t want to look at.

She didn’t understand how one could just pretend to be entranced by another one and just turn it on yet she would also not debate her mind about what her feelings were for her boss, the same boss she was supposed to betray. She was supposed to betray him and yet she didn’t know how or even if she wanted to. Why should she? They clearly had sent Edward in and him being the spineless vermin he was, she was sure he’d quickly join his group by quickly sleeping with the woman who surrounded the mob boss. The women ... the women were always so beautiful, beautiful enough to make Y/N want to make herself up before she came up to the bar, feeling too bland next to the gorgeous women who paraded around him. Beautiful dresses, spotless faces, beautiful makeup, beautiful hair and here she was, in her old cardigan cleaning the bar with dirty rags stinking of a mix between bleach, peanuts and booze.

Once the lights were up and every single glass was washed and placed on their due shelf for tomorrow she was out. Bag hanging from her shoulder and books against her chest, she took the backdoor. The front door always had freshly drunk or high people whom she wanted no problems with. As she pushed the door open, she saw him, smoking in front of him car looking so effortlessly cool, chic even. It was pouring, raining so harshly it would drench anyone who dared step foot in yet he just stood there unbothered, cigarette still somehow burning, water drops rolling of his trench coat. Usually she would’ve entered the car and allow herself to be driven home; instead she turned her head to the side, pretending she hadn’t seen him. He, however, had seen her.

- Wanda picking you up today, petal? - he said in a mocking tone, throwing the butt onto the bin.

- No, sir. - she stopped, still not daring to look at him. - I thought about walking home alone.

- At night? When it’s pouring? Sometimes I think you like to get hurt, petal.

- With all due respect, Mr. Barnes, I think I should go by myself.

- Please. - he sighed, hands on his hips. - Get in the car, I’ll drive you the fastest I can. You don’t even need to look my way.

Her lips tightened. It was pouring rain, her clothes were already as drenched as they could be and she had been less than 10 minutes. She sighed, walking through puddles of water towards and away from him and inside his car, setting against the leathered seats. Bucky chuckled, watching from the side of his eye as she crossed her arms across her chest like a kid, avoiding his gaze as if he were the devil. Maybe he was, but he would never act like it in front of her.

She watched the rain fall down the window like waterfalls. It was bad, bad enough she could start seeing the water almost pool on the asphalt of the road. As they kept driving through the darkness, only the headlights giving light to the dark road until blinding lights came into their front view. Police came into view with their lights but all she could see was the bar barring the only way into her road. Bucky pulled the window down, charming smile as the cop realised who he was speaking with. She looked at her knees, perfectly knowing who it was, perfectly knowing if he discovered who she was so would James and she was locked in a car with him. Not a good combination.

- Evening, officer. What seems to be the problem?

- Mr. Barnes, sir. - she tipped his cap at him. - The road is flooded. We feared this and warned all residents to be at home before 5PM.

- I understand, officer but you see my employee here lives just down the road. Can’t I walk her in? Come on, you know I always pay you back, double even.

- It’s up to your knees, sir. You’re better off in a hotel for the night, m’am. Safety protocol.

James turned around his car making her look his way as he started driving away from her home. What was he doing? How was she supposed to go back home and how was she supposed to calm down when he was driving her away from her home. Was he going to drop her at a hotel? Was he going going to drop her, she didn’t know. She opened her mouth, waiting for words to come out but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to ask, what to say other than yell at him to let her out yet she didn’t. Y/N didn’t want to yell at him.

He noticed this, slowing down the normal fast pace at which he liked to drive, only now hearing to both of them breathing and the water drops of rain hit the windows. He could see her, through the mirror, her face leaning against the window, eyes reflection a sort of fight he was sure never to completely understand, only partially knowing. His eyes returned to the road ahead, the lights of each house dimming as everyone prepared to hold each other tight, hold their loved ones as the storm continued. He could only look at himself, almost as his vision refused to notice she was right there but she was. Both locked in the same car.

- You can stay at my place tonight. - he mumbled. - You’ve been there before. I’ll drive you back first thing in the morning.

She didn’t replied, instead letting her own eyes close momentarily, head laying against the water stained glass. She listened to the rain, considering all her life choices or what she was even doing. Was she okay with becoming this close to the mob boss? Becoming part of the inner group of females who followed him, just another name in a big list. Was that the question she should be asking? No. Did she really want to ask herself the question she had to? Also no. It was much easier to tell herself it was business. It was much easier to lie than tell the truth.

Y/N opened her eyes once again as the car slowed down and the sounds of rain drops were no longer around heard. They were parked inside his garage, one which she had seen before. He was the first one out the car, opening the door before walking away. She made haste to get off the car, almost power walking after him as he pressed the lift’s button to open the doors. The doors slide open and he stepped in, her following behind.

- I’ll be sleeping in a hotel down the street so you can calm down.

- You can stay if you want. I mean, it’s your house.

- Why should I? So you can freak out about the possibility of me killing you?

- That’s not it.

- Afraid I’m going to force myself on you? - he scoffed. - You know what, Y/N? I’m just not gonna be there and you can do whatever you want without blaming me for whatever theories you have.

- Why are you so mad suddenly?

- I’m not mad.

- Yes, you are. - she crossed her arms. - Excuse me if I don’t feel comfortable around you when you have more than two hundred kills blamed on you, when you’re constantly surrounded by girls and the rumours and the guns you always carry.

- I’ve killed two people in my whole life. Two. - he pointed his finger at her, making her take a step back. - They deserved it and I’m so tired of trying to make you feel safe. I get you a job and you’re upset, I get you a job waitressing so idiots won’t treat you like shit and you think I’m being the bad guy. I drive you home every single time and you still look at me as if I’m going to kill you. You can think whatever you want, I’m done.

She was going to rebuff him, tell him he was wrong but that wasn’t true. She couldn’t say he was wrong out of principle and because once the doors slide open, he disappeared into his big apartment. Y/N stayed behind, heart heavy as she threw her soaked bag onto the couch, sitting on it with a huff. Like a kid she put her hand under her chin, she knew he was right. Of course she knew. But she was the captain’s daughter, she was the one who’d heard tales and seen photos of terrible crimes on the kitchen table when she came in to show her dad her drawings. She knew it, she just didn’t exactly knew what he did. It was all very hush hush, mostly rumours, which ran from people to people and like the game of the broken phone, things got distorted.

She was the captain’s daughter but this wasn’t her. It wasn’t her identity. She knew better not to judge someone by rumours and gossip, her mother had taught her better than that yet she wanted to have her little walls. She wanted to be surrounded by that wall, that wall which said she felt absolutely nothing and that she was doing a good job. Y/N knew, she knew way too well what having those walls crumbling would mean. It would mean she was a woman infatuated with a man. Plain and simple, except it wasn’t and it wasn’t just a woman and just a man, it was the captain’s daughter and the mob boss. She knew not to slap labels on things but this is what it was, this was what she had been her whole life, not Y/N, not the nurse student, not her last name but the Captain’s daughter and him, him it was the same. She could count the number of people who knew his full name or even his first name in one hand. He was the boss. The mob boss, Barnes. Never James Buchanan Barnes.

She sighed, looking to the chess board in the table in front of her. However, unlike everything else in the room which was absolutely spotless, organised and unseeingly unlived in, the chess board was still in the same position they had left it. Her fingers grazed the black chess king, holding it up to her eyes. The piece she had won.

His shoes hit the linoleum floor making her look his way. He had a small leather carry on, something quite stylish and refused to make eye contact with her instead walking straight to the elevator.

- Mr. Barnes. - she perked up from the couch, getting his attention instantly. If she only knew. - Can you entertain me for a second?

- I’m leaving, Y/N. What do you need?

- Sit down. - she pointed at the couch in front of her. Bucky scoffed, for someone who was afraid of him killing her, she sure didn’t mind ordering him around. Her. The bartender. - Play with me.

- Play with you? - he dropped the suitcase to the floor, walking slowly to the chair in front of her. She sat against her own chair like a throne and so did he, standing in front of her. - You should be careful with your word choice.

- You should be careful with me winning again.

- I’ve learned all your moves, petal. I’m an observant player.

- I doubt that.

Bucky leaned over, setting his pieces as she did the same. Soon enough they were back to playing. Bucky observed her, watching as every play was so calculated, never by chance, lip in the middle of her teeth as she smoothly moved her pieces around almost like a ballet dance. Bucky remembered playing against more experienced players. “Chess is the game of the mind, James. You need to almost control and predict them to win” his teacher would tell him. She was impossible to read, always looking deep in thought yet so calm and collected, he guessed she needed that for the field she was in.

His pieces were dropped on her side, her taking what was his without any doubt until she stole his queen. Now, James’ knew not to play anymore. It was a courtesy of chess, yet she still didn’t look or carried the air of someone who had just won her game. Instead she looked at him, waiting for his move. Bucky leaned against his chair.

- You won. I should be leaving, it’s late.

- Wait, just .... why don’t you stay for a bit? We could talk, I’m not that tired yet.

- Petal, it’s late.

- I’ll fix you a drink.

- You can’t fix a scotch if your live depended on it. - he chuckled. - How about I fix you a drink? What’s your poison?

- Can I get some tea?

- Sure. - he shrugged. - Which one do you want?

- You have more than one type of tea? - she smirked, legs crossed over one another, the old wool dress still clinging to her skin due to the soaking wet fabric. James tried not to eye her, instead turning his back before he could be blamed of checking her out. - You don’t strike me as the type of person to like tea.

- Maybe I’m just trying to impress you.

- Then in that case you should have biscuits. - she turned around on the couch, knees of the cushioned seat as she stared at him in the kitchen. He looked exactly like the type of man on the cover of an IKEA magazine, those ones were a shirtless man is holding a coffee cup like every morning after sex fantasy of every woman.

- I do have biscuits, petal. Which ones do you want?

- Which ones do you have?

- Try me.

- Chocolate covered digestives. Only one side chocolate.

- An educated choice. - he opened one of the many drawers of his kitchen, pulling an acrylic container fulled to the brim with the same biscuits she had described. A man of taste indeed. He handed them a plate with three biscuits followed by the one tea cups he had which were his coffee mugs, always spotless white. She envied how pristine everything was in his home. In her flat, half the cutlery was hers, the other half Wanda’s and none matched with one being bright blue and the other one bright red.

As for him, she knew what he drank, always the same, always the same old scotch. At this point she wondered if he liked it or if it was a power symbol. Big powerful man drinking the most expensive scotch in the world. At least it was the most expensive scotch when she researched it on her laptop on a particularly boring lecture. Yet, it somehow wasn’t the drink which gave him that untouchable appearance. It was him.

- I have a question. - he moved the glass away from his lips, pinkie finger pointing at her. - How come you ended up dating my cleaning boy?

- We didn’t date. - she snorted, completely forgetting who she was speaking with. - His mother and my father dated for a long time after my mum died .. to be honest, I think it started before my mum died. Anyway, she had this awfully annoying kid, first time he came in he broke the head of my doll.

- Oh no, petal. Should I break his head? - James joked, downing whatever was left of his scotch.

- I would take you up on that. - Y/N rolled her eyes. - Dad always liked him, he once told me he was the child he never had.

- Ouch.

- Well, he wanted a boy. - she leaned against the cushioned coach. - I don’t know why he said we dated, I would never.

- Good.

- Why do you ask? - she leaned her head against her shoulder

- You have potential, petal. I thought maybe being around him would make him want to get back together ... I mean, you’re going to be a nurse.

- Don’t trust him. - she held the mug against both her hands.

- Pardon?

- Don’t trust him. Edward, I mean. Don’t tell him anything, don’t say anything, just don’t trust him.

- You know something I don’t? - he put both his hands on either side of the couch’s handles.

- Promise me.

- Petal ...

- Promise me. - she cupped his face, looking him deep into those baby blue eyes she had gotten so used to see every day. - Promise me, okay? Just ... you don’t need to know. Promise me.

- Petal, I’d do everything for you. - he rested his hand against her warm cheek. She reacted to his touch, leaning against his rough palm. Her eyes travelled towards his, looking at him like someone she’d knew from. Like an old friend. He leaned towards her, nose against hers.

Her eyes flustered, cheeks warm and she no longer knew if it was due to the apartment’s heating or because he was looking at her that way. She closed her eyes, listening to the small sounds of the environment surrounding her. Bucky kissed her forehead as her eyes opened and the world seemed to stop for a while as if she was living her own version of a 1950′s romantic movie. Her finger caressed his cheek.

- Well, you shouldn’t do everything for me. I’ll break your heart.

- Already broken.

Y/N’s lip quivered at those words. It was if he had been meaning to say them but had held them in for so long, forceful forbidding himself to even think it and it broke her heart to hear it. She leaned her forehead against his, looking at him with a look Bucky didn’t remember seeing. God, he was so used to seeing fear in other’s faces that he almost forgot what ... it didn’t mind anymore. He’d done that mistake once early this day and he wasn’t going to do it again. She didn’t want him and he wasn’t going to try and convince her. She doesn’t belong in his world and she doesn’t belong in his.

- Kiss me. - Bucky didn’t think twice, immediately kissing her as if his life depended on it.

He pulled her away from the couch’s rest, pulling her towards him and caging her in his hold as her hands fell from his face and rested upon his shoulders. His jacket was discarded to the corner of the room, leaving the mob boss only in his soft black dress up shirt. His hands pulled at the hem of her dress which peeled off her body almost perfectly, the sheen on the water on her beautiful skin which made him want to run his lips over it. Her fingers grazed over the dark buttons of his shirt, pulling them off their own fabric rips to open his shirt which slide down his perfect physic. Her dress hanged by her hips as he raised her to lay atop his lap, throwing the chess board to the floor as his hands roamed her back. The pieces fell to the ground, some breaking, some rolling but none of them really cared too lost on each other.

Bucky turned her around, laying her atop the coffee table before sitting in the same couch she had been sitting. He could just look at her forever - warm damp skin, lips half open, irregular breathing, innocent knowing eyes. He could look at that forever and be happy yet all he wanted was to feel her, kiss her skin, sense the faint smell of the Daisy perfume she would reapply behind the bar every once in a while. He smirked, leaning over her body, one hand gathering both her hands above her head while the other held her waist, lips leaning from her jaw to her neck. She whined, fingers moving and wrists turning as she tried to free herself from his grip, wanting to hold him but he didn’t allow her. Instead, Bucky started sucking on her pressure point, wanting to leave a mark for others to see before moving to her collarbones, down her perfect swells and to her belly button.

He smirked as he reached where her dress was hanging. He pulled it slowly out of her legs coming face to face with her beige underwear with a little bow up top. A little present for him to open.

Y/N could feel his finger grazing her skin, dragging teasingly. He was so close, so close to her core and yet so far. All she wanted to do was push him to do it but he had her hands tightly caged in his hand. She looked at him with pleading eyes, almost pouting making him chuckle at how needy she was. He would’ve toy with her had he not want to feel her for so long.

He dragged her underwear down her legs, throwing it across his living room before setting himself on his knees in front of her. There he was, the most powerful man in the town kneeled in front of her, kissing her leg from her ankle to the apex of her thigh. All she could feel was his soft lips contrasting with the rough stubble he had which made the mix of emotions much more interesting. It was slow yet hungry at the same time and she expected him to keep at it until his lips moved to her core abruptly. She held it a moan on her throat, oxygen punched out of her lungs as she moved her head to the side.

Bucky hooked both her legs over her shoulders, getting the access he so wanted, getting her where he’d always wanter her. She moaned uncontrollably as his tongue teased her entrance, lips suckling her bud. Y/N wanted to hold onto his head, pull on his hair and her fingers kept contracting as she fought his handle of her hands. It was too much, so much she could feel herself start to cry, not remembering the last time someone had paid this much attention to her. She tried not to focus on him eating her out, feeling like if she did she’d come down from her high as fast as she had gotten there. Once he started moaning against her core, the vibration drove her over the edge yet he remained there licking and lapping at whatever she had to offer as she regained her breathe.

- You okay there, petal? - he rose, leaning over to kiss her, releasing her hands. As if they were magnetic, she cupped his face, feeling his skin against her fingers. He pulled his lips away from her, expecting an answer but she only nodded, hands leaving his face to travel to his trousers to try and push them down. Bucky aided her with that, pushing his trousers down and pulling her closer.

He could see his eyes look into his, so beautiful yet so lustful at the same time. God this woman, he thought to himself, this woman is gonna end me. His hand searched for hers, intertwining his fingers with hers as he slowly started to enter her, her walls accommodating him like they were made for each other. She forcefully shut her eyes, the sting being the first thing she felt, not used to being stretched out like that.

- It’s okay, petal. - he kissed her forehead. - We can stop, do you wanna stop?

- No. - she moaned, the sting started to fade as pleasure gave way. He got her signal and started to slowly rock in and out of her, eyes glued to were they were both connected. Dear God. He couldn’t help but pick up the pace at the sound of her lustful moans, leaning down to kiss her as he lost control over what pace they were at, instead going by instinct.

She could feel and hear everything; her walls tightening around him, milking him for what he was worth it, the groans that sounded like moans that he would let out, his lips never leaving hers no matter how messy the kiss became, the slapping sound of their skin meeting. The room was hot, filled with sighs and groans and moans, something pornographic.

- Come on, petal. You’re gonna come undone for me, yeah? Just for me. - he tried to get a grip on himself as she started to clench on him more often. His hands came up behind her back, slowly raising it from the coffee table as he quickened his pace, still panting but not stopping as if he had been possessed by an incubus. How could he stop? How could he stop when she looked like that, head thrown back, lips swollen and open, fucking perfect.

A high pitched moan made the room go completely new, it was almost as if she were high, white spots crowding her view as she let her muscles relax and fall back. James held her, throwing himself to the couch behind him, her on top of him as ropes of white spurted inside of her and spilled onto the couch. Fuck, he wanted to keep those stains so he could remember. Her head rested against his shoulder, breathing returning to normal as he kissed her hair.

- If you wanted me to stay so badly, you could’ve just asked. - he grinned, kissing her head once more.

- Shut up. - she giggled, turning her head to look at him. - Hi.

- Hi. - he smiled. His hand blindly searched for one of the many useless blankets that adorned his couches to wrap her in. Once he found one, he drapped it over her back, managing to get up and walk to her room.

She wanted to stay awake, she wanted to stay awake and spend the night talking to him but once the blanket draped over her back, she was good as gone.

The morning rose with its cloudy skies, the dim lighting awaking her up as she rose her head from the bed, hair made into a tangled mess. He had an arm over her, face to her back, softly sleeping. She wondered why it was so surprising to see him like that, even mob bosses sleep but he just looked so peaceful, so ... so normal. Almost as if they could be a regular couple just like everyone else. She shifted in bed, to look at him, her slight moves immediately awaking him but he chose to keep his eyes close, not wanting her to worry about waking him up.

- I know you’re awake. - she said, voice laced with sleep as she noticed his breathe pattern change as well as his eyelids twitching. - James.

- Bucky. - he corrected. - You can call me James when I’m fucking you but I prefer Bucky.

- Bucky. - she repeated. - I like that.

- Do you wanna have breakfast? - he opened his eyes. - Anything you want.

- You’re gonna cook me breakfast or are you gonna force the shops to open at ... - she looked at her watch, colour draining from her face. - 10AM. Holy shit, I’m late.

- Y/N ... - he laughed as she got out of the bed, bed sheet wrapped around her body as she searched his room for her clothing. - It’s drying in the bathroom, petal.

- I’M LATE. I’M LATE TO THE ONLY CLASS I LIKE. - she rushed over to the bathroom, almost tripping on the large sheet. Bucky stood on his side, watching her with a silly grin as she pulled the dress over her body along with her underwear. - STOP STARING, YOU’RE DRIVING.

- You’re calling the shots now? - he cocked an eyebrow at her.

- I’m late. - she kneeled on his bed, trying to push him out of it. - Bucky, c’mon.

- No, petal. You’re already late, just stay the day with me. I’ll even give you the day off.

- I have to graduate first. - she crossed her arms.

- Okay.

Bucky was quick to get dressed, grabbing his car keys from the hook on the door before taking her down to the garage and into the car. Y/N pushed down the mirror, trying to fix whatever mess he had done to her. There was not much she could do but try and comb her hair and push her dress’ neckline up to try and hide the hickeys. She kept looking at her watch, wondering if she’d make it and as he parked in front of her department’s building, she only had 5 minutes to go. It felt more like a one night stand but desperate times called for desperate measures and besides she was working this night so she could explain to him that she wasn’t trying to bail.

- I can’t drive you home tonight, petal. Gotta receive a shipping by the docks. Sam will probably drive you, I’ll speak with him at the club and I’ll let you know before I leave.

- It’s okay I can ask Pietro or Wanda.

- Go on before you’re actually late for it. - he opened her door and she sprinted like a mad woman.

As she walked into the lecture hall, most of her colleagues, including Wanda, were already sat on. She shamefully hide her head, climbing up the stairs to the middle row where Wanda had kindly saved her a seat and was probably wondering where she had been and why she hadn’t called. Once she sat, down, the questions ran down on her.

- You look like hell, Y/N. God, why do you even have a phone if you don’t call me or Pietro?

- I’m sorry, they had blocked the road.

- Did they block your phone signal?

- No. - she sighed. - Hey, you think Pietro or you can pick me up today? Mr. Barnes is receiving a shipment tonight.

- He’s receiving a shipment? Do you know where?

- Uhm ... yes.

- Good, that means you can tell your father and you can finally quit that god awful job and behave like regular Y/N.

She had forgotten. She knew where the shipment was, she had the smoking gun, she was done, right? Why did it felt so heavy? That was what she was put into his life for, to get information yet she couldn’t find herself to send the text to her father. The rest of the day she stared at her phone, at her father’s number, her fingers hovering over the keypad. She knew the answer, docks. Five letters, one word. There was only that place yet writing those five letters seemed to be the hardest thing in the world. She had time, she told herself. She had time to send her father the message so she spent the day ignoring it.

As she walked on the cobblestones that led to the bar, her resolve only broke looser. She didn’t want to send that text, he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve to have her stab him in the back. She didn’t want to stab him in the back, that was not her. Maybe that was what they wanted of her but it wasn’t her and it was not going to be her. As she stepped inside the already half full bar, she turned off her phone. Nobody needs to know, nobody will know. As she told herself those words, someone pushed her arm, throwing her onto the supply cupboard. She looked up to see Edward locking the door behind them.

- What the fuck? I have a job to do. - she tried to push past him but he stood there. - What do you want?

- The waiters said they saw you get in the car with Barnes.

- So? - she crossed her arms. - He drives me home.

- I knew you shouldn’t be in the case. I mean, you’re a wannabe nurse and you think you’re in the big league.

- What is that supposed to mean? I was put up to this way before you were.

- Wonder why? You’re doing a shit job and now you’re fucking sleeping with Barnes? I always knew you got what you wanted but I never knew you were a mob boss’ whore now.

- Oh fuck off, Edward. - she tried to push him once again but he pushed her back and further into the cupboard.

- Where’s the shipment, Y/N? Do the right thing and you can go back to sucking him off.

- You can go to hell.

- WHERE IS IT? - he pushed her against the wall but she spat on his face. - Fine, you know what fine. Guys like him are never gonna go to prison, he’s just gonna buy his way out. If you want things done, do them yourself.

- Don’t do anything stupid, Edward. - she pleading, following him as he walked to the door. - You’re not gonna win. Just give up.

- I hope you fucked him goodbye. - his hand went into the hem of his pants, she knew damn well what he was about to grab and about to do. She rushed to the door but he locked it on her face. Her heart raced as she started to punch and kick the door, screaming at him to open the door.

- Bastard! - she mumbled, looking over the cupboard and at the small window up the top. There was a series of creaky shelves under them. Hopefully it was open. Carefully, she moved the stuff out the shelves and started to climb them until the last one which gave her enough room to push the window open. As she reached for the latch, the window didn’t move. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She looked around, looking for anything to break the window with but everything was merely brooms and old rags. She wrapped an old vodka smelling rag around her hand and sighed. It’s okay, you’ve seen it done in the movies besides it’s an old cupboard, old window. It’s gonna be easy. She bite her lip and swung her hand towards the glass which shattered into her hand, a few pieces lodging into her palm. It was a hole small enough for her to put her hand in and open the latch from outside. As she done it, the window creaked open and she jumped into the small space, wiggling out of it and falling onto the ground.

Once she found herself in the alleyway she ran over to the employees door, opening it and rushing into the dance floor. Her eyes scanned the room, his usual table was empty and he wasn’t either at the bar. Her best option was to try and find him before Edward did. Although she harboured a grudge against him, she could not overpower it. She mixed with the rest of the club goers trying to look for Bucky until she spotted him moving through the crowd. She pushed a few people away, trying to reach him by yelling out his name but the music was too loud. Luckily for her, the crowds were easy enough to overcome and she finally reached him, tugging onto his jacket before he could leave.

- Hey petal. You’re on your break? - he asked, smiling down at her.

- Bucky, I need to tell you something.

- What happened to you hand? - he noticed her bleeding hand. - Did you drop a bottle? Did someone hurt you?

- Bucky, wait, I ...

- BARNES! - a voice interrupted her. The crowd screamed and stepped away as Edward held a gun up. Bucky put his arm over her shoulder to push her behind him but she stepped in front of him.

The sound of the gunshot went off, everyone was screaming and running out of the club but all she could hear was a beep. Her breath seemed to falter once to quicken again as her muscles lost force and she felt herself falling. She awaited to hit the ground but someone held her.

- FUCKING KILL HIM! - she could hear Bucky’s voice in slow motion almost as everything went darker than the club she was in.

She would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner @tcc-gizmachine @saiyanprincessswanie @stuckysavedmylive @vicmc624 @sebstanfan123

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,391)

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Part Eight: Fundy

The easy part is deciding to run.

It’s all a pretty clear-cut process. The rules were stated at the outset, though he’s got no idea what was Wilbur’s idea and what was Tommy’s, considering how much Tommy seems to care about this whole thing. But none of them are unreasonable or anything like that, nothing that he’d find objectionable. He just has to declare his party’s intention before election night, not rig the vote, not join his vote with any other parties, and not seek endorsements from people who are banned from the server. And be a citizen of L’Manberg.

There’s nothing wrong with any of those, or at least, not that Fundy can see. And—he wants to run. He wants to look all the rest of the players on this server in the eyes and make them see him, respect him, listen to him. For himself, because he is awesome and capable, and not because they think he’s an extension of someone else.

So deciding to run is pretty easy. It’s not like he’ll even be the first; Quackity’s already declared his intentions, though he’s running solo, and doesn’t seem to be taking it too seriously. He considered trying to become his running mate, but Niki, when he explained his idea to her, seemed pretty on board to run with him. Niki’s really cool like that, and honestly, he’d rather team with her than with anyone else. So he’s running. He’s going to do it. He’s going to.

The difficult part is going to be telling Wilbur.

So he’s not procrastinating. He’s definitely not procrastinating. It’s just—there’s other people to talk to about it, right? Other people to tell? And it’s not like it matters what order he goes in. So that’s why he’s here, at the base of one of those big towers that Eret is building, hoping to find them here. It’s getting late, but the sun only set a little while ago, so they’re probably still around.

This can be like a practice run. A trial, for telling people about it. And Eret’s always listened to him, and they’re not even running themself, he’s pretty sure, so this will be good, to ease him into it. Not that this is something that needs easing. But it’s good to practice things, even if it’s not something that necessarily requires it. He’s just being responsible, which is a trait that anyone would value in a president.

The tower’s still a work in progress, but it’s pretty easy to get to the highest level. He’s almost certain that Eret is still here, and he’s right about that, but on a second glance, it turns out that Eret is asleep. They’re sitting upright, their back to the most completed section of wall, but their head has lolled to the side, their glasses close to slipping from their nose. He can even see their eyes—closed, of course. They’re definitely asleep. Definitely a little weird, since it’s not even that late, but he has noticed that they’ve been looking a little tired lately. Probably because they’ve sort of been responsible for a lot of L’Manberg’s development, build-wise.

He should come back later, probably. Except, that can’t be comfortable at all, and it’s really not that late, and the tower’s not finished yet, so the whole place is kind of exposed. Not the safest area to be taking a nap in after dark. Mobs might be able to get in, and then where would Eret be?

And also, he’s been psyching himself up this whole time, and if he doesn’t tell Eret here and now, he thinks that he might end up waiting until tomorrow to tell anyone at all. Not because he’s nervous! It’s just—late, and he’s spent time getting up here already, so he wants to do what he came here to do. That’s it.

So he creeps forward, not too loud but not trying to be too quiet, either, and crouches by Eret’s side. As he moves, something glimmers, and he squints, but—no, it’s just Eret’s jewelry reflecting the torchlight. They’ve taken to wearing a good bit of gold, lately.

“Hey, Eret?” he says. “Eret? It’s your pal Fundy. Maybe wake up?”

Eret doesn’t wake up. But their brow has creased, so, encouraged, he continues.

“Not a great place to go to sleep, probably,” he says, and he reaches out to give their shoulder a tap. “I mean, I know you’ve seemed pretty tired lately, but yikes. Maybe not good. C’mon, wake up.”

Eret still doesn’t wake, but they start to breathe quicker, which is probably not because of him at all. Are they having a nightmare? If they’re having a nightmare, he should definitely wake them up, because friends don’t let friends have nightmares.

“Hey,” he says, and shakes their shoulder more vigorously. “C’mon, man, I wanna tell you something.” He glances at the sky; the tower doesn’t have a roof yet. “And it’s getting just a little bit late, so you should probably go sleep in your house and not here, and I still need to go by the office so I can tell Wilbur—”

Eret gasps, lurching forward, jamming their sunglasses back over their eyes in the same motion, and Fundy jerks back a bit on instinct. He has no idea why they wear those all the time. Maybe it’s a light sensitivity thing. Or maybe they just want to look cool. But now’s probably not the time to focus on that, because Eret’s breathing is still way too fast, and they were definitely having a nightmare, from that reaction, so he inches forward again.

“Hey, Eret,” he says. “Sorry about that. Are you good?”

For a moment, Eret doesn’t reply. And when they do, their voice is—kind of weird. He’s not sure how to describe it, except as off.

“He failed,” they say, between gasps. “He tried, and he failed. That has consequences.”

“Uh,” he says. “Who failed?”

“But I wasn’t there,” they say. “I wasn’t there, so how did I—but the universe itself shudders, with a thing like that. What were the consequences? Something like that shouldn’t be interrupted.”

This must have been some dream.

“Something like what?” he asks.

Eret looks directly at him for the first time, though he has the strangest feeling that they’re not seeing him at all. He can’t see directly behind their glasses, but around the edges, there’s something like a pale glow. But he must be seeing things, some kind of weird reflection. Of the moon, maybe, or the stars.

“Dream tried to resurrect him,” they say. “But he couldn’t finish. That’s a dangerous magic to tamper with. You never, ever start a spell that you can’t see through to the end. And it had its blood.”

“Uh,” he says. “Sure thing. What exactly are you talking about?”

Eret falls silent. And then, they say, “Fundy?” Their voice is normal again, though he still can’t quite put his finger on what the difference was.

“Yep, that’s me,” he says. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m—fine,” Eret says, and then again, “I’m fine.” They sound far more confident the second time. “Sorry, I was—dreaming. I’ve been having a lot of strange ones of late. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Dreams can be weird,” he agrees.

Eret laughs. “Quite.” They stretch, tilting their head to side to side, wincing when something cracks. “Thank you for waking me. I’m not quite sure why I decided that was a good position to sleep in.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he says, and Eret smiles, bringing their knees closer to their chest and laying an arm across them, twisting their torso to turn toward him more. It makes something burn in his chest, a comfortable warmth, at being given their full attention.

“Was there something you’d like to talk about?” they ask, and that warmth grows. “I can’t imagine you came up here just to prevent me from getting a crick in my neck.”

“I mean, that was part of it,” he protests. “I wanted to be a good friend! But um, yeah, actually, there was something I really wanted to tell you.” He hesitates, and Eret nods at him, encouragingly. Now that he’s here, about to say it out loud, he feels like his whole body is buzzing. It is kind of a big deal, actually, doing something like this. But he lets himself blurt it out. “I’m going to run for president!”

There’s a beat, and then, Eret’s face breaks into a wide grin.

“Really?” they say. “That’s awesome! I’m really happy for you, man.”

His tail starts wagging. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Of course!” Eret says. “That’s a big deal. I’m really proud you’re going for it. Do you have a running mate? And a name?”

He grins. “Niki’s running with me,” he says. “We’re going to be Coconut2020.”

Eret laughs again. “Coconut?” they ask. “Any particular reason?”

“Coconuts are good,” he says. “We both like coconut. We’ve bonded over coconuts.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t mock our coconuts.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Coconuts are good. Fair enough.” Eret tilts their head. “What did Wilbur say, if I might ask?”

And just like that, his euphoria dies down.

“Oh,” he says. “Right, um. Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told! Other than Niki, of course.”

“Oh!” He can hear the surprise in their tone, and he cringes away from it, a bit; he knows very well, of course, that Wilbur probably should’ve been the first to hear it. But it’s not like what he doesn’t know will hurt him, and he—he just wanted to practice. That’s all. “Well, in that case, I’m honored.” A pause, and then, “You’re not worrying about it, are you?”

“What?” He laughs, and he definitely sounds nervous. “No. No, why would I be nervous?”

“I think you don’t need to be,” Eret agrees, leaning toward him a bit. “I know Wilbur’s been busy these days, but he cares for you a lot. I think he’ll be quite proud that you’ve decided to take the initiative.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I wouldn’t say you have anything to worry about.”

“Okay.”

He feels a bit better, hearing that, and he knows that Eret is right. He’s never doubted his dad’s love for him, after all, even if he’s doubted Wilbur’s faith in him in a lot of other respects, and this is exactly the kind of thing he needs to do to make him stop doing that second thing. To make him see that he’s a man now, able to take care of himself, to do great things. If he goes far in this election, if he manages to beat him, even, then he’ll have to acknowledge how grown up he’s become. Will have to look at him with pride in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says again. “Thank you, Eret.”

“Of course,” Eret says. “I wish you the best of luck.”

It’s time for him to go, then. This practice went pretty great, actually. He feels like he can do this now. He feels good. Pumped. Hyped up.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are you gonna go get some actual sleep now?”

“I might stay up a while longer,” Eret says. They stretch, and then rise to their feet, and he follows their example. “I’d like to get a little more done with this tonight. And I’ll admit, my dreams haven’t been very kind to me lately.” They pause, and he’s not sure what to say to them; it always sucks, of course, to have nightmares, but he can’t offer much more than a basic commiseration. “I can’t help but feel like something’s missing.”

“From the tower?” he asks.

Eret smiles. “That too,” they agree. “I like it so far, but it feels a bit plain.”

He considers this for a moment. Eret’s not looking at him, is staring out at the lands beyond, visible past the incomplete wall. They’re absentmindedly twisting one of the bracelets around their wrist, and that gives him an idea.

“If you wanted to spice it up a little, you could always try some gold accents,” he suggests, and Eret jerks, turning their head toward him. “I noticed you’ve been liking gold a lot lately.”

He’s not sure why that makes them go pale.

“Maybe,” they say, softly. “Maybe.” They smile again, but this one’s a bit shaky. “I’ll bid you good night, Fundy. And really, good luck. But don’t get too worked up about it. You’ve got this.”

He nods, grinning. “I’ve got this! Goodnight, Eret!”

He leaves Eret to their tower. It’s to the office from here, and it’s definitely well into the night by now, but he knows his way around this nation like the back of his hand, even in the dark, and there’s plenty of torches to see by anyway. He considers, for a moment, that Wilbur might have already turned in for the night, but he casts that thought aside. Wilbur’s always working, even long past when a reasonable person would have hit the hay.

Tommy accosts him just outside the building that’s been serving for L’Manberg’s headquarters, sliding out of the darkness with a smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets. Fundy regards him warily. Not that he doesn’t like Tommy. He does, even if he’s been a little weird lately. But that’s an expression that screams trouble. And what is he doing out and about at this time of night anyway?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, and Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“What, can’t a boy look?” he says. “Do you need me to avert my gaze? Are you perhaps up to some crime and wrongdoing?”

“What? No,” he says. Trying to decipher Tommy is, on occasion, like attempting to navigate a parkour course blindfolded. “I’m just—” He bolsters himself. Stands straighter, puffs his chest out. “I’m running for president. So I’m going to go tell Wilbur.”

He speaks it like the challenge that it is. As much as he likes Tommy, he’s competition in this case, as Wilbur’s running mate. Tommy’s mouth forms an ‘o’, and something flickers in his eyes.

“Really?” he says. “Well, good on you, getting in on it early. Before election night.”

He frowns. “Yeah? Aren’t those the rules?”

Tommy nods, and then doesn’t say anything else, and this, this is why Fundy thinks he’s weird. It’s like sometimes, he just says weird things without elaborating, or even without realizing that it’s something that should require elaboration. Tommy’s just a weird guy overall, really.

“Okay,” he says, more to fill the silence than anything else. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about? Or can I just go in? And I’m not moving out of my house, before you start that again,” he tacks on.

“I’m telling you, the real estate in that area is not good. Rather not poggers,” Tommy says. “It’s a dodgy part of the SMP, it is.”

“The only one anywhere near there is Punz,” he says, exasperated, and immediately berates himself for letting himself be drawn into this conversation again. That’s another weird thing; apparently, Tommy has recently taken offense to the location of his house, and has made persuading him to move somewhere else a priority. He can’t tell whether he’s serious, or whether it’s a long and involved bit.

Tommy nods sagely. “Dodgy,” he says. “But nah, you go on in. Wilbur’s still there, far as I know. Good luck.” Tommy steps away, and then stops, frowning, and turns back. “But maybe make sure Wilbur knows that you running against him isn’t, like, you disowning him or some shit. He wouldn’t take that well.”

“Why would that mean I was disowning him?” he demands. Wilbur wouldn’t think that, would he? Surely, even he wouldn’t jump to so drastic a conclusion. Unless he would, and him doing this is going to ruin their relationship, and he’s making a terrible mistake. But no, he’s not going to think like that. If Wilbur does have that attitude, that’s on Wilbur. Not him.

“It wouldn’t,” Tommy says seriously. “But, y’know, one thing leads to another.”

“How would that lead to me disowning him?”

“It shouldn’t,” Tommy says, and then grins again. There’s less light in this one, less levity. It’s actually a little unsettling. “Don’t mind me. Go talk to Wil. See you later, Fundy.”

“Okay,” he says. “Bye, Tommy.” He watches as Tommy walks away, and realizes, with some frustration, that he forgot to ask why, exactly, Tommy was hanging around here. Oh, well. He can’t let himself get worried about what Tommy’s doing, even if it’s always best to have half an eye on the guy. Trouble follows him.

But then, trouble kind of follows all of them.

He goes inside, and finds his way to Wilbur’s office. It’s not difficult; he’s been here before, though not often. The door is closed, and he hesitates in front of it, his nerves flagging. But then, he inhales, remembers Eret’s excitement and encouraging words, the way that Tommy didn’t make any disparaging remarks, and—he can’t expect a completely positive reaction, probably. He’s declaring himself as a political rival to his own father.

But he doesn’t need the reaction to be entirely positive. He just wants to look Wilbur in the eyes and see respect there.

He knocks.

Waits a beat.

“Come in,” comes the voice, and he slides the door open.

Wilbur’s at his desk, chin propped up on his hand, glasses slipping down his nose. His eyes are focused on whatever paper’s in front of him, narrow and squinting as they dart across the words, and his other hand grips a pen tightly, though he doesn’t seem to be doing anything with it at the moment. After a second, he glances up, and his gaze locks on Fundy, and Fundy suddenly feels very, very unprepared.

“Hello Fundy,” Wilbur says, and he sounds a little unsure, like he has no idea what he could possibly be doing here. He feels a little bitterness start to well up. “Is something the matter?”

Of course that’s his first instinct. That something has to be wrong. Because he thinks of Fundy as a child, always getting into scrapes, always needing help.

“No,” he says. “Nothing’s wrong. But can I talk to you for a second?”

Wilbur sets the pen down, sits up a little straighter. “Of course,” he says. “I’ve always got time for you.”

Then where have you been? he doesn’t say. Why are you always working? How come you almost never do anything else these days? And even when you’re around, why do you act like I’m still a little kid, like I didn’t fight in your revolution, like I haven’t been here the whole time?

“Great,” he says. “That’s great. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Alright,” Wilbur says, slowly. “Go on.”

He takes in a deep breath.

“I’m running for president,” he says.

For a moment, there is silence.

“I see,” Wilbur says, still slowly, like he’s working through it in real time, and he continues, feeling an odd burst of panic, like he needs to get all of it out now, before Wilbur can reply, can say anything, can shut him down or question him or anything like that.

“I haven’t marked my name down yet, but that’s my next stop,” he says. “Me and Niki, we’re going to be Coconut2020.”

“You and Niki,” Wilbur repeats, and he nods.

“Me and Niki,” he says, and then pauses. It’s out there now. He’s said it. And Wilbur’s just staring at him. He’s got no idea what that expression’s supposed to be. It just kind of looks—blank. Which, frankly, is not the reaction he was hoping for, and he shifts uncomfortably. “So, yeah. That’s what I was here to say.”

Wilbur is quiet for a long, long moment.

“Have you thought this through all the way?” he asks, voice quiet.

“What? Yeah, of course I have.” He crosses his arms. “This is what I want to do. You’re not gonna be able to change my mind.”

“But—why, then?” Wilbur asks. The blankness is finally fading, replaced by—Fundy’s not even sure what, but he is sure that it’s not anything good. Which makes anger rise up in him; honestly, who is Wilbur to deny him, at this point? Why does Wilbur think he gets a say in this when he’s barely spoken to him at all, these past weeks? “Why do you feel the need to—do you think I’m not suitable? Is that it?”

“Not everything’s about you, Wil,” he says. Even though this kind of is. But not in the way he’s thinking. “I think I’d be a good president, so I’m running. That’s all it is. It’s not that complicated.”

“I think it is a bit complicated,” Wilbur says, “considering you’re my son. I—I didn’t expect this from you.”

That’s the whole point, he doesn’t say. You never expect anything from me.

“It’s not,” he insists. “It’s not complicated. Don’t make it into something it’s not. I’m running. That’s all. This isn’t—my being your son doesn’t come into it.”

“I disagree,” Wilbur says. “I—you do realize what you’re doing, don’t you? I’ve never wanted us to be enemies, Fundy. But this—we’ll be opponents. I won’t hold back just because you’re my son. An election’s an election. Even if—and that’s a side of me you’ve never had to deal with. That I’ve never wanted you to deal with.”

Despite himself, doubts flit across his mind. Did he think this through? But then, he hardens his resolve. This is what he wants. To challenge Wilbur. To make him back down, if he can manage it. To force him to acknowledge him as someone to be reckoned with. And if that comes in the form of taking his country from him, then all the better, right? Wilbur won’t be able to ignore him then.

“I can hold my own,” he says, and before he can stop himself, he continues, “And why does this even matter so much to you, anyway? Why do you need to be the one in charge?”

If he’s not mistaken, he thinks Wilbur rears back a bit, at that question. But it’s difficult to tell. Wilbur never lets anything show that he doesn’t want to, making him frustratingly difficult to read.

“I founded this country, didn’t I?” Wilbur says. “Didn’t I lead us? I just want to continue to protect this nation. I want to be able to do what’s best for it. I want to see it flourish, and be strong, and—if it’s the people’s will that that happens under someone else’s hand, I’ll accept that. But if I can continue to guide L’Manberg, then I want to do so.”

“I mean,” he says, “it kind of felt like Tommy was the one who won it for us.”

Wilbur stills. And then, inclines his head, lips twitching up. It’s a smile, though for some reason, Fundy has a hard time seeing any joy in it, any happiness at all. But then, he’s probably reading too much into things, putting emotions into an expression that simply aren’t there. Because when Wil’s not being overbearing, he’s being distant. There’s really no inbetween.

“That’s true,” he says. “Tommy did.”

Silence falls again, thick and stifling.

“Um,” he says, after a second, “that was all I had to say. I think I’ll just go, now.”

“Alright,” Wilbur says, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything else, so Fundy turns to the door, an odd emotion settling into his stomach. It might be disappointment—he’s not sure that he got what he wanted from it, though the fact that he was able to rile Wilbur up at all is an accomplishment. And he managed to hold his ground, and he thinks that says something.

Except then, Wilbur says something else, and it gives him pause.

“I am proud of you, though,” Wilbur tells him, and he stops before his hand closes around the door handle, fireworks going off across his skin.

“Yeah?” he says, and turns around again. Wilbur’s still looking at him, meeting his gaze evenly, though there is something tight about it, something off. But he’s smiling, and Fundy decides not to examine any of it too closely. Because the words rattle around in his brain, in his heart, and then settle.

“Of course,” Wilbur says. “I suppose I don’t say that to you enough, but I always am. And in this—I’d be lying if I said I liked the decision. I don’t want this to—” He stops, and swallows, an oddly audible break in the flow of his words. “But that’s me, isn’t it? Good on you for—for having the balls, I guess. For going after what you want. Just be sure that you can handle it.”

A double-edged sword, then. How many times does he have to say that he can handle something before Wilbur finally believes it? But still, he said he’s proud. That he always is. And that has to mean something. Has to mean everything, in the end.

“I can,” he says. “Thanks, dad.”

Wilbur smiles again. Oddly, it still doesn’t look happy. But it’s very likely that he’s stressed and tired anyway. He didn’t consider that before. Maybe he really should’ve waited for another time to bring this up, another time that wasn’t late at night. But what’s done is done, and he’s said his piece, and Wilbur wasn’t quite enthusiastic but he did say that he was proud of him, which all in all, is much better than it probably could have gone. His chest is buzzing, still.

So he smiles back at Wilbur, and exits his office.

And later, after he’s made everything all official and he’s meeting with Niki in her bakery, going over their plans and forming his own in the back of his mind—a last resort, just in case it looks hopeless—she asks him, “How did it go? Telling him?”

And he considers that for a moment.

“Honestly,” he says, “I think it went pretty well.”

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #fundy #eret #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #everything's fine :D

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bi-writes · 4 years

Photo

notorious: reboot — chapter eight genesis

This is our genesis, and ours only; once we start this chapter, what will end it?

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 12.7k warnings: mature language and themes, mature sexual and nsfw content included in this chapter (oral fem!receiving, unprotected sexual content, overstimulation, cum play) series masterlist music playlist by mood, curated just for notorious

There were many things you could tell about a person from looking at their hands. They could be dirty or clean, adorned with jewels or nothing at all, nails painted or chipped or bare, cut or bruised or scratched or completely, utterly soft. Sometimes they wore wedding rings, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes they had ink circling around their fingers. Hands were interesting storytellers, and oftentimes you found yourself finding more about someone from the way their hands were kept rather than listening to them speak. Sometimes people lied. Their hands couldn’t lie, all they could do was simply be.

It was so quiet here. You could barely see anything in the darkness, but there was a sliver of light coming from the candle in the far corner of the room. The wax had melted almost all the way, the wicker barely lit, but it was enough that you could still see clearly what was beside you, who was beside you.

Your head was propped up on a soft pillow, but Tom’s hand was beside it, palm flat against the bed, and you could hear his gentle breathing. You brought your hand up to trace Tom’s knuckles, which were slightly split. They had bled, you could tell that much, and there were yellow and purple bruises dotting the dry, cracked skin there. His nails were well groomed, but you could tell he picked at them because of how his cuticles were ripped a bit, the edges of his nails a bit rugged.

Hands of a killer. So why doesn’t it hurt when he touches me with them?

You turned his hand over, following the callous along his palms. Blistering, dry, and used, Tom’s hands were a reflection of the dirty business you both had chosen to run in. It didn’t matter where you were in this business, it took something from each and every being inside of it. You and Tom were young, but you had been thrust into a world of secrecy and anarchy where your worth was determined by nothing more than where you stood in a line of hundreds, blanketed by tradition, ritual, and kings without mercy.

You had seen too much, but it was enough that you were numb inside at times. Death did nothing to you any longer. Blood was nothing but a stain, and guns were just accessories. Judges, cops, and lawyers were the men and women on your payroll, and funding amateur killers was just a part of your work. Love was a luxury, children became heirs, and money was your lifeline. One mistake could cost you your head, one wrong move could dismantle your operations, and without a throne to sit on, there was no need for you except to bleed you dry of what you had and to leave you for the earth to swallow whole.

Daughters become enemies.

Only ruthless, cold individuals that were truly dead inside could sit on thrones made of bones. You had to be willing to do anything to put the crown on, and even then, it could slip right off of your head in a moment.

Rivals become lovers.

You had never known anything else. You had never tried to be anything else. Your mother loved you, but she didn’t try and take you away from this life; she had thrust you into the world headfirst, and she made you who you were.

Sweet faces become killers. She made you a killer.

You wondered who had made Tom. Staring at the soft tufts of curls on his head, you wondered who had taught him to hold a gun, to point it at his target, and to not hesitate pulling the trigger.

You wondered what kind of burdens he carried on those broad shoulders of his. You wondered what hid between the curves of his muscles, what truly defined the scars along his back, and what kind of blood had been spilled against those crackling knuckles of his. You wondered who had taken the light inside of the little boy he had once been and crushed it. All kings and queens had lights inside of them once, even you.

We lose them, and then we spend forever trying to find it inside of others because of what is broken inside of ourselves.

There was a map on his skin. From the tips of his fingers to his toes, Tom had a map. Scars and the occasional tattoo, indentations and uneven patches of skin, defined muscles that ached and stretched and breathed. Some people were meant to be kings, and Tom was one of them, but there was a part of you that wished that Tom had never seen the metal of a gun or the inside of someone’s body or the way life left someone’s body slow, then quickly all at once.

I wish you never knew what it looked like when there were stars in their eyes, right before they saw a vast nothingness.

There were people inside of you, souls that wanted to be discovered, but you and Tom had buried them so deep that neither of you knew who they were anymore. Tom had mentioned once that he used to watch movies until his eyes were red from the glare of the television screen. He mentioned once that he had felt the vibrations from dancers on a stage, the echo of voices across the emptiness of a theatre, and he mentioned once that there had been light inside of him once when there were spotlights warming up that single spot reserved onstage.

Tom would never know that little boy. Tom would never see what that little boy could become, and he would never get to tell him that he was meant for so much more than this dirty, dirty business. There were songs inside of him, but he would never get to sing them, and for that, a part of you hated whoever had taught Tom to be who he was. They had robbed Tom of every good thing he could’ve been, and now here he was, with scars on his hands, cuts along his back, and a light inside of him that would never, ever be allowed to illuminate whatever soul was buried underneath all of the death and destruction he had built up for so long.

Boys become assassins, and girls become paper dolls.

You wondered if he would hate your mother for the same reasons.

You leaned over and kissed Tom’s forehead before slipping out of bed. You opened the door to your bedroom, going into the kitchen. You were at your apartment this time, and Tom had come with you that night, and he simply didn’t want to leave.

You and Tom had been through hell hours before, but there was something different between you now. There were no secrets between you, and now, it felt strange. For so long, you and Tom had been pretending, lying to each other and falling for each other at the same time.

One and the same.

It was still dark outside. The city lights glowed at night, so bright and awake even in the dead hours of night, and that was how it always was.

You noticed something by the door. There was a white envelope on the floor, as if someone had slipped it underneath the door to get it to you. You bent down and picked up the envelope, turning it over in your hands. The envelope was meant to be white, but it had yellowed from age, and it was dry and crinkly in your hands. There was no return address, just a scribbling on the back in handwriting you thought you recognized but couldn’t decipher.

my baby is all the back read.

You slipped your finger into the opening, ripping the envelope open. Inside was a letter, written on blank copy paper. It was written in scribbly black ink, smeared occasionally, as if it had been written in a rush. You looked around, to see if anyone was around, because it felt as if you were being watched. The apartment was quiet, and there was nothing around you.

You looked back down at the letter, opening it up all the way, smoothing out the folds.

To the only love I’ve ever known,

I don’t know when you’re going to be given this letter. I don’t know if you’ll ever receive it, but if I never write this, then there is a chance that you will never know the truth. I can’t leave this place knowing you might always be kept in the dark.

There is too much I’m going to miss. I tried to do right by you all these years, but now I fear perhaps I’ve just given your father the weapon he’s always needed. He has no ambition, none at all, to do right by his men. Your father is a coward, and he always will be. He takes advantage of even the most precious things in his life, and he has neglected you since the day you were born.

There is going to be a day when he needs you. There is going to be a day when your father will not be able to say no to you, and that day I fear more than anything else in this world, even death. I tried to give you the tools you would need to succeed, but I fear that my time has run out to finish the difficult job I started with you. I’m not finished. I want to keep doing more for you, but my time is running out, and even writing this letter is wasting what little I have left, but I need you to know the truth.

Your father will never understand what it takes to run this kingdom he’s built. I have tried for years to get him to listen to me, but anything I say, he ignores. One day, it’s going to get him killed, but that is the least of my worries. My worry is what comes after, what continues after your father is gone. As much as he wants to pretend it isn’t true, you are going to be the one sitting at the desk. You will be the one left when the dust settles.

I dreamed of being able to sit there myself. When I lived in New York, I was used to being the princess. After marrying your father, I had to get used to being what was left behind. My hatred for him grows every single day, and if I had it in me, I would be done with him. It would be him instead of me, but I’m not meant for those kinds of things. It isn’t in me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been meant for this kind of life. I hate myself for getting involved, and even more, I hate myself for bringing the most beautiful angel into this life.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you. I should’ve left, I always knew I should’ve left. I should’ve taken the only good thing to ever happen to me and dragged her far, far away.

I planned on letting you live a normal life. Your father never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, and I planned on letting you grow and learn and go to college and live the normal life that I always dreamed for you, but you were my only hope. You were the only weapon I had against your father, and I’m sorry. What I did was selfish.

I made you like this because I wanted you to be better than him. I wanted you to be better than all of them. Everyone in this world is lonely, ugly on the inside and out, and incredibly stupid. They lack all the good qualities that soldiers should have, because that is what living in this hell is like. You will always be at war, and I wanted you to always have the tools to survive in the disgusting world that these men have built for us.

I needed you to be better.

Your father tonight is going to tell you that I left. You are going to find the drawers of my clothes empty, you are going to find most of my things gone, and you will never see me again. He’s going to tell you that I went far away, perhaps, maybe even to the fucking moon. Your father is going to tell you a lot of things tonight.

All of them will be lies.

Your father is going to kill me tonight, and I’m going to let him, because if I don’t, you will never become who I need you to be. I’m being selfish again. I fear I might hate him more than I love you.

Don’t trust him. Ever. Even if he seems like he is on your side. He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him. It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.

He doesn’t deserve you. And he never has. He never will.

I love you more than anything in this world.

mama

You put the letter down slowly, running your hands through your tangled hair. Your hands were shaking a bit, and you felt like there was something stuck in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

She made your bed. Now you have to lay in it.

You picked up the letter again and went into the bedroom. Tom was awake, sitting up against the headboard, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“Was wondering where you went,” Tom said lowly, striking a match to light the cancer stick. You came towards the bed slowly, still holding the letter, and Tom finally looked at you, standing there with a strange look in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“This…this came. Someone slid it…u-under the door,” you said softly, putting the letter onto the bed. Tom switched the lamp on, and he picked up the paper, holding it in front of him. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a slow breath, his eyes running over the page. The silence was killing you.

“You said your mum disappeared,” Tom said finally, tapping off a bit of ash.

“That’s…that’s what my dad told me,” you whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s why I left New York. Why I left…Ri.”

It changed everything. It changed me.

“Your mum says otherwise,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Is this real? Do you believe this? I mean…who would just put this under the bloody door? How could this just appear on your doorstep? Timing is right suspicious, don’t you think?”

“It’s my mom’s handwriting, Tom, I’d know,” you said defiantly, taking the letter back. You folded it up again, putting it into the bedside drawer. You slid back into bed, scooting close to Tom. He put his arm around you, letting you lay your head on his chest. You were silent again, the room was silent again, and it was enough time for you to have a single tear falling down the length of your cheek, your whole body feeling cold all over.

“Your father’s a lying twat,” Tom scoffed, and you stared off into the distance.

“He killed…my mom,” you said weakly, and Tom stubbed the cigarette out, putting a hand to your head and kissing your forehead. It was tender, but it was not warm enough to stop the tears that followed quickly behind, dropping silently onto the pillow. “H-He killed her, Tommy.”

And she killed me.

You weren’t sure how to feel about the letter. Your father had told you your mother had left, that she was gone, and even though you knew that those kind of antics could never be that of your mother, you believed him, or at least you forced yourself to believe him.

Because you weren’t ready to face any other alternative.

You had cried over her, mourned over her, and then you had let her go. Part of the coldness of your personality was trying to steel yourself from losing anyone else. You distanced yourself from Mariposa after, changing your number and refusing to go back, making it your mission to focus all of your pent-up anger and aggression and sadness to becoming whatever kind of heiress your father needed you to be.

Nothing in that letter was really a surprise to you, but it felt like a slap on your face knowing it came from her. Your mother had truly seen through every single lie, and just like your father, she had used you to do her bidding. She made you feel like she was on your side because she needed you to be somebody for her. A secret weapon, a key hidden under a mat, an iron sword that had rusted over and been long forgotten. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to polish you clean, reveal you to the world, and she stepped face-first into death to do it.

She can call it whatever she likes. She can call me a savior, a soldier, a daughter. I suppose mothers use their daughters just the same; this business rubs off on even those we admire. On those that we think we love.

“He made plans with you, yeah?” Tom asked gently. You blinked, coming out of your thoughts. “Plans for Saturday night, didn’t he?”

You nodded slowly, “yes. We made plans for…how it would go, yes.”

Tom smacked his lips a bit, clenching his jaw. “You’re going to tell me every detail, y/n. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is. I have a feeling your father is going to fuck the both of us over. And we’re not letting that happen, yeah?”

Has it rubbed off on you, Tom?

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay.”

Will you use me just the same?

Tom moved your head, making you look at him.

“You and I, love,” he murmured, and you nodded again, putting your hands over his. You shared a tender kiss, and you pulled away with a smile on your face. The lack of distance made you warm all over. Tom knew everything. There was nothing black between you, nothing holding you both down. You had been so lost before, and there was an uncertainty that weighed inside of you. You weren’t sure how to deal with your father, to deal with whatever feelings had grown in you, and although you had worn a straight face, there had been nothing but panic in you.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. Tom had you, closer than he ever had you before, and you knew he wouldn’t let go. Tom was going to take care of you, and you had to trust that, because otherwise, you were as dead as you were the day before.

“You and I, Tommy,” you said softly, and skin against skin, you knew he had you, because you could feel the tenderness in his touch. There was nothing to fear anymore. There was nothing worry about.

Because I am yours. And you are mine.

You met his eyes in the mirror. He looked incredibly handsome, freshly showered and smelling sweet, a beautiful suit on him. He was wearing black tonight to match you, and he ditched the tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt underneath, just enough to see a glimpse at the chain he was wearing. You remembered when you and Mariposa used to get ready like this, smiling at each other in the mirror, but now it was Tom, and he wasn’t shying away from checking you out. He was adjusting the watch around his wrist, his dark eyes running up and down your figure.

“You should close your mouth, baby,” you said softly as you smoothed out the front of your dress. “You’ll catch flies.”

Tom chuckled lowly, shaking his head, and you hiked up the skirt of your dress to slip your thigh holster on. He clenched his jaw at that, and he couldn’t help himself. He came close to you, pressed up against you from behind, and you bit back a smile as he smoothed a hand down your back, over the curve of your hips.

God, who said she was allowed to look like this?

“Jesus, fuck,” Tom muttered, watching you secure the gun underneath your dress. “Couldn’t get any more beautiful, and then you pull shit like this.”

“Shut up,” you laughed a bit, putting your dress back down, much to his dismay. “Now you’re just saying things because you want something.”

The word was in the air, but Tom pretended not to see it. He liked the chase. He had never had to chase anyone before, but it was fun. Having you so close yet so far away made him ache all over, but the look in your eyes told him it would be worth it.

Tom grinned at you in the mirror, “of course not, love…never. I’m simply commenting on how absolutely mad you drive me when you do things like this. If it happens to turn you on…” Your smile broke out as he kissed the side of your neck, “perhaps it’s just a bonus.”

You let Tom tilt your head to the side more, let him kiss the skin there. There was something possessive about it, and after a few minutes of wet teasing with hungry kisses, you pushed Tom off of you and grabbed your jacket, laughing to yourself.

Tom guided you to the elevator of your building, and he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked. He always kept a hand on you now, a sweet, small detail that you appreciated. You both got into the back of the car he ordered, and while you sat on opposite ends, he had a hand on your knee as he looked out the window.

You remembered meeting Tom here. As he helped you out of the car, the familiar doorman gave you and Tom a nod as you passed the line. Tom went for your hand this time, and you looked down in surprise as he intertwined your fingers. You bit back the smile on your face as he led you by the hand. His touch was warm. You liked this, more than you thought you would.

People had always talked about you being Tom’s girl, but the label always made you spit at them. You had a name, and you expected them to use it. You didn’t need to be behind a man for it to mean something, for you to matter, and you made that clear from the beginning. Tom liked that, he knew from the start that he adored your independence. It was attractive and fresh, and for once, a woman with personality had stood up to him, and she was absolutely full of fire. It was one of the reasons he fell for you so fast and so hard. You were beautiful like that, always steady on two feet.

A queen, Tom had thought to himself. A righteous queen, and her eyes are hungry, just like mine.

You noticed Mariposa wasn’t at the table. Harrison was sitting there, and he looked incomplete without Mariposa beside him. He looked on edge, staring out into nothing, and he was bouncing one of his legs impatiently.

“Harrison,” you greeted him as Tom shooed his brothers to the side for room to sit in the booth. “Where’s Ri?”

Harrison sniffed a bit, shaking his head, “don’t know. She was supposed to be here a few minutes ago,” is all he answered. You let go of Tom’s hand, and at that, his head turned to you.

“I’m going to go take a lap, yeah?” You assured them. Tom tugged you back with a hand on your wrist, and you were surprised when he put both hands on your face, capturing you in a kiss that caught you off guard. The boys at the table shifted nervously as you kissed, even Tom’s men watching intently as you embraced without shame. Eyes closed, hands in your hair, Tom had you in just a few tender kisses, lowering yourself to sit beside him to give him a better angle. Harrison smirked a bit as he watched, shaking his head as Tom licked over your bottom lip dramatically. Tom pulled away casually to light a cigarette, letting you go finally, and you sat there dumbfounded for a moment, taking deep breaths as you fought the smiling growing on you.

“Be careful,” is all he said, his face unbothered as he reached over and took a sip of Harrison’s drink. You stood up on two feet again and smoothed out the front of your dress, avoiding the knowing looks from Tom’s brothers.

You left the table to make your way around dancing, sweaty bodies and through flashing lights. You were looking every which way for her curls. Maybe she got held up at the bar, or there was a line for the ladies room.

That’s a stupid thought. There are no lines for Holland girls.

You spotted her curls finally, done up in a glamorous bun, strands of her dark ringlets falling to frame her pretty face. She had her legs crossed, showing off the sparkling heels she always wore. You knew they were hers by the scuff at the bottom of the heel. She had been wearing the same stilettos for months, a gift from Harrison, and she never wore anything else, despite having a closet full of shoes. You followed the curve of her bare arm, adorned with a few golden bracelets and her fingers decorated with rings to match. Her nails were long and manicured, a deep red color that she always preferred. She had a fierce smile on her face, fluttering her long lashes as she spoke to whoever was across from her, and you could tell she wasn’t flirting by the way she sat up straight.

Mariposa had two ways of talking to men. The first way was distracting them, and she would twist her curls around her finger and lean forward so they could peek down the neckline of her top. She was beautiful, and they would always stare, and she would always get what she wanted. This time, she still had her jacket on over her corset top, and she was talking, her eyes narrowed and her posture straight and tall to convey her confident nature. She was saying something that was meaningful, and whoever was across from her needed to listen to whatever she had to say.

You came closer, and when she noticed you, her entire face fell, and she paled a bit. You stood at the end of the table, and you blinked when you noticed who was sitting across from her. You almost pulled the gun out from under your dress, but laughing voices from the table over reminded you where you were. There was nothing you could do but hope the candle on the table caught the sleeve of suit on fire and consumed his deranged soul in a fiery death.

“y/n—” Mariposa tried to explain, but you caught her off.

“Johnny boy,” a bitter smile grew on your face. “Mmm…you love being in places you don’t belong, huh?”

His eyes brightened a bit when he saw you. He looked older, much older than you last saw him. His face had sunken a bit, maybe a few more wrinkles there. His eyes were still bright and green and warm, and his hair had darkened just a bit from the dirty blonde it used to be. He still kept his hair a bit greasy and slicked back, and he still wore suits that were too big for him, a watch you knew he couldn’t afford, and a smile on his face that didn’t belong there.

Giovanni was the Sicilian man your father always wanted you to end up with. You called him Johnny to insult him, because you always knew how much he hated being American, and he preferred being called by his name in Italian. You refused him that, always calling him “Johnny baby, Johnny boy,” and each time making him angrier than it had the time before. He didn’t even know how to speak Italian. He was always trying to impress those above him, and your father was the man whose ass he kissed most frequently.

When he should’ve been kissing yours.

Your fears about an arranged marriage were valid. When your father told you the news about your mother and you had hurried back to California, mourning your mother wasn’t the only thing your father expected of you. When you had left for New York, your father knew you as someone that liked to get in trouble but would fall in line if he needed you to be. He had no idea what New York had done to you.

You knocked on your father’s study door, adjusting the leather jacket over your blouse. When you heard his voice, you came in, your boots sounding on the creaking wooden floorboards of the old house, an awkward sound in the deep silence that surrounded the walls of his office. You stood there frozen as the door closed behind you.

Your father was standing up from his seat behind the desk, De Luca beside him, and his lackeys lined up along the walls. Giovanni stood there in front of the desk, his own father holding him there with a hand on his shoulder. You brushed your hair back a bit, coming forward to stand in front of the desk.

“What’s going on, daddy?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “You called for me.”

“Well, y/n…things have been complicated in business lately,” your father explained, gesturing big with his hands. “We lost 20% of the ports in Italy because of some of the raids, and Giovanni’s father has generously agreed to get to work on acquiring the land back again on a few conditions.”

“That’s great,” you smiled bitterly. “What does that have to do with me?”

The men in the room shifted a bit, and you looked around at them all, turning back to your father when you had read the room enough.

“Oh, daddy,” you let out a breath. “No, you didn’t.”

“You know, y/n, there are things we do for business that make—”

“20%?” You scoffed. “That’s what you value the rest of my fucking life? My life is worth 20% of your Italian coast, yeah?”

“y/n—” Your father was mortified. He had never heard you speak like that, nor talk back to him like that. here were a lot of things you learned how to do in New York. One of those things had been to use your voice. You weren’t a little girl anymore, and you were adamant on standing up to anyone that got in the way of your interests.

Giovanni? That was against your interests.

“No,” you interrupted him. “Find another way.”

“There is no other way,” your father growled. “I made my deal, now it’s your turn, y/n.”

“y/n, c’mon, I’ve known you as long as I can remember,” Giovanni spoke up, coming close to you. He even had the audacity to put his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. You looked up at him, your mouth opening in disbelief, and you felt his fingertips digging into your back, slipping under the fabric of your jacket. “It wouldn’t be so bad, yeah? Can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

He was grinning, like he had won something, and you scoffed a bit.

“You’re right, Johnny boy, I have thought about this,” you leaned forward a bit, your face close to his. You moved your arm around to put your hand over his on your back, and you smiled sweetly at him before grabbing onto his wrist and twisting his arm enough to hear something crack in it as you pried him off of you.

Giovanni screamed loudly, and your father put a hand to his forehead as you held Giovanni by his arm still, holding pressure there as you continued to pull at his arm. You turned to his father, narrowing your eyes.

“Make a different deal,” you demanded. “Now.”

“You can’t just—”

Giovanni screamed in agony again as you pulled back his arm, using your leg to kick Giovanni onto his knees.

“Make a different deal,” you said again. “Or I’m going to make sure Johnny can’t even wipe his own ass again.”

“God, Dad!” Giovanni cried, doubling over as you held onto his arm. “Fuck, just do it, Christ!”

“Son—”

“Do it, do it!” Giovanni begged as you heard something crack violently as you bent his arm just a bit more. You were using the heel of your boot now, and using the weight of your body, you strained the length of his arm, the sounds only making your point more serious. “Jesus, fuck!”

“Perhaps, Mr. y/l/n, we can decide on a price instead.”

Giovanni walked around with a dislocated shoulder and broken fibula for months. Your father was furious with you, but he had no right to be. You had been so insulted that your father thought he could get away with something like that, and for a while, you made his life a living hell with his business partners. You had one message to get across to your father.

Don’t ever try and control me again.

You weren’t going to roll over and obey like the rest of his men. You had a purpose, not a position, and marrying you off to a misogynistic bastard wasn’t going to work. It was the beginning of your pursuit to be heard and seen, not used. That beginning had your father thinking twice about whether or not to barter you off like property, and it had started the growing, fiery mutual hatred between you and Giovanni.

You never expected Giovanni to grow a pair and come all the way to New York to entice you, but Giovanni was also absolutely terrible and would do anything to try and get the upper hand on you. He had been for years, and you were foolish to think he’d stop now.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you, his eyes darkening and falling over the length of your body. He whistled a bit, lowly, rubbing his chin. “New York has done you well, y/n. Is this your new look now? I like it.”

“Ri, I think you should get a refill,” you said firmly, grabbing the glass of wine out of her hands and downing it. You handed it back to her, empty, and she stood up slowly, her fingers wrapping around the stem of the glass as you sat across from Giovanni. “Go on.”

Mariposa looked between you two before walking away, and Giovanni followed her, his eyes watching her as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Hmm…I see you and Miss Muñoz are still friendly,” he winked at you, “and I can’t blame you. I mean…fuck, look at her.”

You scoffed a bit, “you’re still as much of a dickhead as I remember. Whose ass did you kiss this time to get yourself here?”

Giovanni tsked, “y/n, don’t be that way. I came all this way to see you, I thought you’d be happy,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I wanted to see my baby girl before she got all done up…all ready to take on Holland territory. I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Gonna marry that piece of shit, aren’t you?”

You tapped your fingers on the table, clenching your jaw, “you know, I don’t remember my father inviting you in on family matters,” you smiled knowingly at him. “I don’t ever remember one of his…lackeys being in on operations like this. I seem to remember that only people that matter, only people that could contribute, got to sit it on important meetings. It’s bad for business when men at the bottom know about things like this, so I’m sorry, Johnny baby, that information is…classified.”

He laughed a bit, licking his bottom lip with a roll of his eyes. “Your father promised me a lot of things he’s yet to deliver on. Maybe bringing me with him is how he plans on giving me what I deserve finally.”

“Promises he had no way of guaranteeing,” your eyes were sparkling. “My father was simply mistaken, and he had to learn from those mistakes.” You stopped tapping your fingers, tilting your head to the side as you met his eyes and didn’t back away from his glare. “I do as I please, Johnny. Nobody tells me what to do, nobody can.”

“And what are you doing here?” Giovanni raised a brow. “You’re nothing but a whore for your father, letting the Hollands degrade you…all for your dad to get New York again, I think that’s what he said.”

You sniffed a bit, shifting in your seat, leaning forward more.

“If you think I’m a whore, then you’re as blind as you were years ago,” you said lowly. “That’s not how it works here. If I ask something of the Hollands, they do it for me. And no, it’s not because I sleep with any of them. It’s because unlike daddy’s business, where boys like you are running errands, there’s only men here, and they don’t ignore women because their dicks are too small.”

Giovanni snickered a bit, “you know, I don’t think I would’ve liked to have you as my wife anyway.”

You smiled a bit, gripping his collar and pulling him close. “You’re right, Johnny. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in that relationship.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you licked over your bottom lip. “You know…cause my dick is so much bigger than yours.”

Poking at his insecurities was always your defense because it worked every time. Giovanni was the equivalent to a child and commenting on the size of him always seemed to get him angry enough to do stupid things.

Giovanni stood up abruptly after you let him go, but he was forced back into his seat when he bumped right into Tom. The color ran out of his face when he realized who he was in front of, and he scooted back into the booth, away from him, and Tom snatched the drink right out of Giovanni’s hands, tipping his head back and swallowing it all. You bit back the smile on your face as the glass hit the table, and Giovanni was visibly sweating.

“Mm…” Tom scrunched his nose. “Vodka and seltzer? What a terrible choice in liquor, mate.”

“Holland,” Giovanni straightened out his jacket, and you saw all the fight drain out of him. Intimidated by Tom’s glare, he held out his hand for Tom to shake. “I’m…Giovanni. I work for y/n’s father.”

“Mmm…so you work for y/n,” Tom corrected him, and Giovanni just pursed his lips. You watched as Tom pulled a chair out and took a seat, spreading his legs a bit as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid some matches your way. You stroke one of the matches, leaning over to light it for him, and you dropped the match into Giovanni’s glass. Tom took a few puffs of the cancer stick before passing it to you, letting you take a drag.

Giovanni watched the entire time. His eyes darted between you and Tom, watching intently as you both looked at one another, as if you were communicating silently, understanding one another.

“He just came to say hello, Tom,” you said finally, letting out a breath of smoke, and Tom turned to finally grace Giovanni with his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, holding the cigarette between his index and forefinger as he looked Giovanni up and down.

“Oh, to say hello, eh?” Tom was taking up space with the way he sat, knowing exactly how to intimidate others just by the way he positioned himself. “Mate, I can’t help but notice the way you look at y/n. I think…” he leaned forward and blew a breath of smoke into Giovanni’s face, “you should have more respect for my fiancé. Because being disrespectful to my fiancé means you’re disrespecting me, and I don’t bloody care for men that don’t respect me, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Your heart tightened a bit in your chest. You didn’t need Tom to stand up for you, and he knew that, you had been doing it for months yourself. But hearing him do it anyways, it was sweet. You had yet to hear Tom tell you that he loved you, but there was no denying it now, not here.

Giovanni shifted in his seat, brushing his hair back. He nodded finally, fiddling with his fingers.

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t like that,” Giovanni assured him, his voice breaking, and Tom tilted his head to the side.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No! N-No,” Giovanni shook his head adamantly, “I meant…y/n and I, we go…we go way back. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I see,” Tom laughed a bit, looking between you and Giovanni, his smile so sinister. Giovanni laughed with him nervously. “I see, so…because you and y/n know each other, it’s alright for you to act like a bastard, yeah?”

Your eyes glowed as you watched Tom break Giovanni down like a wall made of glass. Giovanni was scared, and you adored seeing him like this. You adored Tom, who was spitting venom in his ear, all for you. You couldn’t do much except stare at him lovingly.

“I think…you should apologize,” Tom said finally, and Giovanni gaped at Tom, blinking in disbelief. “I think your father would appreciate that, wouldn’t he, darling?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, standing up. Tom brought his hand around your waist as you took a seat in his lap, and he passed you the cigarette as you met Giovanni’s eyes. “Let’s hear it, Johnny. What do you have to say to me?”

Giovanni was proud, so proud. He had an ego even bigger than Tom’s, and he hid behind your father to throw insults at you. But here, in New York, your father wasn’t in charge anymore. What a Holland said was how it went, and there was no viable contradiction to it. Your father was not here to back up Giovanni and his unrealistic desires, and Tom was in your corner now.

I am yours, and you are mine.

Tom squeezed your hip, kissing your bare shoulder before trailing up and planting soft kisses to your neck. You smiled at Giovanni, reaching up and tangling your fingers into Tom’s curls to encourage him. Your eyes were dark and alight with contentment, and Giovanni could do nothing anymore. You were untouchable here, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to bite back at you.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he hissed through his teeth, and you blew Giovanni a kiss.

“Mmm…submissiveness suits you, Johnny,” you purred, standing up from Tom’s lap. You tapped off the cigarette as Tom stood up from his seat, straightening out his suit. “Tell daddy I said hello, and that I hope all is ready for tomorrow. Nine o’clock, right?”

Giovanni grimaced, biting back the words he was dying to say to you, but Tom was still listening, a look on his face that dared him to open his mouth. Giovanni simply nodded slowly, and you stubbed out the cigarette onto the table, tossing the ashes at him. Tom watched as you started walking away, smirking as he took a handful of your ass in one hand, following you. You let him, licking your bottom lip as he squeezed, and you grabbed onto his hand as you backed up into the wall, bringing him with you.

“Thank you,” was all you said, and Tom just pursed his lips, glaring down at you. He wasn’t angry, that wasn’t it. If he was, he would’ve gotten you both alone, in private, and he would’ve told you exactly what he wanted you to hear. This was different. He was seething, his chest rising and falling heavy, but he wasn’t angry.

“Who was that?” Tom demanded, touching under your chin. He wanted answers, clearly. You smoothed out the collar of his dress shirt, fixing it over his jacket. You sighed a bit, shaking your head.

“Nobody,” you said softly. “One of my father’s…I don’t even know what to call him. Tried to marry me off to the guy once upon a time,” you were pulled away from him abruptly as he pushed away from the wall, “wait, Tom—”

Oops.

You sat in silence in the car, sitting on opposite ends in the backseat, but this time, Tom didn’t have a hand on you. He was staring out the window, bouncing his leg, a hard look on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, fluffing the curls out of the product that kept them tidy. Tom had been acting this way all night, something itching at him, something bothering him, and it kept his head preoccupied.

“You didn’t care to tell me about that fucking tosser, eh?” Tom asked finally, his voice hard. You took a deep breath.

“Tom, honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” you explained, shaking your head. “I definitely didn’t think my dad was going to let him go on a trip with him, especially here, when we’re getting…married and all.”

Tom laughed a bit, “you know, y/n, I thought we were on the same page. I thought we were going to stop fucking lying to each other when the situation at hand is so fucking sensitive, that I could lose my bloody head!”

You scrunched your nose a bit as he raised his voice, and you smoothed out the skirt of your dress.

“Tom, I didn’t know,” you said again, sighing. “He surprised me just as much as he surprised you. Don’t yell at me.”

You rode in silence again, staring down at your painted nails as the car stopped and drove in the congested Midtown traffic. After a few minutes of Tom silently brooding, you were taken back when Tom reached over and grabbed both sides of your face, pulling you to him and kissing you hard. It was the same way he always touched you, always grabbed you, where his fingers slightly tangled in your hair and his palms were warm against your face and his grip was tight and firm. He pulled away shortly, licking over his bottom lip as he stared down at you. The touch of his rings cooled your face just a bit, but you still felt hot all over from his kiss.

He pulled back completely and sat straight again, resuming his previous position. He didn’t say anything or acknowledge how passionate the kiss had been, and you were grateful, because you were still recovering from it. You turned away from him, reaching up to touch your lips, and you smiled to yourself. Tom wasn’t upset with you; no. Tom was jealous.

When you looked down at your hands again, you paid attention to Tom’s diamond band, still on your ring finger. He had yet to get you an engagement ring or something of your own, but he never asked for his ring back, and you continued to wear it. Smoothing your finger over it, it was almost symbolic. You had taken it right off of Tom, but he was content in you having it and keeping it because he trusted you.

Because he loves me.

You hoped everything of his was that way. Once you took his name, you would have a whole other position to take on, a whole other empire to think about. He would give it to you, but there was no tension or fear between you because he trusted you, and you trusted him. In just a few days, you and Tom were not just business partners with benefits. You were connected to him, and he was connected to you, and nothing in your life had ever felt so seamless, so complete. It had to stay that way.

It just has to.

You turned your head to look at Tom. He was still looking out the window, but his nervous leg had stopped bouncing, and he was still, his legs spread a bit as looked at the city that belonged to him. His jaw was a bit hard, and he kept flexing and unflexing his fingers, curling them into fists and out of them. His mannerisms were calm and slow, but something was bothering him still. Perhaps the same thing that was bothering you.

From the moment you met Tom, you knew he was going to be hard to resist. You were a woman, and women had needs, of course they did. Tom was insufferable, a complete arrogant, egotistical, and excruciating pain in your ass, but God, was he beautiful and God, did he dress well. Tom exuded the money he made, he cleaned up like it, and he acted like it. You had always hated that personality in the men you met, but for Tom, he did egotistical and arrogant far more sophisticated and far subtler. He was good at being bad, he was good at being rich, and there were days when you just wanted to slam the door to his office shut and force him against it.

I mean, aren’t you marrying him?

Truthfully, you had no idea what you were doing. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. It wasn’t the time to think about those things. You and Tom had work to do, and none of it involved ripped clothes and tangled sheets.

You’re trying to merge kingdoms, not get hot and heavy with him. Focus.

The car stopped, and Tom opened the door. He stood on the sidewalk, waiting for you, and he held out his hand for you to take. You intertwined your fingers, and Tom shut the door behind you, helping you onto the sidewalk. You looked up at your apartment building for a moment, and even though there was a chill outside, you kept Tom there, not moving from your place on the sidewalk.

Tom sighed, letting go of you for a moment to light a cigarette. He took your hand again as he put the lighter away.

“What is it, y/n? What do you have to say?” Tom asked, as if he knew there were words itching to be spoken. You swallowed a bit, stepping closer to him. You reached for the ring on your finger, taking it off and holding it up for him to look at.

“Is this…what are we doing?” You wondered, a bit breathless. “Tomorrow, we’re supposed to…get married. That was the plan, it was always the plan, but…things are different now. There’s no secrets, Tommy, that changed things.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Tom countered, and you pursed your lips.

“You’re an idiot if you think nothing’s changed, Tom,” you argued. “I just…I just want the truth, Tom. That’s all.” You met his eyes, shaking your head. “I just want to know that…even if being married to me isn’t what you want, that…that you’ll still have my back.”

Tom let out a slow breath of smoke, away from you, before taking the ring out of your hands and putting it back onto his own finger. Your face softened a bit, and you swallowed hard, trying to fight down the feeling crawling up inside you.

No, no, no.

Tom reached into his suit jacket, pulling something out of one of the pockets. You looked down as he opened his palm, and you let out a shaky breath as you saw it. There, in his hand, was a thin solid gold band with a single rectangular diamond. He took your left hand in his, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out before slipping the band onto your ring finger. You had nothing to say as he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles before intertwining your fingers again and tugging you towards the building.

The silence told you enough. Tom had always planned on going through with it, and even though neither of you were sure about the future, you were sure about each other. Tomorrow night, you would marry him, and he would marry you, and even though both of you would be pretending, the vows would be real.

The beginning would be true.

You punched in the code for your door and used the key to unlock it, opening it. Tom held it open as he came in after you, and Tom shut the door as he backed you up against it, resting both of his forearms on either side of your head. You swallowed hard as you met his eyes, barely able to see him with the lack of lights on. The moonlight peeked in through the windows, but it was only enough to see half of his face.

“Tom,” you said finally, “what are you—”

He captured your breath in a kiss, pressing you up against the door. You dropped your purse onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you wrapped your arms around Tom’s neck, pulling him closer to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, enough that you let out a little laugh. All the tension in your body rose as one of Tom’s hands left the door and came up your neck, wrapping around your throat, gripping it firmly.

Oh, you have me, Tommy. I’m all yours.

You swallowed again, something dry, as Tom’s thumb trailed along the length of your jaw and up, tracing the outline of your lips. His touch was soft and hot, and his eyes were watching your reaction. You didn’t move, not at all, not until his thumb went into your mouth and you could wrap your lips around it, your eyes going up to meet his again.

“I’ve seen a lot of things tonight I wish I hadn’t, y/n,” Tom said lowly, chuckling darkly. “And you with that bastard was one of them.”

So jealous.

You gasped a bit as his grip on your throat tightened, forcing you back into the door, his wet thumb rubbing along your chin now.

So possessive.

“Bloody disrespectful that was,” Tom’s lip twitched angrily, and his eyes were so dark, you couldn’t see anything in them. “But you know what pushed me over the fuckin’ edge tonight, darling, eh? You know what it was?”

All mine.

When you didn’t answer, Tom shoved you into the door, your head hitting it a bit hard, and you grunted a bit, letting out a few heavy breaths. You were shivering all over from his touch, thinking about the last time you were underneath him. This time, just his fingers wouldn’t be enough, you knew that much.

“It was you, y/n,” Tom breathed, shaking his head. “You, thinking that I didn’t want you as my fucking queen. And it got me thinking, love.”

You let out a harsh breath as he shoved his knee between your legs, his thigh just ghosting the place you needed him the most. If you weren’t wet before, you were drenched now, hot all over, and completely shivering. Finally, Tom Holland had you at his mercy. He was enjoying every second of it.

Every curve, every dimple, every piece, it’s mine.

“It got me thinking that perhaps you don’t bloody understand what you mean to me,” Tom murmured, licking his lips. “But you will, darling. You’ll understand. I’ll make sure that you understand.”

You cried out in surprise as Tom gripped you by the waist and turned you around, pressing you up against the door again. Your cheek rested against it as he pressed his hips into your backside, dipping his head to the crook of your neck as you felt him, hard and strained against the zipper of his trousers, all for you. Tom kissed under your ear softly, his breath warm as he dragged his tongue up the length of your ear and kissed the edge of your earlobe.

“You’re a princess today, y/n,” he growled. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna make you a bloody queen.”

With everyone on their knees for you.

You were rendered speechless. Tom was whispering in your ear, his hands were falling down your sides, and you were completely, utterly useless. You whimpered as he gripped the hem of your dress and hiked it up, his hand cupping one side of your ass generously, squeezing. He almost moaned himself seeing the holster strapped around your thighs, your gun nice and snug against your leg.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Tom chuckled. “Look at you, darling…” You leaned your head back against his chest as you felt his fingers tug at the lace of your panties, moving between your legs before he touched between your thighs. He whistled a bit, lowly, “shit, baby, you’re bloody soaked…”

That was an understatement. Your panties were ruined.

“God, Tom—”

“You’ve wanted this,” he observed, gripping the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your thighs. “You’ve wanted me, sweetheart, but you never said a word. You don’t have to hide anymore, y/n. If I’m going to be your husband, you’ve got to be honest with me, eh?”

You couldn’t concentrate as his hands moved between your thighs, and you cried out a bit as he spanked you firmly. Your head was spinning, all you could think about was the ache between your legs and how hot your whole body felt. You knew you were dripping when Tom grasped the handle of the gun, pulling it out of its place and unbuckling the holster so it fell onto the floor. The metal was so cool and hard against your skin, and you froze as he released the magazine from it, the bullets scattered across the floor now. He dropped the gun, and it clattered onto the floor.

God, he’s going to make me come, and he’s barely touched me.

“Answer me, y/n. You’re going to be more honest with me about what you want, yeah?” Tom demanded. “If my wife is bloody needy,” you groaned as he tangled his hand into your hair, forcing your head back again, “if my queen wants something from me,” you sighed with relief as he kissed your neck, “I expect her to say so.”

My wife.

“Yes, Tommy,” you cooed, and you felt him smile against the skin of your neck.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, and you had to bite back a moan. You felt so submissive, so out of your element, but you had never adored the praise more than right now. This was the attractive, hot, kingpin that the city was afraid of, and he was calling you his good girl, his princess, his queen, and you didn’t realize how much you loved being worshipped until right now. You didn’t realize how much you needed someone to take care of you.

You closed your eyes as Tom started to kiss over the back of your neck, one hand sliding up your waist again as the other toyed with your clit, circling it gently just to keep you occupied as he felt up the body he loved more than any other. He had his eyes closed, and he was trying to memorize the curves of your skin, how often your breath skipped as he touched you, how warm you were. You smiled a bit as he fingered the zipper of your dress.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” you said softly. “I want you to.”

Good girl.

Tom unzipped the back of your dress, his knuckles dragging along your spine as he did. His touch was electric, each time his skin met yours was like a bolt of warmth that cascaded all down your back. You closed your eyes again as he began to kiss down your back, butterfly kisses trailing from the back of your neck to between your shoulder blades to the base of your spine, a trickle effect of shivers moving through you. Tom got down onto his knees behind you, and you groaned a bit as he bent you at the hip a bit. He put both hands on your ass, kissing the skin there, biting even.

“You couldn’t get any more beautiful,” he said lowly, and you let out a soft whimper as you felt his curls tickle your skin. It wasn’t long before your knees began to give out, an involuntary response as Tom dipped his head between your legs, his tongue poking out from between those wet lips to slip inside you.

“God, Tom—” You gasped, holding onto the wall for support. Tom put one hand on your hip to steady you and used the other to touch you teasingly. He started out slow, lapping through your folds, humming as he collected the sticky, sweet wetness onto the surface of his tongue, swallowing before delving in for more. With two other fingers, he massaged your bud lovingly, coaxing the most beautiful moans out of you. Tom was smirking like a bastard when he noticed your knees were shaking a bit, your body trembling as you gave into the sensation. “Tommy—”

“Mmm…you’ve got such a sweet cunt, darling,” he murmured, kissing your thighs, his voice a bit muffled against your skin. “Bloody wonderful.”

You leaned your head back, one hand leaving the wall to grab at his stiff curls, pulling on them hard. Tom chuckled a bit, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue moving in rhythm as he slipped two fingers inside of you, stretching you nicely, making your eyes roll back in your head as you rocked your hips a bit, feeling a sweet knot forming in your belly.

“Mm, princess, you’re so bloody tight, yeah?” Tom breathed, pulling away to catch his breath. “You’re close, eh?”

“Tom, Jesus!” You squealed, forcing his head back between your legs. “Don’t stop, what’s w-wrong with you?”

Tom didn’t stop. He stood up from his knees, grabbing you from the waist and hoisting you up into his arms. You held onto his neck as he carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the bed as he shed his suit jacket and kicked his shoes off. You stopped him from moving too fast, slipping your heels off before sitting up on your knees on the bed, tugging Tom to you by the fabric of his shirt, meeting his eyes as you slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt.

Tom undid the clasp of his watch, tossing it onto the floor on top of his jacket. He undid his cufflinks as you finished undoing the buttons of his shirt, and you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing his muscular torso. You couldn’t see much in the dark, but your fingers ghosted over flexed muscle and soft skin, and you let out a breath as you scratched down his stomach. Tom was a sight for sore eyes, and despite the scars and marks that you could feel, his skin was the most kissable surface you had ever seen.

“It’s alright, love,” a gentle noise escaped you as Tom gripped your chin hard with one hand, the other unbuckling his belt and working on his trousers. “I know…it’s hard to fathom how fit your husband is, isn’t it?”

“You’re not my husband,” you said defiantly, and Tom clicked his tongue.

“After tonight, m’love, you’ll never need anyone but me.”

“Bite me, Tom.”

“With pleasure.”

You heard the fabric of your dress tear as he pushed it off your shoulders roughly, grabbing the hem of it and shimmying it down your hips. He forced you onto your back so he could pull it off and toss it behind him, and Tom grinned as he looked down at you, scooting back on the bed as you kicked your panties off your ankle. There you were, like an angel sparkling in moonlight, all bare for him to admire.

All fucking mine.

He caged himself over you, getting on top of you, and you cupped his cheeks, kissing him warmly as you both settled back against the pillows. Despite how dominating Tom could be, this was gentle, this was sweet, and there was no rushing now. Tom brought you up to sit, rolling over until you were straddling his waist, his back against the headboard as you both kissed warmly, your thighs still shaking and damp from Tom’s unbelievable mouth. It wasn’t long before your fingers were threading through his curls again as you grinded down on his lap, chasing your high even though Tom had yet to remove his boxers.

He wasn’t stopping you. Both of his hands were on your bare back, his palms pressing you close as you moved your hips, both of your mouths still focused on each other, kissing, biting, breathing. You were chasing a high that Tom had denied you, not caring how desperate you looked as you leaned your head back and moved.

Your moan was feverish and shaky as you came, falling onto his chest for support as your hips slowed their pace. Tom gripped you by the hair and flipped you both over, getting on top, and you reached down between your grinding bodies to feel the front of his boxers, feeling how damp and sticky they were.

“Mmm, did you make a mess, baby?” You teased, and Tom pulled at your hair roughly, and you smiled at that, to his delight.

“Aye, you bloody adore that thought, eh? Getting me off without so much as fucking touchin’ me,” he chuckled a bit, and you hummed as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist securely. You held onto him as you felt the tip of him against your thigh, warm, wet, aching to be touched. You stared right into his eyes as you lowered your hand, finding his cock and wrapping your nimble fingers around him, your lips parting as you felt him for the very first time.

Tom gripped one side of your face hard as you stroked him, your fingers exploring the parts of him you had been deprived of for too long. Tom was lengthy, hard, and throbbing, and he thought you were being cruel with how slowly and tenderly you were touching him.

“Look at me,” you breathed, and he grunted as he met your eyes again, licking his lips as you slowed your fingers around him. You leaned forward, giving him a kiss beside the mouth before kissing him firmly, hotly, sloppily. “I’m going to make you unstoppable, Tommy. I know what you want, baby, and I’m going to give it to you. You want the world, Tom, and I swear…it’s yours.”

As if I’m not already fucking hard for her.

You couldn’t remember how long you kissed for, but your lips were swollen, red, aching by the time Tom gripped your hips and pushed into you. You arched your back at the feeling, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop Tom from sinking into you slowly, not stopping until your hips touched. You clawed at his back, your nails digging in hard. Tom didn’t move, but you could feel him pulsing, aching, dying to do something, anything.

“And I,” Tom sucked at the skin at the edge of your jaw, taking the skin between his teeth as he kissed to nibble and bite, “I’m going to give you the fucking power you deserve, princess.”

What I deserve.

You moaned in his ear as he finally lifted his hips, grunting as he pressed his body as close to yours as possible, the tip of his cock grazing somewhere inside of you that had you crying out in pleasure. Tom grabbed your face again, holding it tight as he moved his hips against yours, watching as your mouth gaped open wider and wider as he found his rhythm.

“Everyone is going to know your name, y/n,” Tom growled, rutting his hips up into yours, his breath faltering when he could feel you tightening up around him. “You’re going to be a fucking Holland, aren’t you, love?”

“Yes!” You gasped, dragging your nails down his back.

“Say it,” Tom gripped you by the throat this time, forcing your eyes on his as he quickened his hips, starting to lose control. “Fuckin’ say it.”

Mine.

“I’m a—” You moaned loudly as he dug his fingers into your hips, a forceful grip that had you shaking all over. Tom was relentless in his drive to get you seeing stars, and the tip of his cock was hitting the same sweet, aching spot over and over again inside of you. Once he found it, he didn’t stop searching for it, his focus solely on making those sweet eyes of yours milky and white with pleasure.

“Say it, princess,” Tom demanded, becoming breathless and hot as he moved on top of you. There was sweat lining his forehead, and your nails dragging along his back had become clammy with the sweat dripping down the length of his spine.

“I’m a Holland!” You cried out, biting down on his shoulder, and Tom slowed his pace a bit, picking you up until you were upright with him. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, leaning your forehead against his as you both moved as one, your hips meeting deliciously, getting faster and sloppier every second you both held onto to one another. Tom was hitting deep inside of you, and you needed to feel more, you had to feel everything, because it had been so long since you had felt anything.

All mine.

Tom smoothed his hand up and down your back, your panting breaths mingling as the pace quickened again, the knot in your stomach building up sweetly and intensely. Tom was fucking you raw, and you were loving every single moment of it.

“I need you, Tommy,” you breathed, and he nodded in response, not stopping the quick thrusts he had built up so well.

“I know,” he whispered, pulling at your sweaty hair, hugging your chest close to his. Skin on skin, the only sounds being Tom’s cock moving between you and your sweet breathless moans as you held onto him. “Be a good girl for me, y/n.”

You whimpered as he said it again.

Good girl.

It was a command you couldn’t help but obey. For so long, you had tried so hard to be anything but good. Good never got you anywhere, and no one cared about good girls, no one in this business listened to good girls. They ignored good girls, tossed aside good girls, killed good girls.

But here, now, in this bedroom, Tom needed you to be good, and it wasn’t because he wanted to toss you aside, it was because he needed you to be good to give you whatever you wanted. Tom didn’t need you to be good for anyone else except for him.

Your whole body froze as you came around his hard length, your hips stilling and your voice faltering as your vision turned a bit blurry for a moment. Everything was so silent and pleasurable for just a few moments, Tom’s hips slowing their pace but not stopping as he reached his own high. You gasped a bit as you felt him, filling you up and almost making you collapse. It was almost like a second high, feeling him like that, and Tom had to hold you upright as you tried to swallow down all the wonderful feelings inside of you.

You both panted hard, sweaty and exhausted, but neither of you wanted to move. Tom’s cock had softened, but you stopped him as he tried to pull out.

“Just a minute,” you breathed, closing you eyes. “Just…wait.”

The truth was that you had never felt more vulnerable or closer to anyone than this moment. You wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. Tom nipped at your neck as you relaxed in his lap, and you let out slight gasps as he moved every once in a while. Finally, slowly, you urged him to pull out, and Tom was quick to collect everything dripping onto your thighs and slip those fingers into your mouth, watching you hungrily.

“You’re mine, y/n,” Tom said finally, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You looked down at him, perched on his lap, and you nodded slowly. “Your father is going to have to pry you out of my dead bloody hands to get to you, yeah?”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “The only way we get out of this, Tommy, is together.”

“You and I, love,” Tom echoed, his forehead against yours again. He left a chaste kiss on your lips. “My ride or die.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” you cooed, and Tom leaned in close enough to kiss you again.

“One and the same,” you both said at the same time, smiling wide at one another, so enamored with each other that it was frightening.

You tried to remember how Tom looked like this. His handsome features only lit by moonlight, the sweat along his brows, the smile ghosting his swollen lips. Tom was pretty in this light, almost gentle, and you adored being able to see him like this. No one else would ever be able to admire him in this light, and you didn’t care if it was selfish. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and you tried so hard to swallow the fear in your throat. Tom couldn’t know how nervous you were, how scared you were. You had to show him that you were capable of doing this for him, that you had it in you to sit on thrones that weren’t made for you and to take on challenges that were never designed for you to succeed. You had to be better. You had to be more.

You need to be you.

Tomorrow would be the first chapter in a book you had never planned on writing. For so long, you were sure about where you were supposed to stand, but now you were struggling where to even put your feet as every step felt shakier than the last. Looking into Tom’s dark eyes, you were certain that this was the calm before the storm. Time and time again, your father proved he couldn’t be trusted, and there was something inside you that knew even the things he told you must’ve been a lie.

“He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him.”

Your father would only see through you. He would never be able to see you for what you were. You would have to take everything from him because you were certain that he would never give you what you were promised. You would have to take it, and you were relying on Tom to be there to catch you when you did.

“It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.”

This had to be the beginning, your beginning. It couldn’t be anything else. This love, this happiness, it all had to be for a reason, and the right reasons. You had fought so hard to get here, to finally feel in control, and finally, someone was looking at you. Tom was looking at you, and he was in love with you, and you needed to protect it from the world that you were never meant for. You knew it would do anything to tear it away from you, to make you believe that you weren’t worthy of it all, but you had to be better. You couldn’t let this be anything more than the start. It couldn’t be the beginning of anything else. Not the beginning of losing, not the beginning of being alone, not the beginning of the end.

It has to be the beginning of me.

read chapter nine

#wowie its here #i hope it was worth the wait #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland au #tom holland series #tom holland x y/n #mob!tom #tom holland smut #thnsfw #notorious

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jeongyunhoed · 4 years

Photo

A year after the events of Past-Present-Future, Lee Mirae, Choi San, and Jeong Yunho receive a mysterious envelope containing photos and notes about the deaths of several individuals. The deeper they go into the case, they find that the entertainment industry hides a very dark secret.

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Yunho/OC Genres: It’s a little bit of: adventure, romance, mystery, crime, fantasy, action. Things to note: It also features mentions of other idols/artists: Junhong (Zelo), Dean, Chanyeol, etc. Superpowers AU if it wasn’t obvious as well.

T/W: Themes of death, violence, demons, cults, blood, use of weapons and/or firearms, use of drugs (both recreational and medical), implied/referenced assault, implied/referenced suicide

A/N: The main conflict is a reimagining of an actual long-running theory. This is also a remaking of a previous fic I wrote before on Ao3 that will now be under the new super powers au. (if you know, you know). This work is pure fiction and does not bear a direct reflection of the idols in the story. Please let me know if you would like to be included in the tag list.

Masterlist

One

Lee Mirae and Choi San were seated at the dining table, huddling over the steaming pot of noodles in front of them. Even with the heater on, the freezing winter winds seeped through the windows that night. The television was on, the evening news reporting anything that happened during the day. Aside from the reports of finances and petty crimes, there was the sudden update in the case involving a nightclub owned by a celebrity.

“You know, the more the police let people like that get away with what they’re doing, the more I’m convinced that it’s all about the money,” San muttered in between bites.

“When hasn’t it been? Times are hard,” Mirae replied, glancing at the television every now and then while they ate.

It had already been a year since the events at Kang Tower, where she faced off with the family that played a big part in turning her into what she was. A year since remembering everything about her past, a year since putting it all behind her once and for all while reuniting with the man she loved, Jeong Yunho, who also turned out to be a mutant, an immortal mutant that could teleport in the dark.

Mirae was a mutant, as was San, who was her half-brother. Both of them essentially had the same abilities, only Mirae’s was much stronger and she was referred to as an omega-level mutant. The two of them had the ability to manipulate energy and were capable of turning objects into explosive projectiles. San only channeled his through his harpoon gun while Mirae did it with lighter objects like playing cards. Although she never played card games much, she knew how to throw it. Both of them were also highly skilled at hand to hand combat, both unarmed and armed, and had an extraordinary healing factor that made them almost-immortal.

However, that was only a few of Mirae’s capabilities. Her abilities also presented her with one unusual power set, that was being able to trap souls. This manifested when her eyes would turn black and was likely a result from using her powers to the fullest extent. Her powers also resulted in her being able to generate static, that not only made her able to neutralize touch-based powers, but it also gave her a strong psychic shield, making her mind unreadable to psychics. Yunho was an exception as he was what her old colleague Ino called, her soulmate, and would always be connected to her.

San on the other hand, ran away from home when his mutant powers first manifested. He witnessed Mirae get taken away and interned in the sanitarium when he was younger. Years before reuniting with her, he worked as a mercenary, a highly-paid assassin. San had since put that life behind him when they met again and decided to work at the store after the event at Kang Tower.

“It shouldn’t be hard for those celebrities that get arrested for those kinds of things. They could do whatever they want and get away with it. They’ve got some balls to be that cocky,” San pointed out.

“You talk like you don’t have billions stashed in your clothes.”

“Those are my life savings, I kept 1,000 won every day since I started school,” San argued.

“And how much of those billions were your cuts from old jobs?” She raised a brow.

San wrinkled his nose at the comment and went back to eating. Mirae reached over to ruffle his hair, amused at his reaction. “Where’s Yunho?” He suddenly asked.

“He’s closing the store for tonight. He lost the rock-paper-scissors game with the other employees, so he’s closing,” Mirae replied, pausing to drink water. “Money’s the root of all evil, isn’t it?” She heard more updates on the incident in the nightclub.

He noticed the way she said it. “You think there’s something more to it? Government cover-ups?” He was curious.

“There’s always something like that, isn’t it? When a government official messes up, what does the media do? Rather than cover it, they release an entertainment industry-related scoop or scandal, whatever it is,” Mirae explained. “How much of those celebrity relationships were revealed just when executives or high-level government officials were being charged for crimes? Hyuk told me a lot of those were publicity stunts too,” She added.

San looked intrigued at his sister’s explanation. He wasn’t one for being interested in the private lives of celebrities but even he knew a publicity stunt of a relationship when he saw one. “Eat the rich, kill the parasites,” He managed to say, chuckling.

“Depends on who the parasites are,” Mirae pointed out.

They heard a rustling coming from the hall and Yunho appeared. “Honey, I’m home, and good evening to you too Sannie,” He said, sitting down at the table to help himself to a bowl of noodles.

Jeong Yunho was also a mutant, an immortal mutant who had the ability to teleport. However, his teleportation abilities were very limited as he could only do so in the dark or at night. His powers manifested when he was killed during a mission in Morocco, when he died in Mirae’s arms only to wake up shortly after they had gone and made a long journey back to Korea. Yunho was also interned in the same sanitarium as Mirae, trained with the same fighting abilities and seemed to be the only one who could match up to her with an added advantage of his height.

“We were just watching the news, another update on that case with the club,” Mirae tilted her head towards the television. The news shifted into a commercial that featured an idol group. Mirae noticed that the group looked familiar, until she saw the face of Lee Midam, her best friend and producer Kwon Hyuk’s cousin. Both Hyuk and Midam were mutants that had psychic abilities. Hyuk was a powerful, omega-level telekinetic that had some telepathic ability, while Midam was a telepath of what could be the worst kind - he could project a person’s worst fears and desires and saw how they may die if they were to die in the near future. “Oh, I see those boys are doing very well. Hyuk told me they’re all overseas now for a concert or something.”

Yunho sat up upon remembering something. “Oh yeah, I saw this envelope for you, placed on your desk in the back room,” He took out a long, thin, piece of paper and slid it across the table towards her.

Mirae put her spoon down to tear the envelope open. Out fell several small photos of men and women, including one of a police officer. All the photos looked years old based on how their hair was styled. Another photo was a wedding photo. Behind each of the photos had names and some information. The wedding photo was of Na Youngji and Ji Myungsoo, and it struck her as familiar. Myungsoo was one of the biggest basketball players in the country. Youngji, his wife, was among the top actresses. She paused as she read what else was written.

Na Youngji - Committed suicide by hanging in 2008 - murder covered up as suicide.

Ji Myungsoo - Committed suicide by hanging in 2013 - murder covered up as suicide.

No wonder they were familiar, she thought, and Yunho heard it as he peered over from his seat, as did San, both of whom looked at the wedding photo. Mirae looked at the other photo. It was of Min Junghwa, who played one of the mean girls in a very popular drama. She looked through the rest of the photos, realizing why they were so familiar.

Min Junghwa - Committed suicide in 2009 - forcibly hanged, murder covered up as suicide.

Na Jongsuk - Committed suicide in 2010 - murder covered up as suicide - brother of Youngji, carried her portrait during funeral possession.

Oh Jinho - Committed suicide by hanging - murder covered up as suicide - carried Junghwa’s photo during the funeral, accused of drug possession.

Mirae stopped at the photo of a police officer and turned it over to look at what was written behind.

Officer Kim Yujin - apparent suicide in 2015 - murder covered up as suicide.

Yunho and San peered through the rest of the photos she slid to the center of the table, careful not to let any soup from the ramen noodles spill on each one. Mirae took out a few pieces of paper that were also included in the envelope. It was a chart linking all the deaths together, including what was currently on the news. The actresses in the photo were all under the same company, and at the very center of it all was one name.

Madame Seo

“Who sent this to you?” San asked.

“There’s no name, not even inside,” Mirae shrugged. “What could this mean?”

“I think you know what it means,” San was trying to contain his excitement at the realization.

“It’s been a while since we did something like this,” Yunho eyed her. “Whoever sent this to you must have known what you did before, with the cult? And the Seoul attack?” He said.

“And probably the Kang mob too,” San added.

Mirae looked into the envelope. There was another folded piece of paper and a business card of a luxury fashion brand called Montague. Unfolding the paper, she saw it was a list of five people, all of whom were prominent CEOs, one of which was a CEO of an entertainment agency, Yang Ent.

“All of these men, Junghwa was supposed to sue before she died. All the victims were found with piercings on their necks and wrists,” was written next to the list of names.

She handed the note over to the males. San and Yunho gaped at the note. “Now I’m even more convinced we have to solve this,” San nodded. “But where do we even start?”

“We could start with these five guys, but then there’s this too,” Mirae held up the business card and stopped when she saw another note at the back. “I’m thinking we start at this place first, it’s Madame Seo’s fashion brand. Maybe this is a front or something.”

“Maybe,” Yunho nodded. “I don’t think we have a lot of time, but whoever’s doing the killing probably believes they’re vampires or something because why would the victims have holes in their necks and wrists?” He read the descriptions again.

“Serial killers do tend to have certain preferences,” Mirae pointed out. “It’s one of the things I had to read in university,” She mumbled.

“You know, since you’re taking that up in university, this could make for field work,” San said, making the two of them stare at him. “What? I’m just saying, you won’t only solve a long-running problem in the entertainment business, but you’d also have some firsthand experience.”

“So do you, and especially you” She eyed him and then Yunho. Mirae sighed. “Well, I guess we could check this out. Whoever brought this to our attention will probably be glad we’re saying yes to solving this.”

San cheered in his seat and went back to eating, only to sit back and cringe. “Oh, my noodles have gone soggy.”

Mirae was staring at the notes behind the photos and the charts and the list later that night at her study desk by her bed. Her laptop was open and she needed to finish her dissertation. Yunho turned the television in the bedroom off and turned to face her. “You should probably come over here and rest, you’ve had a long day, we’ve had a long day,” He said, rolling over to her side.

“I will, you get some sleep,” She said, eyeing him with a small smile on her face.

“I won’t unless you do,” He said. “Also, you forget I can read your mind, I really won’t be able to sleep unless you relax.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” She teased.

Yunho sat up. “Since I started being able to read your mind, which was almost right away when you remembered who I was,” A fond smile crept up on his face.

“You really have to remind me?” Mirae grinned.

“Mhmm, because it’s how you know we’re stuck together for life” Yunho was beaming. “In a way, you could say, we’ll always have some kind of connection no matter what happens.”

“We do, yeah,” She nodded. Mirae closed her laptop and kept the photos and the pieces of paper laid out on her desk. “You’re excited about doing something like this again, aren’t you?” She got up and climbed into bed, Yunho rolling back to his side with an arm outstretched to hold her.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, I’m starting to miss beating bad guys up and I’m getting tired of having to play bouncer whenever Hyuk’s group’s fansigns are at the store,” He teased.

“Are you still sure you want to work at the store? You could work somewhere else-” She was cut off when he kissed her quiet.

“I’ve been away from you for so long, it took years for us to be together again, I don’t want to be away from you anymore,” Yunho rested his forehead on hers.

“I don’t know, I guess I was thinking you never got to do what you’ve always wanted to do, you know?” She said. “Not that I know what you’ve always wanted to be when you grow up, but, don’t you have dreams to do something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“My father wanted me to be a dentist, I think,” Yunho tried to remember. “But I didn’t want it, I rebelled, but he thought that me not wanting to do what he wanted me to do was enough to intern me.”

Mirae frowned and ran her fingers through his hair. “He was that strict, wasn’t he?”

“Very,” Yunho chuckled. “He wanted things his way, not even my mother could argue, not even my brother, and he was the favorite. But no, my father always wanted things to be done his way. You can imagine how suffocating that was.”

“I can,” She hummed in response. “My birth parents were the same way, they liked my sister more than me. If not my sister, they also liked San more than me. When my powers manifested, well, they called the sanitarium. My father ordered them to put me through electroshock therapy, and the rest is history.”

“We’re really not that different after all,” Yunho smiled, nodding knowingly of the tale.

“No, I guess not.”

“Now, you’re a lot more tired than I am, you should sleep, we’ve got some snooping to do tomorrow,” Yunho kissed her cheek.

“I guess you’re right,” Mirae watched him close his eyes. “It’s always going to be you and me.”

“You’re reading my mind now, aren’t you?”

“Somehow I don’t have to, I can tell when you’re so assured,” She was grinning.

The three of them spent the entire morning piecing everything that was in the envelope together. It went to the extent that both Mirae and San drew up a diagram on a piece of paper noting each connection everyone had to Madame Seo to Yunho’s amusement. It made him see how they were related to each other. “There wasn’t any name on the envelope either,” He said, peering over at the piece of paper that contained the notes and the photos. “Whoever sent this also seems certain we’ll solve this and get this Madame Seo arrested with the proper evidence to do it.”

“That, or wants her dead, after everything she’s done,” Mirae said. “She was the reason why Ji Myungsoo divorced Na Youngji. He left Youngji for her, and then they divorced eventually.”

“Oh, and these actresses aren’t the only victims apparently,” San looked over at what he wrote. “They all came from one entertainment agency, and a few singers were also victims of this whole scheme. You won’t even believe where they all came from,” He reached over for his phone and showed them what he found.

“Kang Entertainment,” Mirae and Yunho read. “...That better not be what I think it is.”

“Yeah, I can’t even believe that guy. Is every Kang company in this country under the Kang Organization?” San was unable to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“Well he is one of the richest guys, it wouldn’t be surprising if Kang Entertainment was a subsidiary business for the Kang Organization,” Mirae shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he practically owns nearly the whole capital either.”

“He’s got a lot of answering to do then,” Yunho pursed his lips. “And then I thought he was really coming around, he gets involved in this mess.”

“Well, when we first met him, it wasn’t in the best of situations either. We found out he killed the CEO of Park Enterprises,” Mirae recalled. “Did the dirty work of the CEO’s daughter. She’s in maximum security now.”

“I remember that well,” A small smile crept up on San’s face. “We just found each other again when someone called you,” He turned to his sister. “It was something out of a murder mystery story.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. One of the first times I saw you, but you didn’t see me then,” Yunho eyed her.

“So, I think we can cover more ground if we split up today,” She suggested. “There’s Kang Entertainment, Montague, and… Yeosang. San, you can pass as a model, you should probably check out the store. Yunho, you’re the only one who can get through to Yeosang without really fearing death so you should pay him a visit. I’ll go to Kang Entertainment.”

“As long as we interrogate those five men in the list together,” San pointed out. “We’re surprisingly efficient now.”

“We’ve always been, and it’s a lot easier with you two anyway,” She chuckled. “We meet at Viva Polo tonight for dinner and to talk about what we’ve found out for today. Let’s hope we get answers.”

The doorbell suddenly rang, making them look at the hall. “Who could that be?” San strode over to the monitor to see who it was. “Oh it’s Junhong, and Mirae, I think you know who else is standing outside,” He gestured to the screen.

Yunho and Mirae approached the monitor and upon seeing who else was with Junhong, they exchanged looks. “Hongjoong?!” He was stunned.

“I know. Well, I guess we may as well let them inside. Ino oppa’s probably foreseen or seen this happening, whichever one it was,” She rushed to the door when the doorbell rang again. Yunho and San crept by the hall, peeking over. “Coming!”

As soon as Mirae opened the door, Junhong was smiling, while Hongjoong looked a little reluctant but certain of his resolve in being here. “Ino hyung told us to come here, said you needed help, he saw this situation,” The taller of the two said upon taking his shoes off.

“It’s been a while, Hongjoong,” She said to the shorter one of the two. His hair was now dyed a very light brown and his fashion sense was now a stark contrast to the all-black garb and the sanitarium uniforms from the past.

“Yeah, a year since we last met,” He replied with a small smile, following her and Junhong down the hall, where he quickly greeted Yunho and San. “Yunho, it’s been a while too. I’m...glad you’re not dead after all.”

“And I probably won’t die anymore either,” Yunho replied.

“What kind of help did Ino oppa say you two would bring…?” Mirae asked this time.

“I’m glad you asked. Well, for starters, Hongjoong is your reinforcement. Apparently, the Kang family did more than just give your old colleagues some improvements, in fact it was an understatement as I’ve observed over the last six months,” Junhong said.

“What do you mean? Like they gave him powers or something?” San tilted his head in confusion.

“Yes and no. You see, the chips in the brains were one thing that I took out, and the audio trigger Ino hyung took out. Hongjoong’s now incredibly impervious to pain, practically built like a zombie, or a wall, whatever you prefer,” Junhong explained. “He still knows what you know in terms of combat though, one more person that could match up to you,” He eyed her. “But aside from that, he’s also gotten so much faster.”

“Wait a minute, I stabbed you with your blade thing back in Sky Sushi, does that mean you heal too?” Mirae raised a brow.

“Kind of yeah, just not the way you heal,” Hongjoong tugged on his shirt a little to reveal the scar of the stab wound on his chest. San and Yunho cringed.

“Well, if it helps, at least you fight well? You won’t have a lot of scars to worry about either way,” She assured him.

“Which also leads me to the other things,” Junhong opened the black bag he was holding. “I was tinkering in my lab again, and I thought I’d bring some things you should try out while you’re out snooping on whoever this Madame Seo is,” He handed her a roll of what looked like small, black poker chips.

“What’s this?”

“Hongjoong told me about some of the gadgets you all once had back in those missions of yours, and I was so intrigued that I built my own. I guess you know how to use them?”

Mirae glanced at Hongjoong, whose face was expressionless, as if also intrigued by what the taller had built. Yunho nodded, remembering what he meant. “Oh, these. When I whistle these explode,” She looked down at the chips again, feeling the cool, marble-like texture of each one under her fingertips.

“Bingo,” Junhong grinned. “Here are more communicators. The ones I had you test before went through some improvements. I’ll be a call away if you need anything. Last but not the least, here,” He brought out a small wooden box and handed it over to Yunho.

Yunho opened the box, revealing a set of test tubes and a few bottles of some solution. “A chemistry set?”

“More or less, for sudden findings, you never know what needs to be collected,” Junhong shrugged. “It was Ino hyung’s idea to give you that,” He added right away.

“I’m not surprised one bit,” Mirae shook her head. “But to make sure, we’ll go ahead and bring the samples to you anyway.”

“That might probably be the best idea,” Junhong nodded, feeling assured by her words. “So, what were you three planning to do today again?”

“We were thinking of splitting up in our investigation today. San will be going to Madame Seo’s fashion label, Yunho will be paying Yeosang a visit to ask him what he knows, and I will be going to Kang Entertainment. All the actresses that were killed came from that one company, which might have been owned by Yeosang’s company too,” Mirae explained.

“We’ll interrogate the five guys in that list Min Junghwa left before she died together,” Yunho finished. “Hopefully tonight but we can’t be sure.”

“Well, you will cover more ground in one day that way,” Junhong nodded.

“Hongjoong, you might want to go with San to the fashion label, but we’ll explain on the way to where we need to go,” Mirae suggested.

“Got it.”

“Everyone armed and ready?” Mirae glanced at the two other males.

San lifted his coat to reveal his harpoon fitted into a holster and the extra blades and the ropes carefully inserted in other parts of the belt. Yunho did the same, revealing the holsters in his jeans that had his trusty sai. To their surprise, Hongjoong lifted up the sleeves of his jacket, revealing the blades that were activated by the fingerless gloves he was wearing. Junhong beamed with pride at his invention being brandished.

“So, I guess this means we’re on,” Mirae said.

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rustbeltsinologist · 3 years

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Reflecting on Bruce Lee's Films

I recently finished watching all of the five films that Bruce Lee starred in. I'm yet to watch The Green Hornet or any of his earlier works, and the David Carradine-led show inspired by Lee's ideas called "Kung Fu," turned me off when I gave it a try. I think it's fair to look at his five starring roles as representative of his body of work. Spoilers ahead in case you haven't seen any of these. Below, I will be talking about "The Big Boss" (1971), "Fist of Fury" (1972), "Way of the Dragon" (1972), "Enter the Dragon" (1973), and "Game of Death" (1978).

I would say that "Enter the Dragon" is the best one. If you are only going to watch one Bruce Lee movie, watch that one. If you liked that a lot and then you want to see more of him, then you can check out his other movies. But if you just want to watch more good kung fu movies in general from the '70s, then I would probably suggest moving on to "Five Fingers of Death," "Five Venoms," "The 36th Chamber of Shaolin," or "Boxer from Shantung." All of Bruce Lee's movies explore the meeting between East and West, how kung fu can be taught internationally to people from around the world, his special philosophy of martial arts, and some interesting social dynamics. "Enter the Dragon" explores some questions of race, and features a multinational and multiethnic cast among whom include Lee's students.

My second favorite was "The Big Boss," his first starring role that also saved his family from a tight financial situation. This one is interesting because it features Lee playing a pretty humble, working guy who ends up standing up for his fellow workers when they are about to go on strike because their coworker went missing and the boss isn't willing to help search for his whereabouts. Bruce Lee's character ends up getting courted by the bosses as a middle man between management and the workers, but he soon finds that they are using him, and he loses the respect of the workers in the process. While all of this is going on, the ice factory that Lee works in is secretly running engaging in human and drug trafficking. After his love interest is murdered, he goes on a rampage that is bloody and awesome for the last third of the movie. His physical prowess is impressive and in the end he gets his revenge, but is also a broken man.

At this point, I am split between "Way of the Dragon" and "Game of Death." "Way of the Dragon" is one of the best explorations of East meets West in a Hong Kong martial arts movie that I've ever seen. Lee plays a charming Charlie Chaplin-esque character who travels from Hong Kong to visit his immigrant relatives in Rome, Italy. His observations and humorous interactions with the Europeans around him are a delight and, I think, come from a place of both personal experience and intelligent ironic joking. The fighting in this movie is top notch. "Game of Death" is amazing for several reasons. There is so much about this movie that is great, but there is also so much about it that is terrible. The entire idea of putting together this movie and releasing it 5 years after Bruce Lee’s death is a terrible one. The idea of using two stunt doubles to pretend to be Lee for 70% of the movie is terrible. The cutaways to old shots of Bruce Lee in other films are terrible. And most of all, the inclusion of actual real-life footage of Bruce Lee’s real funeral is absolutely terrible. Now all that being said, the story of the movie on its own, is actually pretty good. I was entertained and interested in the plot the whole time. The idea of a movie star being killed by the mob and then getting revenge on them after faking his death is actually a really cool one. The stunt doubles did a pretty decent job of mimicking the way in which Bruce moved around and carried himself. When you see their faces, you know they're obviously not him, but from a distance it’s not too bad. It also helps that most of the time they had the doubles wearing sunglasses, bike helmets, or bandages wrapped around their heads. After watching this movie, I found the entire 35 minutes or so of uncut footage that we have anymore of Bruce acting in this movie. He basically shot three fight scenes that were supposed to happen back to back, in the last third of the movie. Only two of those were actually included, and in cut up fashion, in the end product released in 1978, and only 11 minutes of footage actually has the real Bruce on screen. The final movie minimizes the significance of the fight with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar that we get to see in the original footage. Bruce’s original script idea was genius and was the most perfect representation of his entire philosophy. The original plot had him reluctantly being forced to partake in an international martial arts gauntlet in a pagoda in Korea. After his sister is kidnapped by the Korean mob, he is forced to go partake in this competition. There is an unspecified prize at the top. There are 5 floors of challengers, each practicing a different martial arts style: Karate, Hapkido, Praying Mantis style Kung Fu, Filipino Eskrima, and finally Kareem Abdul-Jabbar who is practicing Bruce’s own style but he’s 7’4”. That is the final fight in the original story, but in the final movie it is second to last, which lessens its significance, again. After the final fight, Bruce is beaten, bloody, tired, and unable to walk straight. He just walks down the steps and doesn’t even bother to go up to the top. Whatever is up there is not important to him. Now tell me that isn’t an amazing idea for a martial arts movie, made by a guy who specifically emphasized that one should fluidly adapt different fighting styles? In every fight, he finds each style’s weakness and uses that to win. This shows his belief that being too rigidly traditionalist about one style was not the best approach. The barrage of Bruce Lee clones and recuts after this movie are an insult to him, but also are an interesting snapshot of the bizarre pop culture world at the time. Fortunately Hong Kongers were not interested at that point and had already moved on to other great martial arts stars like Jackie Chan, Gordon Liu, and Sammo Hung.

Finally, I place "Fist of Fury" last. My favorite part of it is when Bruce Lee keeps putting on different costumes and making funny faces disguised as different people. It's sequel is atrocious.

After watching all of these movies, I want to say that my overall verdict is that Bruce Lee absolutely deserves the reputation he has. It is sometimes said that after a star dies young, their work becomes overrated and that they are only that famous because of their tragic real-life story. I think that in the case of Bruce Lee, this is not true. He really was that exceptional. His philosophy, his charisma, his fighting style, and his visions for his films were all superb, above and beyond the norm.

#bruce lee #hong kong #martial arts #chinese cinema #hong kong movies #hong kong films #kung fu movies

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/4/2020: SOCIETY

Without having a survey to back me up, I feel comfortable asserting that as a horror fan, you go through different phases with SOCIETY. It’s a basic fact of life, and yet it morphs and mutates underneath you, shocking you anew just when you think you’ve got a grip on it. You never forget your first time, because there is simply nothing like it. Then, after you get over the initial shock of its patented brand of body horror, you start to take it for granted; it's so broad and monolithic that it becomes something like the Grand Canyon--when it’s not right there in front of you, you begin to experience it more iconically, as part of the wallpaper of existence, rather than an in-your-face confrontation with the limits of experience. Then, you revisit it every few years (or months, depending on what sort of person you are), and the prophylactic layer that your brain has wrapped around your memories of it--the one that allows you to think of SOCIETY as a fun, wacky cheap thrill--begins to crumble, and you realize all over again how iconoclastically vile it is. Wherever you happen to be at, with this inimitable genre landmark, you'd be hard pressed to deny that it earns its royal status among horror movies, just for being so uniquely fucked up.

Filmmaker Brian Yuzna is best known as the co-creator of the indispensable RE-ANIMATOR (or as the co-writer of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS...depending on what sort of person you are, again), itself a milestone achievement in the blending of sex and gore that so characterized '80s horror production. That film clearly brought out the best in Yuzna and frequent collaborator Stuart Gordon (also of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS fame...among other things), but it's interesting to see how they operate apart, to understand the unique ingredients that each filmmaker brought to the more perfect union of their classic Lovecraft adaptation. Gordon skewed darker and more intellectual, as evidenced by the end of his career with the shattering mob thriller KING OF THE ANTS, the disturbing true crime drama STUCK, and the Mamet-penned EDMOND. Yuzna, for his part, is almost anti-intellectual, preferring to cook up blackly comic, semi-pornographic nightmares like his two increasingly horny RE-ANIMATOR sequels, the terminal S&M fantasy RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD 3, and the shamelessly hokey comic book adaptation FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED. Yuzna's lack of shame is really his defining feature as an artist, and nowhere is this more obvious than in his directorial debut and signature masterpiece, SOCIETY.

Salvador Dali's "The Great Masturbator," a chief visual inspiration for SOCIETY.

Yuzna was able to leverage the success of RE-ANIMATOR to lock in two directorial opportunities, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR, and a bizarre body horror exercise about a Beverly Hills orphan who discovers that not only are his adoptive family from a different bloodline, but they're not even from the same species. That both pictures employed the writing team of Woody Keith and Rick Fry gives you a little taste of what to expect from SOCIETY, but to be frank, the latter threatens to make the former look like a very special episode of ER; "overkill" barely begins to describe SOCIETY’s ambitious assault on the human body. In a recent interview, the philipino-american director giggles perversely, "I think my friends were a little embarrassed for me (when they saw SOCIETY)," and this sound bite reminded me that the last, most important ingredient that Yuzna contributes to any project is unabashed joy. It's a little hard to imagine stomaching SOCIETY without it.

In this unusual scene from the class struggle in Beverly Hills, Billy Warlock (son of HALLOWEEN 2's Michael Myers, Dick Warlock) plays Bill Whitney, a rich, handsome, athletic high school student with a heavy duty anxiety disorder. Although he appears to have it all, he is plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, reflecting suspicions that the family that spoils him is also out to get him. Perhaps this is all understandable, though. Bill is under a lot of pressure these days, with his parents devoting all of their attention to his sister's coming out party, and his narcissistic girlfriend pushing him to ingratiate himself to the assholes higher up the social ladder; it's enough to make any teenager feel alienated and insecure. But, do these garden variety anxieties account for his visions of his sister's body deforming itself unnaturally, or the dubious evidence he finds that her debutante ball involves incestuous orgies and human sacrifice? Is Bill simply crumbling under the strain of societal expectations, or is the friction with his shrink, his parents, and his peers all symptomatic of an elaborate plot against him by elites who are truly less than human?

I can’t believe they use this cheapo blanket trick MORE THAN ONCE in a movie that is famous for its unforgettable special effects, and I guess I kind of love it.

In case I haven't made the answer abundantly obvious, I'll add that while SOCIETY is the purest expression of Yuzna-ness on the market, it has an important co-author in Screaming Mad George. The eccentric japanese FX master, whose name is apparently an amalgamation of Mad Magazine, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and...George, has produced some of horror's most outrageous makeup and visual effects, mostly for Yuzna, many of them in SOCIETY. If you've seen even a trailer for Alex Winter's 1993 oddity FREAKED--which is itself a grossout criticism of American social standards--then you are already familiar with SMG's trademark style. He specializes in twisted perversions of the human form that would make a cenobite blush, driven by a penchant for puns, and influenced equally by THE THING's Rob Botin, and Big Daddy Roth’s Rat Fink style. Screaming Mad George is instrumental in articulating Yuzna's premise: that behind the shimmering veneer of success and sophistication, the upper class are just a bunch of degenerates, who literally degenerate into something unimaginable behind closed doors. It's impossible to imagine SOCIETY without his sinuous, slithering monstrosities, or his indescribable realization of their most important social event, "the shunt".

One of many great images from a zine I wish I owned, on SMG’s Facebook page.

It's easy to get overwhelmed by SOCIETY's visual impact, but its message is just as potent now as it was at the end of the Reagan era: Rich people are not only different from the rest of us, but in fact, they aren't even human. Writers Keith and Fry make an interesting choice of hero to help put this across. A lazier writer would have selected any archetype from the Freaks and Geeks set to create an easy Us vs Them tension, but SOCIETY is led by a promising young man who, for reasons he himself does not yet understand, is just not "the right kind of people". Bill appears to have every advantage in life, including a level of popularity that wins him presidency of the debate team despite his nerdier rival’s superior prowess--and yet, he suffers from a stigmatizing psychiatric disorder that is the natural result of feeling indefinably different from one's peers, and intuiting that, as a consequence, they don't even really like you. The shallow jock with deep-seated emotional problems is a much more interesting protagonist for this kind of social allegory than the charismatic outcasts that you get in movies like THE FACULTY and DISTURBING BEHAVIOR, for whom the idea that the elites could be aliens is just de rigueur.

It's worth noting that this complexity of character extends to Bill's love interest, sympathetic society girl Clarissa Carlyn (Playboy Playmate Devin DeVasquez). At first, she seems villainously eager to introduce Bill to the many splendors of "the shunting", but as the plot against him mounts to its horrifying conclusion, she defects. There appears to be a reason for this, although honestly, this is the most difficult part of SOCIETY for me to wrap my head around. Clarissa lives as an essentially independent adult, only burdened by her mother (Pamela Matheson), a possibly brain damaged hulk who lurks in and out of various scenes just to be disturbing, always announced by some toots on a tuba, before eventually siding with our heroes. I'm really not sure what's supposed to be going on in this part of the movie, except that this character contributes to a number of distasteful jokes. But, I hold on to the idea that by virtue of whatever disorder Mrs. Carlyn suffers from, she serves the purpose of priming Clarissa to rebel, since her very existence makes her daughter something of a societal outcast herself. That's the best I can do.

In any case, everyone working on SOCIETY commits completely, with Mrs. Carlyn being no exception. The movie's climactic orgy of the damned is an all hands on deck operation, just as reliant on Screaming Mad George's artistic abilities as it is on the actors' responsibility to make you believe that this fucked up shit is really happening. There's a visceral patina of sleaze spread over the entire film, dripping from the way that characters talk to and touch each other, flirting and flaunting their bodies in a distinctly unseemly fashion, even when it stays within the realm of mundane reality. This constant sinister, insinuating attitude on the part of the whole cast lays the foundation for what is to come, and while I appreciate everybody's hard work, my favorite performance is from an actor who only comes in at the very end: David Wiley as society king Judge Carter. Wiley's career consisted almost exclusively of the most ordinary sort of television work, which makes his outrageous turn in this alien porno flick all the more respectable. While other characters transition from suspicious pod people to full-on mutated perverts, Judge Carter has to show up just for the finale, establish his authority, rip off his clothes, and plunge straight into a sea of slime, happily fisting his way through the cast. Wiley meets this challenge with aplomb, making of himself a hybrid of Robert Englund and Gene Hackman, perfectly embodying the movie's joyful absurdity, and never betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment.

SOCIETY is very much a don't-look-down type of endeavor, a fairy that could expire at the slightest lapse in faith. There's a visual pun in the last act that's so gross, so offensive, so frankly idiotic, that I don't have the courage to describe it; my whole body tenses up when I know this scene is coming, as if it were the meat hook scene in TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE or the brutal rape in the middle of SHOWGIRLS. I don't like it, but at the same time, I respect Yuzna's unhesitating commitment to show it to me, and I think that actor Charles Lucia should get some kind of award for shouldering the burden so valiantly. SOCIETY is a daring movie in the truest sense, a film with more balls than brains, and in this it exposes the limitation of intelligence and taste, and the real need for pure transgression, in producing art of any real value. You might argue with me about whether Yuzna's masturbatory magnum opus really qualifies as art, but to respond to that, I'll quote the great transgressor Alejandro Jodorowsky: "If you are great, EL TOPO is a great picture. If you are limited, EL TOPO is limited." So stick that in your shunt and smoke it.

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PS Here, have this stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

#blogtober #2020 #society #brian yuzna #screaming mad george #woody keith #rick fry #billy warlock #Keith Walley #devin devasquez #david wiley #horror #black comedy #satire #body horror #social criticism

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pinknerdpanda · 5 years

Text

Dead Sea

Word Count: 4,317

Characters: Modern AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff

SSB Square Filled: “Why the long face?” (Bolded and Italicized below)

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul - what would I do without you?!

A/N: Alright, here it is. My first attempt at MCU Fanfic and hopefully the first of more to come. I really love Bucky’s character and the ways parts of him can be expounded upon. This particular piece was written for @heli0s-writes 2K Challenge. My prompt was the song “Dead Sea” by the Lumineers. I kinda picked it apart and used bits of lyrics within the fic, which are highlighted. This is also the first fic for my @star-spangled-bingo card. Hope you enjoy! I’d love to hear your feedback!

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, send me an ask!

Dead Sea

“Why the long face?”

Four words, spoken with casual naivete and a breath of gentle teasing. Bucky froze, the unlit cigarette, now forgotten, dangling between his lips as he looked around for the source of his distraction. His gaze landed on her as she flicked her lighter, bringing the flame to her own cigarette and taking a drag. Her hair itself was like fire, brilliant red and vivid orange dancing around her face in the breeze. She smiled, smoke billowing in delicate tendrils from her nose and mouth as she held the lighter out.

Bucky blinked, glancing around once again. Surely she was addressing someone else? His eyes narrowed as his search came back empty and he looked at her again.

She wiggled the lighter in his direction and chuckled, the sound electrifying every nerve in his body and making the hair on his arms stand on end. A sound that pure and beautiful should be reserved for...well, anything or anyone except him. Bucky knew he should turn around and go back inside - leave her alone and untainted by his mere existence.

And yet as she watched him patiently, the sun overhead making her eyes and hair sparkle, he silently nodded his thanks and accepted the proffered item. It took a few failed attempts before he successfully ignited the tip of his cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke, returning the lighter in silence.

“I’m y/n,” she offered, tucking it away again.

Dumbstruck.

It’s not a word Bucky would have used to describe himself in recent years. As a naive, fresh-faced kid 20 years ago? Sure. But a former soldier and recently retired enforcer for a powerful mob back East? Hell no.

And yet, there was no other word to describe it.

Bucky Barnes was dumbstruck.

He took a long drag and exhaled, hoping the cloud of smoke would provide some sort of camouflage as he spoke.

“‘M’name’s Bucky,” he mumbled.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” her tone brightening around her widening smile. “I haven’t seen you before. You new?”

Bucky nodded, hiding again behind his antiquated bad habit.

“I work just there,” she gestured behind her, cigarette carefully poised between two fingers. “At the salon. I’m a stylist.”

Bucky jerked his thumb to the door a few places down from where she’d pointed.

“I just started at the pawn shop.”

Y/n nodded, taking another drag.

“You said something. Earlier.” Bucky cleared his throat, his continued socialization a surprise to himself. “What did you say?”

Y/n grinned, sheepishly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it with the toe of her worn Converse.

“I asked ‘Why the long face?’” Y/n pulled her jacket around her, shielding herself from the chilly gusts of late winter air. “It’s just...well. You looked kinda sad.”

Bucky chuckled, flicking his cigarette away deftly. “I’ve been told that’s just my face.”

Y/n pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze at him, nodding thoughtfully.

“I appreciate the concern, though.” One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up, the ghost of the charming ladies-man he’d once been playing over his features.

“I’ll see you around, Bucky.” She laughed to herself once more before ducking her head and retreating toward her shop, the door closing behind her.

I hope so. Bucky thought to himself. I really hope so.

----

The next few weeks passed in much the same way; smoke breaks shared behind the strip mall, shy smiles and quiet comfort found in the low murmuring between them.

“But why did you leave New York for bumfuck Ohio?” She pressed gently one day, flicking ash into the wind. “This place is just so...boring.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, having dreaded this question from the moment he put the Empire State in his rearview mirror. The dread compounding even more as the thought of telling her the truth flashed through his mind.

Bucky took another drag before tossing the butt on the ground and stomping it out mercilessly.

“New York lied to me. I needed the truth.” Bucky smirked in self-contempt, the irony heavy on his tongue. It wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t the honesty he wished he could give her, either. “Besides, boring isn’t so bad.”

He chanced a look in her direction and found her, nodding thoughtfully as she often did, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. To Bucky, that one gesture felt as though she saw through him, though the feeling wasn’t raw and exposed as he kept anticipating. It felt...reassuring, somehow. Like she saw him as someone he wasn’t even certain he was, and was just biding her time until she could reflect the image back to him.

“Well, whatever brought you here, Bucky,” she smiled, brushing the neon green and pink hair from her eyes. “I’m really thankful it did.”

Bucky cleared his throat, refusing to look at his watch, as though doing so would deplete their time together faster.

“What about you? If it’s so boring here, why do you stay?” His tone bordered on teasing, but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.

Y/n blinked rapidly, the edges of her smile crumbling visibly. He could practically see her forcing her facial muscles to keep it place.

“It’s my dad,” her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s sick. Cancer. My mom left ages ago and I’m all he’s got.”

She shrugged, leaving him with more questions than answers. Bucky knew better than most not to press the matter. She never did with him, so he allowed her the same respect.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/n nodded, a silent acceptance of his sincerity. She took a small step forward - her warmth and vitality crowding his space in all the best ways - and, leaning up, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Blood roared in Bucky’s ears and his heart thudded against his ribs almost violently. The feel of her chapped lips on his skin lingered as she stepped back.

“Have a good afternoon, Bucky.” She started to walk back inside, but turned to face him again. “You oughta come by sometime, let me get my fingers in that hair of yours.”

Feigning offense, Bucky scoffed, and pushed some of the long strands back over his ears. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Y/n smiled, a renewed joy in the curve of her lips. “Nothing.”

Bucky watched as she retreated back through the door of the salon, finding himself, once again, dumbstruck.

----

“What about - ” she drew the word out, finger outstretched as she settled on the one she wanted, “that one?”

Bucky chuckled. Of course she would pick that one.

“That one is Vega.”

Bucky turned his head, finding her profile highlighted by the glow of the heavens above. He found her joy intoxicating.

He’d been nervous when he asked if she wanted to do something after work earlier in the day. Nervous and more than a little clumsy, having already convinced himself that she’d turn him down. But she hadn’t. In fact, Bucky thought she almost looked relieved. Though whether it was because she’d hoped he’d ask or because she simply needed a brief reprieve from the responsibility of caring for an ailing father, he wasn’t sure.

All he knew for certain was that sitting there, blanketed by an inky black sky dotted with shimmering stars next to her was the only place he wanted to be. He felt a bone-deep peacefulness he’d never experienced in his life and it had everything to do with the pastel blue-haired girl who’d agreed to go stargazing with him.

"You know," he began, swallowing thickly when she turned to face him. "They say that Vega was a goddess who fell in love with a farmer. She descended the heavens to be with him and promised to bring him back with her. Her father became so enraged with them, he banished them both to the sky, but far apart from one another."

"That's so sad," she whispered, her face scrunched.

Bucky nodded.

"But," he began, desperate to wipe the frown from her lips, "once a year - on the seventh day of the seventh month - a bridge of magpies forms across the milky way so the lovers can be reunited once more."

It worked.

Y/n's eyes glittered brightly with excitement again and at once Bucky's breath was stolen from his lungs. In that moment, Bucky would have lassoed the moon and brought it to earth if it meant being cocooned in her mirth for a few more seconds.

"That's so romantic, in a horribly tragic kind of way." She laughed, the sound knitting together pieces of himself he'd long assumed irreparable. "Thank you for this, Bucky. I needed some fresh air."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

The voice in his head bellowed that the blush gracing her cheeks was a figment of his imagination. But, as her hand linked with his, the roar of doubt and fear subsided for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly, meticulously cataloging the feel of her palm in his own.

"What are you thinking?" Her melodic voice vibrated through the night air.

"Sometimes," he started, unsure how to put his chaotic thoughts into words. "Sometimes I feel like I'm sinking and I can't seem to catch my breath."

Her thumb soothed gentle circles over his knuckles, sending a shiver down his spine.

"But for some reason - when I'm with you - I feel like I can't help but float." Bucky cringed. As often as he'd considered expressing his budding feelings for her, he had done a piss-poor job when the moment presented itself.

And yet...

Her lips were warm against the rough skin of his hand and it shot little jolts of electricity up his arm and throughout his body.

"I'll be your Dead Sea, Bucky," her breath tickled the hair on the back of his hand as she pressed another kiss there. "You'll never sink when you're with me."

----

“You’re insane.”

Y/n giggled merrily as the rhythmic swells of Latin beats carried on the breeze from the Puerto Rican restaurant a few doors away.

Bucky grinned. "Probably."

"It's raining!" Y/n protested, a whine lacing her words.

Bucky tipped his head to one side, his hand held out feeling the gentle patter of rain against his skin.

"’S’not raining, it's sprinkling. I know you're sweet, but I promise ya won't melt." His words were flat, but his lips betrayed the attempt at a deadpan retort.

Y/n simply narrowed her gaze at him, crossing her arms over her chest, though her smile muted the effect of her challenge.

“Aw, cah’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky drawled, Brooklyn accent thick and charming. “No one’s gonna see us.”

“I don’t know how!”

Y/n glanced nervously from Bucky’s outstretched palm to his face and back.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow as his lips drew up in an inviting grin.

Reluctantly - but only just - she released the air from her lungs in a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands in the air.

“Fine. But it’s only because you’re cute.”

Bucky’s smile widened as his pulse quickened, a rush of warmth heating his cheeks as she placed her right hand in his. He draped her other on his shoulder before planting his right hand against her back.

“It’s easy, just remember one, two, three. One, two, three.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Now, when I step forward you step back. Just mirror my steps and follow my lead. One, two, three. One, two, three.”

Slowly, carefully, Bucky moved them both in a less-than-graceful rendition of a Salsa dance. He didn’t care when she stepped on his toes and cursed under her breath. All that mattered to him was the feel of her in his arms and the sparkle in her eyes as their steps became somewhat synchronized.

"So," Bucky mused, taking advantage of her gaze averted in favor of their feet. "Cute, huh?"

Y/n's steps faltered, her left foot landing hard against Bucky's right and her head connecting with his chin as she tried to jerk her eyes up to his. Bucky yelped in pain and y/n stumbled backward, her feet tangling with his as they both crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Oh my God, Bucky!" Y/n gasped, hands scrambling for purchase as she tried to untangle herself. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok?!"

Bucky's deep laughter halted her efforts to climb off him. She laughed then too - high, slightly embarrassed giggles that she tried to cover with her palm. Her eyes widened as his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her in closer.

Bucky swept the faded purple hair from her face, brushing his thumb against her jaw as their laughter died. It was as if time stopped and the only thing that existed in that moment was the two of them. Her breath caught gently when he hooked his fingers behind her neck and began to pull her face to his.

Whether it was poor timing or just another way for the universe to screw him over, he couldn't be sure. But before their lips met, the skies opened up and large, cold raindrops pelted them, instantly drenching them both and ruining whatever moment it might have been.

Y/n squealed, jumping to her feet and ducking under the shelter of the awning. Defeated, frustrated and wet, Bucky slowly ambled up and joined her a few moments later. Bucky groaned running his fingers through his soaking hair and trying in vain to wring the water out. Y/n grinned, her cheeks and nose dusted a light pink that he was sure hadn't been there before he'd asked her to dance.

"Y/n," Bucky started but froze when he realized his voice was one of two calling her name in the same moment.

"Mrs. Perry's timer just went off!"

"I'll be right in!" She called back cheerfully, though her eyes shone with reluctance as Bucky stared into them. "Shit. I'm sorry, Bucky. I uh," she pressed her palms together and dropped her gaze briefly. "Thank you for the dance lesson and sorry for...ya know...being about as graceful as a baby moose."

Before he could protest her self-deprecating remark, she leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and turned to go back inside. Bucky stared after her, his cheek warm despite the chill the rain had tried burying inside his bones.

----

Bucky’s thumb drummed nervously against the wooden surface of the reception desk as he did yet another visual sweep of the room. It was more quiet than he’d expected, though to be honest, he had little to base his assumptions on.

A few agonizing moments later, a tall, raven haired woman with blood red lips and a ring through her eyebrow approached. She smiled warmly at him, wiping her palms on the front of her black apron.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Bucky swallowed, his nerves making him jittery. “Yeah, I’m looking for y/n.”

“I’m sorry, did you have an appointment?” The woman frowned, a deep crease marring her heavily made-up face. “Judith was supposed to call all of her appointments last night.”

Fear prickled at the back of his neck and a shiver ran down his spine.

“I didn’t have an appointment. I’m Bucky. From next door? Is she okay?”

“Oh of course. Bucky.” The woman smiled and then sighed. “Her father passed away yesterday afternoon. I know she’d been expecting it eventually, but I don’t think anyone is really ever ready.”

His heart broke for her. He wished he’d known or that there was something he could have done. He’d make the earth spin backwards if it would make her happy.

“Do you know where she lives?” Bucky cringed knowing how stalker-y that sounded. “I just, I’m worried about her.”

The woman pursed her lips, her eyes roaming over his face, studying him. Whatever she’d found there must have been enough because she pulled out a pen and a slip of paper.

“If anything happens to her, Bucky From Next Door, I will not hesitate to kill you. I know where you work and I know that boss of yours better than you do.” She scribbled something on the paper before pushing it towards him. Her expression softened, then, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “Besides, I think she could use a friend right now. If that’s what you’re calling yourselves these days.”

Bucky blushed, but nodded. He mumbled his thanks as he hurried out the door.

----

Bucky paused, his fist poised to knock on the bright yellow door as he sucked in a steadying breath. The setting sun stole the warmth of spring from the air and he found himself shivering. Just when he calmed his nerves, the door opened suddenly, startling him and forcing him to take a step backward. Y/n’s face was pale and her wide eyes were rimmed with red, but the visible signs of sorrow did nothing to lessen her beauty.

“Bucky?” She gasped a second before she lunged for him, wrapping him in a fierce hug.

He held her as she shuddered against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The sound of her broken sobs made his stomach churn and he rubbed small, comforting circles against her back.

She pulled back suddenly, rubbing her eyes violently and huffing a frustrated laugh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blubber all over - “

“No,” Bucky cut her off. “Sweetheart, don’t apologize. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Sniffling, she tried smiling, though it was little more than a faint upturn of her lips.

"You are, aren't you." Her nose scrunched in thought. "How did you know?"

Bucky ran a shaking hand through his hair, eyes focused in his scuffed boots.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat. "I stopped by to see if I could get a haircut. They told me about...what happened." He looked at her then. "I'm so sorry, y/n."

She nodded, arms wrapping around herself.

"I knew it was coming soon, I just," she took a deep breath and released it. She continued, voice soft. "I thought I would have more time, ya know?"

Bucky hummed in understanding.

"You want to come in? I just made some coffee." She laughed. "I don't even know why I came out here. I think I'm a little out of it."

Bucky followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. She led him through the small entryway and into the kitchen, dodging a small pile of suitcases stacked near the doorway. Glasses rattled as she searched for a pair of mismatched mugs and set them on the counter beside the coffee pot.

"You goin' somewhere?" Bucky tipped his head toward the bags when she looked at him.

Her eyes flashed with something Bucky didn't understand before she turned back to her task. The scent of black coffee was comforting as she handed him a mug. A frowning panda glared up at him from the surface of the cup below the words "I hate mornings." It made Bucky smile.

Y/n cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She faced him, hip resting against the edge of the counter.

"He had been sick for so long, I started to think that this was all my life would ever be. I figured I'd stay, take care of him, maybe get a few cats." Cradling her own mug in one hand, she ran her fingers through uncharacteristically messy orange hair. "But, now that he's...gone…" her voice trembled on the words, but she continued. "I don't know. I think domestic life never really suited me. I kind of want to live for myself, for a change."

Bucky nodded, forcing down the lump in his throat before taking a sip of coffee.

Y/n smoothed her hands along the sides of her mug, her brow furrowed as she stared at the black liquid.

"His funeral is Tuesday," she sniffed. "I didn't really have any expenses here, so I've got some money saved. I thought, why not just get away for awhile, ya know?"

Bucky set his cup down and took a step toward her. Her breath hitched, though she didn't look at him. Carefully he tugged the mug from her hands and placed it beside his.

"Well, I'm glad," he smirked, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. "Cause you and cats? That's just not right."

Y/n giggled, the sound oddly strangled around the sudden resurgence of tears.

"C'mere," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She breathed deeply, hugging him closer and fisting her hands in the back of his shirt.

This time when she pulled back, she kept hold of him, but her face twisted in confusion.

"Wait, did you say you wanted a haircut?!" Her voice bordered on incredulous.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "Thought it might be time for a change. 'Sides, you said you wanted to get your hands on it."

Y/n gaped at him and reached up to run her fingers through his chestnut locks. The feel of her nails against his scalp forced his eyes closed and he hummed lightly.

She tugged on one strand, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. When his eyes opened again, the soft look on her face startled him. Her hand dropped to the curve of his jaw, her thumb brushing gently against the bristles peppering his cheek.

"Maybe a trim, but there's no way I could deprive the world of this hair, Buck. That would be a travesty." She blushed. "I only wanted an excuse to run my fingers through it."

Without giving himself a chance to back out, Bucky dipped his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and she sighed, pressing herself closer to him. His tongue licked across her lip as his nose brushed hers. He pulled back, tugging her bottom lip gently between his before sucking in a steadying breath.

She smiled, pressing her forehead against his. "About time."

Bucky chuckled, pecking her lips twice as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Come with me."

Her voice was so low, he wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it, but her gaze was pleading.

"Y/n," he sighed. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Defeat, exhaustion, embarrassment and rejection played across her face as she nodded, her hands dropping at her sides.

"Sorry," she breathed, turning away from him.

Bucky caught her elbow and turned her back to face him.

"It's not because I don't want to, because God knows I do," he bit down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut in preparation for what came next. "There's just things about me that you don't know. Things I don't want you to know, because seeing disappointment in your eyes might actually kill me."

Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his mouth before gently tugging his lip from between his teeth. His eyes found hers again and his heart stammered at the tenderness there.

"Bucky, I don't have to know everything about who you used to be to know you are a good man. I could never be disappointed in you."

Her words lifted a small part of the weight he'd carried from the East coast, though he figured the bulk of it would likely remain with him forever.

"When I left New York, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I just headed west, kept moving, until I got here. This just felt right, somehow. I don't know why I stopped here, y/n. I needed someone I could trust, but it felt impossible. I felt like all I would ever do was sink under the weight of what I left behind." He smoothed a hand through her hair, watching the way the light danced over the brightly colored strands. "But then I met you and, I know I don't deserve it, and I'll never be worthy enough, but you make me want to try. Try to be better, try to be a good man."

She frowned at him then, and confusion jumbled his thoughts and burned his eyes.

"You don't have to try, Bucky. You are." She smiled. "And I already told you. You'll never sink when you're with me."

Bucky kissed her, this time with a fierceness. Her tongue meet his eagerly and once again he found himself sinking, but this time in all the best ways.

He pulled back, his lips swollen and his lungs aching for air.

"Come with me, Bucky." She plead again, her voice was rough and he knew he'd lost any willpower he'd once had to her.

He nodded and she rewarded him with the sweetest smile he'd ever known. Once again he found himself dumbstruck.

Curling her fingers with his, she tugged him out of the kitchen - away their already forgotten mismatched mugs half-full of warm coffee - and led him to the sofa. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and resting his chin against her hair.

A comfortable silence fell between them as he stroked her back and breathed in the scent of her. If he could bottle up a moment in time to save forever, this would be it. He'd never felt such peace and while he struggled to accept his worthiness of such a feeling, knowing she trusted him meant the world.

She sniffed, pulling back to look into his eyes, and the sorrow he saw etched into her face was palpable.

"Would you stay the night?" Her lip quivered as she tried and failed to blink back tears. "I - uh- I don't want to be alone."

Bucky pecked her lips, brushing away the wetness trailing her cheeks. "Sweetheart, you don't have to be alone, ever again."

----

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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Each Eye (4/8)

Kylo was the most feared boss in the entirety of New York City. They said that the crime families were no more, that they had disappeared with the end of an era. You knew it wasn’t true, you saw first hand. The families didn’t disappear, they simply went underground, adapted.

Lucky for you, your man, and your family, no one could ever get rid of crime. Not really.

Mob Boss!Kylo x Reader

Word count: 8.5k Warnings: N*FW, mentions of violence/murder

Also available on AO3!

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

It was true, what they said. About Kylo, about him being a monster. He was ruthless, focused, merciless. He had some wild thing living in his veins, simmering just underneath his skin, some evil harrowing thing with sharp teeth and curled claws and venom dripping from both sets of razors.

You hadn’t tamed the beast, not by any means, but you certainly did a good job of keeping him occupied, you thought to yourself when the two of you had finished, your sore body littered with bruises and bites, sweet soft blooms in the wake of hard hands and grips too tight.

To your own credit, Kylo’s body didn’t fare much better; scratched to high heavens from your nails, bleeding in some parts from the force of it, dark splotches and marks all across his chest. But from his spot on the bed, whole frame shoved up against you, his fingers trailing in lazy patterns on your stomach as he kissed your cheek rosy from exertion in the afternoon sunlight, he didn’t seem to mind.

You took in a deep breath, let it out with a thoughtful hum, rolled off the bed and pulled him by the hand into the bathroom.

Another shower would be excessive, but a wipe-down was absolutely necessary, and he sat on the edge of the bathtub, beckoned you forward so you could stand between his legs.

“Good?” You asked, settled between his knees as he turned the faucet of the tub on, dunked a soft cloth underneath the spray when the water ran warm enough.

“You’re always good.” He said with intense concentration as he began dutifully wiping you down.

“I meant you, my perfect darling. Are you good?” You asked, making his hand still for a moment from the praise as he turned those eyes up towards you, always looking up at you. He quirked the barest hint of a smile, just the flash of a dimple, and you knew he was preening, blushing from your words.

“I’m breaking out into song and dance.” He replied, deadpan humor of his making you laugh brightly, which in turn made him blush even more, blushing that he could make you laugh.

You couldn’t help but grin, card your fingers through his messy locks. They were clean from being washed only that morning, but the waves had tangled up in the process of him fucking the life out of you. Or maybe into you? Who knew, only time would tell.

“What are you wearing tonight?” You asked, partly because he seemed to be in a chatty mood, giving more than a one-word response. You liked when he was talkative, when he was smiling the way he was. It showed off those dimples you loved so dearly.

“I have a new velvet suit, was thinking about breaking that in.” He shrugged, big brown eyes filled with soul as he searched your face for your response.

You appraised him for a moment, how handsome he was. The way you could see the damage from the scar, how it had just very nearly missed his eyeball, how it had just very nearly avoided blinding him there. You leaned down slightly to kiss the high point of his cheekbone, where the split marred the flesh, as he carefully, adoringly, smoothed the cloth down the backs of your thighs, your calves.

“Velvet.” You finally said, pleased with his choice. “You know I love velvet. I’ll wear it too.” You decided, and he perked up, looking altogether too young, painfully young, in that way he sometimes did when he was excited.

“The red dress?” He licked his lips and you laughed just a little at his eagerness.

“No, I was thinking the purple.” You were sorry to say, tugged on his ear just a little and Kylo rolled his eyes fondly. He continued his ministrations while you hummed in thought, chewed on the inside of your cheek. Something had really been bothering you, from the moment you had regained the ability to form coherent thoughts, “I wonder what murder it was.”

“Hm?” Kylo asked, too occupied with pressing his thumbs into the red marks he left on your hips, occupied with cleaning your stomach.

“Pigs said there was a murder. I wonder who did it.” You specified, and he shrugged.

“It wasn’t any of our people, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” He said, and you chuckled, leaned down for a kiss one more.

“Do you think it could be the same person involved with sending those guys to rough up Larry?” You asked, as his hands dropped the cloth and he pulled you closer closer closer, until you were in danger of knocking him backwards into the tub, in danger of making him lose his balance as his lips were seemingly magnetized to your own.

“Yeah.” Kylo said, eyes slipping closed as you met him halfway and made out with him for a little bit before he pulled away with a low growl in the back of his throat, stopping himself from getting hard all over again. “And it probably is. I don’t entirely believe that it’s not Hux. No one else has the nerve to fuck around with us like that. Maybe we can talk more about it after dinner, I can call some guys and see what’s up, they can get back to me after we eat.” Kylo continued, and your eyebrows nearly shot up at such a speech.

You stepped back, gave him enough room to stand up, and it never failed to amuse you just how tall he was.

So tall and yet he bent – physically and metaphorically – to your will, to meet you.

You turned around to face the mirror, the long clean mirror that covered the wall of the bathroom, and smiled at the reflection of your naked bodies. Kylo stood behind you, and yet he was still so wide that you could see his sides poking out from behind you, watched as his hands slid around your stomach to hold you.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You asked, and he kissed your cheek.

“No.” He gave your lower stomach a little smack, before walking away in search of underwear, the chill of the room finally starting to settle in after being so hot from sex.

“But I want to know.” You complained playfully, laughing when a clean pair of your own underwear was chucked at your head.

“Tough shit.” He said, and though he didn’t smile, his eyes shimmered with a lightheartedness of his own.

You snatched them before the cotton could hit you in the face, and stepped into them while he watched with his own approving glare.

“Who d’ya think you are? Talkin’ to me like that?” You folded your arms in front of your chest, stalking towards him in manner that had him backing up out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

“Love you.” He said and you just snapped your teeth at him, making him snatch you around the waist and circle you around and around, to music that wasn’t there, dip you low so he could kiss your laughing mouth.

You eventually got dizzy, and pushed at his chest lightly with a big smile.

“Yeah yeah.” You rolled your eyes, pinched his ass when he set you right, “Go wrap yourself in velvet why don’t you?”

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

Being that it was Sunday, Dopheld was available to drive you both to the restaurant. You and Kylo were snuggled up in the backseat of the car, you in your fur coat and matching hat, and he in his suit, his hand on your knee, possessive and hot.

You had to admit, you were anticipating something overly expensive and exclusive, like Le Bernardin, or Eleven Madison Park, so when Dopheld pulled the Bentley up to a rustic looking jazz club, you were both very excited and amused.

Kylo looked to you, gauging your approval for the place, and you nodded simply.

“Thank you, Dopheld.” Kylo said, before promptly getting out of the car and holding the door open for you.

Your driver only gave a bright smile in response, before driving away to do goodness knows what. Kylo offered you his arm and you took it easily, your heels careful of the ice that had started to form on the pavement.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ren! What an absolute pleasure it is to have you celebrate your special night with us.” The hostess at the door of the restaurant said when the two of you walked in, “Please allow me to take your coat, shall I escort you to our private room?”

Once again, Kylo surprised you by shaking his head as you shimmied out of your furs, handed them over with care.

“No, no thank you.” He replied, voice measured, deep. “We’d like our table to be right with everyone else.”

The hostess was undoubtedly surprised as well, but she was at least decent enough to not be so flustered. You felt bad, the poor woman had probably arranged for something special that would now go to waste. Kylo didn’t care, and stood there expectantly, waiting for the host to finish speaking with a waiter or two, to rearrange the seating.

“Right this way.” The woman said eventually, and Kylo gestured for you to go first, him trailing behind.

It wasn’t until you gave a habitual passing glance out the door, that you realized Kylo had asked Knuckles and Slip to keep watch over the evening. You smiled in their direction, knowing they could see it, before going deeper into the restaurant.

It was dark outside now that the sun had gone down, but you were sure it’d be black as night in this place no matter the time of day. It was a true and proper lounge, with a fully stocked bar encased in dark wood, small round tables covered in a white cloth and decorated with a tea-light candle and bouquet of flowers were arranged so that patrons and waiters alike could weave through the paths with ease. It was smoky, one of the last lounges that allowed smoking indoors you were impressed, and the lights were all dimmed low and golden, except for the lights which illuminated a stage. The thick red curtain was closed for now, but Kylo was checking his watch, so you knew something must be starting soon.

The host brought you to your table, a prime spot in view of the stage. Not too close that you’d be craning your neck all evening, but not too far away that many heads could get in your way. It was even close to the open dance floor, which would no doubt be filled with sentimental couples. You were already planning on being a sentimental couple yourself, as Kylo pulled your chair out for you.

“Who’s preforming tonight?” You asked the hostess, who glanced at the stage and then at her own watch.

“We’ve received a special request for the evening, it’s just our house band but they’re doing covers of Sinatra songs.” She replied, and you couldn’t help but suck in a breath.

“You’re so good, you know that?” You turned to Kylo, grasped his hand in an adoring squeeze as he shifted his chair to sit next to you as opposed to across from you.

You pressed your side right up against his as the host left, clearly wanting to give you space.

“Oh I’m even better, just wait.” He said in a rare display of cheeky confidence.

When the food arrived, it was a smorgasbord of all your favorites. It felt like the courses were never-ending, between the appetizers and the soup and the main dish with all its sides. Every bite was somehow more delicious than the last, and you wanted to know how Kylo had found such a place, such a hole-in-the-wall.

You wondered if it was in his jurisdiction, or if the owners just knew of him, like over at John’s.

Almost as soon as the food arrived, did the band get up on stage. Dressed like they were from the 1940s, transporting you back in time. Not in that hokey way of poorly made wigs and generic fedora hats, but in a considerate way, a thoughtful way, attention to detail in the history of the fashion, respecting the times.

You hummed and tapped your foot along to the music as you and Kylo stared into one another’s eyes, being obnoxiously in love without a care in the world. He fed you, lifted your fork up to your lips, and you carefully avoided smudging your lipstick.

You’re both relatively quiet while you eat, too wrapped up in each other’s gaze and more than happy to simply enjoy the music. The singer did a wonderful job imitating the songs, putting his own spin on some of the intonation every now and again in a way you appreciated. But eventually, the last course was taken away, and you had the urge to dance.

One look towards the dance floor had Kylo rising from his seat and offering you his hand, which you gladly took, and he walked you to the middle of the floor. You weren’t the only couple there, not by any means – it felt like half the tables were empty of people instead swaying back and forth.

When the big band orchestra played up Always, you couldn’t help but grin and blush, duck your head just a little, just enough for Kylo to tip your chin back up to meet his gaze through lidded eyes. His arm slid around your waist, his other moving to grasp your hand as he turned you round and around on the dance floor.

And people always said you were the sentimental one, you couldn’t help but think as the singer up on the stage crooned out your wedding song. Kylo himself was starry-eyed, chewing on his lip, and you didn’t deny him a kiss, didn’t deny either of you a soft, romantic kiss.

The lounge was hazy and smooth, and though you’re surrounded by other couples in diamonds and pearls, you feel like the luckiest woman on earth, the only woman on earth.

“How come you wanted us in the middle of everyone?” You asked softly, a small smile on your lips as the two of you waltzed slowly to the music.

“I saw some familiar faces when we walked in. Figured they wouldn’t cause a scene if we were out in the open.” Kylo said, and your brow creases slightly.

“Where?” You asked, and Kylo’s jaw clenched, he rotated you both around so that you’re facing the opposite direction.

“Just past the big pillar.” He said, low in your ear, as his lips brushed against the back of your cheek, pressed a chaste kiss to your skin. You hummed and let him keep kissing as you searched for who might be there to bother you, when your eyes landed on them.

The brother sister duo of Roisin and Connor were chatting near the great marble pillar which supports the ceiling of the ritzy lounge, and you held your eye contact when they took notice of you noticing them. They looked good, you had to admit. The deep green satin dress complimented Roisin’s ginger hair and freckled complexion beautifully, and you couldn’t ever recall a time where you didn’t see Connor in a suit. His wasn’t velvet like Kylo’s, but it was still tailored well enough and had big enough shoulder pads to broaden him out a bit.

“Fuck.” You breathed when they decided you’ve been staring too long, “They’re Irish. And they’re coming over.”

Kylo seemingly didn’t mind too much, not in the moment anyway, and just kept dancing with you as they made their way across the floor, joining in and dancing with one another to not seem so conspicuous.

You and Kylo did your best not to look suspicious, not to look alert, not even when they wound up dancing right next to you. Seemingly nothing but two couples, strangers in this great big world, happening to steal a piece of the beauty of the moment.

That is until the song ended, and there’s polite applause for a song well sung, until they turned to face you as the man took a big swig of water and shared a small anecdote that has the crowd chuckling in amusement while the band set up for the next song.

“Kylo, (Y/N).” Connor kept his voice low, at least had the decency to nod his head in respect, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What do you want?” Kylo cut right to the chase, and Roisin laughed in that quiet, elevated way people of high society laugh.

“A dance.” She said, and you’re prepared to claim your man right in front of her, when she surprised you by looking right at you and specifying, “With (Y/N).”

“No.” Kylo said immediately, grip around your waist tightening. But something in Roisin’s appraising gaze is calculating enough to interest you.

“One dance.” You said, that gaze a challenge. You’ve never been known to back down from a challenge.

Kylo and Connor both exchanged glances, and Kylo’s jaw worked and worked and worked to keep his mouth shut, as he nodded, as they both walked to the sidelines.

He’s not happy about it, not happy one fucking bit, but you wanted to know what’s going on. Roisin’s skin was soft where her dress wasn’t covering her, thin spaghetti straps showing off her toned arms. She assumed the leading position, which you found you didn’t mind.

“Roisin, is everything okay?” You asked, brushing a strand of curled hair off of her shoulder.

“No, they’re not. We’re here to serve as a warning.” Roisin said with a bit of a sigh, and you nodded.

Warnings were messy, they always were. You didn’t have a gun on you, didn’t think you’d need it, but you knew Kylo had three on him right now, he could intervene if he needed to. You may not have had a gun, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t kill her right then, right there.

And you would, but you wanted answers first.

“Just tell me something first, is it Hux?” You asked, as she twirled you slowly, dipped you down down down, stomach fluttering from it as she raises you back up, all too similar to how Kylo had in the bathroom.

“Is what Hux?” She asked, and you didn’t really appreciate that, playing dumb.

“The person committing all the murders, sending guys to harass our business owners?” You spelled it out, gave her that much leeway.

Except.

She faltered the dance for a moment as she frowned, her pale brows knitting as she regarded you for a moment. In your peripheral, you saw Kylo and Connor tense, incredibly tense, as they watched the two of you on the dance floor.

“Wait – we thought you were the ones committing the murders and sending guys to harass our people.” She said quietly, her hands reclaiming your waist and palm, resuming the dance once more.

It wouldn’t do to draw attention, not now.

“We haven’t sent anyone anywhere.” You shook your head, now thoroughly unhappy with the proceedings of this Midtown disaster. “Shit, you’ve got people dying too?” You asked, and she groans in the back of her throat, nods.

“Yeah, fuck. Well this makes it awkward.” She sighed, careful to avoid stepping on your toes as she spun you around, and ahh there it is.

“Makes what awkward?” You prompted, just to get it out of the way.

“I’m supposed to kill you. Hux thinks Kylo’s crossed a line, one of his favorite suppliers was found carved up last night.” She explained, and you hummed thoughtfully, because really by all accounts his reaction makes sense given his perspective.

Too bad it’s the wrong one.

“If you’d like you can give it your best try.” You offered Roisin, who looked at you like you’ve got three heads.

“You’re going to let me murder you?” She asked, and you laughed brightly, shook your head.

“I’m going to let you try.” You specified, making her grin.

Many people have tried.

Roisin reached in between her cleavage and pulled out the smallest little gun you’ve ever seen, one that probably could only hold three or four bullets, one that she pressed against your hip, leaned in close, her perfectly applied lipstick very close to your cheek. The metal was cold, cold enough that you could feel it through the velvet of your dress, and she hummed, her lashes tickling your skin.

Before she can cock the trigger and plant her literal kiss of death, you reached into your hair and pulled out the long needle that you’ve used as a decorative pin to hold your locks up, and swiftly pushed it between her ribs, penetrating that pretty green satin. The needle slid into her flesh like she’s made of butter, and you couldn’t help but smile just a little as you turned your face to press a kiss to her own cheek, leaving the pretty imprint of your deep red lips.

“Damn.” She chuckled with a wince, as your hand was now pressed right against her skin, as you let go of the needle. It remained deep inside her, puncturing one of her major arteries. She tensed up immediately from the pain, “You really are fast.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” You whispered, “You can keep that.” You tap the pretty handle of the needle, encrusted with jewels that you’ll be sad to miss.

But if you pulled it out of her right now, then she’d die practically on the spot, and that would cause a scene. You very well couldn’t have that.

Not on your anniversary.

“I suggest you leave.” You said, as the song ended, her one dance up. You turned to the singer and applauded along with everyone else, as Roisin started to cough. You didn’t bother looking at her again while saying, “And if you make it long enough, when you’re out of the hospital tell Hux we didn’t send anyone to do anything. This was in self-defense.”

“Fair enough.” Roisin groaned.

“Actually,” You said, stopping her before she could get too far, “I do really want to keep this, if you don’t mind.”

With wide eyes she was unable to stop you from reaching out and pulling the needle out of her stomach. Connor rushed over, as she immediately doubled down onto herself, clutching at the rapidly growing dark splotch in her dress.

He hurried the two of them out of the lounge, with only a minor commotion. The way Roisin was hunched over herself made it look more like she was suffering from food poisoning than a stabbing.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” You asked a near-by table for their napkin as Kylo wove through the crowd like a shark.

You gave the man seated at the table the most dazzling charming smile you could, and he didn’t think twice about handing over his black cloth napkin. You gratefully took it right when Kylo showed up, slid his arm around your waist and shot the meanest glare he was able. You only kissed Kylo’s cheek, and having now procured the napkin, returned to the dance floor with him, leaving the man in the dust.

You wiped the needle off on the cloth and were about to twist your hair back up when Kylo lightly stopped your wrist.

“Keep it down.” He said, and you smiled, slipped the needle inside his jacket pocket. He began to dance with you again, as you both surveyed the floor – it was clear of blood, which was good. Didn’t need the pigs snooping around more than necessary. Still, Kylo had been out of earshot, so he was curious when he asked, “What happened?”

“She’ll be dead by the time they get to the car.” You mused, but he wasn’t smiling.

“Yeah but why?” He asked again, and you chewed your lip in thought.

“Hux thinks we’re the one fucking up all over the place. It’s really not him, Kylo.” You said, and his jaw clenched tight again.

“Someone is trying to pit our families against each other.” He made the obvious statement just to make it, just to try and make sense of it, “But I don’t know why.”

“There’s a lot of sick sons of bitches out there, but there’s even more stupidity. Ask the KoR to feel around just like you said, there’s got to be some evidence of this mystery person.”

“Okay.” Kylo nodded, already reaching in to take out his phone. “Also, I want to go, tomorrow. I think we should.”

You gave him a questioning glance for a moment, his decision surprising you for a moment longer, before you huffed a small laugh and plucked the cell phone right out of his palm, and he rolled his eyes. He worked too much, you thought.

“It can wait until we’re on our way home.” You puckered your lips, and Kylo, the man so in love as he was, swooped down to plant a loud smack right to your lips.

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

It took less than thirty seconds after the front door closed for Kylo to be all over you, hands all over you, lips all over you.

You let him, in the dark of your foyer, you let him.

“You were so good today.” You breathed, allowing yourself to simply feel adored, to let Kylo give whatever he wanted, take as much as he gave.

“Was I?” He asked, licked his lips, eyes wide, bright in the moonlight.

There was something there, something eager and filled with anticipation – but a hunger as well. That same hunger he had shown you earlier in the day, that same hunger he always seemed to have, stomach of the beast rumbling for you.

“Yes, very good. Tonight was so wonderful.” You whispered, cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed him too sweetly, licked gently into his mouth in the way that made him keen and whine, desperate.

You let your hand fall to his crotch, shoved it down his trousers and found his cock already hard, already so full for you. You gave it a few good, even, steady strokes, ones that had his huge frame twitching, curling in towards you, shoulders rounding in and making himself small, making himself try and swallow you whole.

“I-I’m glad.” He moaned, and you smiled, kissed the corner of his open mouth as you sped up your hand a little more, used the pre-come that was slowly oozing out of his cock as lube to wet your hand more and more.

“I think someone deserves something sweet.” You pulled away, leaving him frustrated in the most delicious way.

“Let me eat your pussy?” He asked, so quick, like he had been hoping for this, had been planning for it.

“Get me naked first.” You ordered, and he was eager, desperate to do so.

So desperate in fact, that he didn’t even make it to the bedroom. He walked you to the living room, and splayed you out on the couch, shedding your layers on the way.

You had surprised him, by not wearing any underwear. This was both of your night, after all. You winked at him when he kneeled between your legs, fully dressed while you were now naked. He groaned into your skin just from the sheer lust he felt for you, buried his face between your knees in a way that made you laugh.

He thunked his forehead against your thigh and kissed the spot there before pulling your hips to the edge of the couch.

You were growing impatient yourself, and you helped the process along by propping your bare foot up against the shiny coffee table that would no doubt be smudged with your oils and sweat in a few moments, after he had had a taste of you.

You propping your foot up gave him a little nook between your legs that he could live in, and live there he did. He closed his eyes and breathed you in, breathed in the smell of your cunt, running his hands up and down your calves, the backs of your thighs, just breathing, until his mouth was literally watering so much he had to swallow hard, and then he dove in.

“Yes!” You gasped when he finally did breach you.

His tongue felt so good against you, the way it wriggled deep inside you, the way it dragged against the walls of your pussy, and you moaned loud, unashamed. His hands gripped your hips as he pushed his face as close to your cunt as possible, his nose rubbing against your clit, prodding it there as he spread your folds with his tongue and lips, sucked them into his mouth, swallowed down all the slick that your pussy gave him.

“Oh,” You gasped, chest heaving as you tangled your hand in his hair, the other gripping the cushion of the couch, “Fuck it’s so good, you’re so good.”

He moaned into you, and fuck that was a feeling you could cry from, the devastatingly deep baritone of his voice radiating through your body, right into your very core. He pulled away though and you complained, verbally protesting with a disappointed groan, which had him pleading with those eyes, kissing the inside of your knee.

“What -- ?” You asked. You could see your juices all over his goatee, in his beard and there was something sick and delicious about the way he licked it off his moustache.

“I have to fuck you.” He explained, shucking off his four-thousand-dollar suit like it was made of paper. “I have to, get inside this tight cunt.” He begged, and you nodded, frantic.

“Take me, come on, take what you want, make me come.” You were just as eager, just as desperate, and you made room for him on the couch, shimmied up it and laid horizontally across the cushions so he could settle himself between your legs.

He slid in easily, smeared his body against yours.

“Oh shit.” He groaned, sinking deeper and deeper into your hot pussy, breathing hard against your throat where he had buried his face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, made for me, just for me.”

“Kylo!” You whined his name, threw your head back when he began to thrust.

“I’m going to make you scream my name, I want you to scream for me, I want all of Manhattan to hear you crying on my dick.” He promised, and you could see it, could feel it, the way the monster was peeking through, the way his eyes had glazed over, so in love with you.

He built up a rhythm that had you shouting in no time, breath hot in his ear as he bit down on the spot where your neck and shoulder met. His hips rolled against yours, ground into yours, and your knees dropped open from the pleasure of it, legs turning to jelly and jam, melting under his touch.

“Oh please,” It was your turn now, your turn to beg, as tears welled up in your eyes under his ministrations, as he fucked fucked fucked you, touched you.

And oh did he touch you everywhere, every linger of his fingers a reverence, a declaration. He fucked you, hard and rough, skin slapping on skin, with one foot planted on the floor to give him the amount of leverage he needed, to let him really slam his hips so hard against yours that it felt like he was fucking your throat -- but he did it with nothing short of wonder in his face, that he could have this, that he could have you.

Three years you’d been married, a lifetime of love before that, and still despite it all, he always considered himself so lucky to get to take you apart like this.

He lifted one of your legs where it had gone limp, lifted it up and over his shoulder so he could plow into you faster, harder, punching the air out of you, the high shouts and moans and gasps out of you. All of it was music to his ears, all of it was praise, and all of it only made him want to work harder, only made him crave you more deeply.

He growled, angry suddenly, angry that he couldn’t just do this all the time, couldn’t just live in your pussy like he wanted, and nearly snapped you in half as he manhandled you instead onto your hands and knees. He draped himself across your back, kissed your spine, the nape of your neck where he pushed all your hair away.

His body was a cage around yours as his hips shoved his cock deeper into you, a better angle, a better and more filling feeling, having him fuck you from behind. His arms were strong and the muscles there worked effortlessly to hold himself up as he ground into you, as his cock knocked up against your cervix in a way that was nearly painful.

He let one hand slide against your abdomen, let his hot and sweaty hand feel you. He swore he could feel your heartbeat in your pussy, right there for him, beating wildly and erratically just the way he was for you. He bit down on you hard, drank in the sound of your cries as that hand moved lower and lower, until he was toying with your clit, zig-zagging across it in a way that had your shoulder-blades pinching inwards as your arms gave out under you, your upper half collapsing down onto the cushions.

He wasn’t done with you, not even while you came, still pushing into you. He was hot, dripping sweat all over your back, his goatee scratching up your skin as he mouthed and sucked at you.

You could feel it, eventually, when he did come, when his hips finally pressed up against yours for the last time for the evening, when he crushed you into the couch with his weight.

“Honey?” You asked, voice muffled from where you were smushed into the couch.

“Uh huh?” Kylo panted, eyes shut tight, still coming inside you.

“Maybe don’t kill me on our anniversary.” You laughed, huffed a little, and he huffed out too, kissing the spot between your shoulders and rolling you both over.

He mis-calculated though, and you both rolled onto the floor with a yelp.

At least you landed on top of him, and laughed.

He looked up at you, always looking up at you, with such love in his eyes that you simply had to kiss him, you had to, so you did.

And if the two of you stayed there on the floor, on top of the plush rug of the living room, covered in sweat that was cooling to only a light itch, the great expanse of the city just outside your window, the Chrysler building all lit up, well, who could blame you?

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

The next day, you both found yourselves in Long Island.

Standing outside Leia’s door.

You held a casserole dish in your hands, one that was covered with tin foil, and Kylo was doing his very best not to bolt back to the car where Dopheld had parked it in the driveway.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked, standing out front on the doorstep. “It’s not too late to turn back now, if you want.”

“No.” Kylo grit out, and your heart broke a little.

Before you could press him on the manner, he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell. He didn’t even get as far as making contact with the little button before the door swung open, revealing a very short, and very angry woman on the other side.

“Well!” Leia scoffed, “Look who actually decided to show up for lunch today.”

You winced, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t bear witness to it, to the suffering you knew was going to come with this visit.

Leia hosted lunch every Monday. And just about every Monday, you and Kylo avoided it like the plague. It was supposed to be an attempt at bringing the family together, at reconnecting and healing old wounds, but it became clear after too many screaming matches and physical blows between family members, than it would be best if Kylo just…didn’t show up.

So he never did. You were always the one to call her, to let her know that oh, no, we’re so sorry but something’s come up. Every week without fail, she called and every week you were the one to answer. It had been nearly three months since Kylo had actually spoken aloud to his mother.

Which of course brought in a whole separate argument, one that Leia was gearing up to starting right now, right there on the front porch.

“Hi mom.” Kylo said, although he didn’t sound particularly thrilled. He didn’t even make an effort to attempt to smile.

“I’m shocked and surprised and honestly? A little disappointed.” Leia said in that way of hers that was supposed to cut deep, supposed to hit too close to home.

You wondered when that line was no longer drawn to even be able to be crossed any longer.

“Good to see you too mom.” Kylo kept it dry and to the point, because really, he wasn’t here to see Leia.

She threw her hands up in exasperation before taking the casserole from you.

The inside of the house was normal. Leia never liked the lavish lifestyle, not even when she was still running things with Han. Before Han, well. You tried not to think about that.

But it was a very normal, regular, suburban house. You couldn’t imagine living in it.

You directed your attention away from the furnishings and back to your husband, who was doing his absolute best not to explode. You held his hand and gave it a tight squeeze, you just knew his other one was balled into a fist where it was shoved in his trousers’ pocket.

You and Kylo were the first ones to show up to the lunch; Lando, Chewie, Luke, Wedge, and Rey all presumably on their way.

“No phone call, no visits – ” Leia starts, although she’s cut off by the arrival of Kylo’s Uncle.

Like Lando, Chewie wasn’t really related to Kylo in any way, but he had been Han’s best and most close companion, so he had more or less been indoctrinated into the family.

Things were the most tense between Chewie and Kylo though, so Kylo remained in his corner, silently glaring at the clock on the wall, as you made up for his rudeness with overly politeness on his behalf.

“Hey Uncle Chewie.” You said, leaning in to exchange greeting cheek kisses.

“It’s good to see you, (Y/N), been too long, eh?” Chewie smiled, his teeth unnervingly sharp.

“You just drop in whenever it’s convenient to you, not caring about your poor mother.” Chewie’s comment sparked Leia’s whole spiel again.

“Mom, you’re many things but you’re not poor.” Kylo finally snapped, before exhaling deeply out of his nose and asking, “Where’s Rey?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking. My back is fine, thanks for asking.” Leia spit back at him, purposefully being difficult.

“How’s your back?” Kylo asked dryly, a hard stare on his face.

“It’s fine.” Leia sarcastically replied.

“And you wonder why I don’t come.” Kylo muttered under his breath, shook his head and you spared him a glance.

This was a mistake, of course it was a mistake, and you were upset with yourself for not fighting Kylo on the subject further. He was literally backed into a corner, had situated himself in a corner of the kitchen where the two counter-tops converged, and he was starting to lose his patience to a point where you worried about how close he was to the knife block.

“You’re lucky I don’t hand you over to the police right now.” Leia sneered, but Kylo only scoffed.

“Go ahead.” He dared, voice even and deep, eyes hard, knowing that even if she did, even if she called her precious pig Poe, they’d not find a single damn thing on him, on any of you.

“Mrs. Organa, will Rey be coming today?” You asked lightly but firmly, wanting to respect her in her home but also stand up for your husband, and to get an answer. If Rey wouldn’t be there, you’d yank him out and take him back to Manhattan in a heartbeat.

“Of course she’s coming – unlike one of my children, Rey has respect for tradition and family.” Leia replied, passive-aggressive.

“We’re taking Midtown from her.” Kylo said, making both her, and Chewie – who had been rifling through the fridge this whole time to try and find a beer – freeze.

“You’re doing what?” Chewie asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Midtown. We’re taking it away from her.” You nodded, answered for Kylo who had officially moved away from the knife block and had come to stand behind you, arms taking their place around your middle.

It was quiet for a long while, as Leia and Chewie looked at one another for a moment.

“I hope you’re prepared for an argument.” She said, for once not entirely venomous.

“I’m always prepared for an argument with you people.” Kylo muttered again, distracting himself with kissing your neck slightly.

“What Kylo means,” You interpreted, as Kylo nosed at the exposed skin from where your blouse’s neckline revealed, “Is that we know it’s going to upset her, that’s why we wanted to announce it here, where she could be comfortable. We didn’t want to show up at her house like last time to tell her.”

“Tell who what?” A voice asked from the living room, followed by the sound of the closing of the front door.

Kylo took a deep breath – but Leia beat him to the punch, leaving the kitchen to go greet her daughter.

“They’re taking away Midtown from you.” She told Rey before anyone else could even do so much as blink, as she hugged Rey, who had gone stiff as a board.

“Mom!” Kylo snapped --

“You’re what?” Rey shouted at the same time.

Kylo hid firmly behind you as Rey stalked, lethal into the kitchen with her teeth bared. She was so feral when she was angry – they all were, but for some reason she reminded you more of Anakin than anyone else.

“Listen kid, that part of the city is a fucking mess and is only getting worse ever since we let you handle it.” Kylo said it, plain and simple, but Rey didn’t agree.

“No it hasn’t!” She protested, storming more and more into the kitchen.

You remained unflinching, a literal barrier between them.

“We heard from some of the KoR this morning, there’s been three break-ins and four murders in the last 5 days. The thing with Lenny isn’t an isolated incident. The police are starting to call it a crisis and they’ve got cars patrolling the area now. Word on the street is people are saying Hell’s Kitchen is going back to how it was when Brendol was running it, and we just can’t have that.” You said, trying to explain it to her the most calm and collected way you could.

Kylo was growing more and more riled, more and more irritated in a way that was nothing but danger.

“Some of our associates are calling me, saying there’s no way to get a hold of you, you don’t return anyone’s calls, you’re never in the fucking office.” He said, running a hand through his hair so he didn’t punch his sister in the face, “I’m sorry Rey but we can’t risk anything more over there. We’re pulling you from Midtown.”

Rey wasn’t happy.

“You can’t do that.” She shook her head, fuming, “I won’t let you do that. I’ve got too much going on right now for this shit.”

“What? What’s going on? You can tell us Rey we want to make sure there’s no trouble.” Leia asked, put herself into this mix.

“No I can’t fucking tell you.” Rey groaned as she scrubbed a hand down her face.

“Is it Gwen?” Leia asked again, not dropping it, “I thought things were going well between you.”

“It’s not – listen my sex life has nothing to do with this.” Rey shouted, and there we go, you thought, let the shouting begin.

“Rey.” Kylo suddenly went dead still, his hand frozen from where it had been tensing against your stomach, “Are you running business behind my fucking back?”

Everyone, including yourself raised their brows at that, at that assumption, that conclusion, that question. You searched his face for where the hell he had come up with that, but Rey lunged at Kylo’s throat before you could even question him about it.

You were caught in the cross-fire for all of two seconds, before Kylo quickly stepped in front of you so you wouldn’t get hurt, as the siblings literally wrestled to the fucking floor.

“Should we stop them?” Chewie asked, but you shook your head.

“No, not yet.” Leia agreed, “Not until she get’s in a good swing at least.”

That made you roll your eyes, made you want to throw a fist of your own, but you restrained yourself. This really wasn’t supposed to have been a brawl, but Rey and Kylo were now punching the shit out of one another, fighting dirty, using all the tricks in the book and shouting at each other in the process.

They had knives drawn, little switch-blades hidden in boots and coat pockets, and were doing a real number on trying to cut the other’s tongue out, trying to slice throats, trying to gouge out eyes.

“No, I’m not running any fucking business behind your back!” Rey slapped Kylo hard across the cheek, and in response he wrestled her around and slammed the back of her head against the hard tile floor.

The sharp crack made everyone wince.

“Then what the fuck is up?” Kylo demanded, deranged, the both of them crazy, practically frothing at the mouth with hate for one another.

“I’m going to school!” Rey screamed in his face, making everyone let out a sound of confusion.

“…What?” Kylo asked, dumbfounded, panting, as he held his blade up to her throat.

“I started school, you fucking jackass. I’m getting my degree.” Rey explained, “The reason I’m gone all the time is because I have classes and exams, god you’re so selfish, not everything revolves around you, Boss.”

“Rey that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?” Leia asked, clasping her hands in front of her like her two children were not currently trying to actively murder one another with weapons they were far too trained to use.

You walked over calmly and placed a hand on Kylo’s shoulder, a silent order for him to get up, and he did. He stuck his blade back in his pocket, and you saw a flash of the guns he had in his holster as he did so. You were lucky it hadn’t come to that.

“I didn’t want to be cross-examined for every single fucking choice I make, let alone by this one.” Rey sighed, before standing up and brushing the struggle off of her clothes, saying again, “I’m going to school.”

But...

Something…was off, from the way she said it.

Something in the way she avoided eye contact, the way her voice raised in register slightly, the way there was a minor tremor in her tone.

You chalked it up to just having fought with Kylo but…that sounded like a lie.

And as if she had telepathic powers, Rey met your eyes, and you could see there was worry there, anxiety.

Why would she lie?

“Listen Rey, we’re sorry that it all came out like this, but maybe this is for the better.” You said, not really paying attention to the words you were saying, much more interested in reading her face, scouring her gaze for any hint, any offering, any clue as to what was going on in her head. Your mouth was on autopilot while you scanned her, took in everything to account, from her posture to her breathing, “Now you can focus on your coursework and not worry about running forty-blocks worth of the city.”

“(Y/N), if you didn’t scare the shit out of me so much, I’d really hate you right now.” Rey said.

That at the very least was truthful.

“I know.” You replied, not smiling, not even giving a fake one. Kylo looked at you hard, and he could tell that you knew something was up. “You can hate me all you’d like, but we’re still pulling you from Midtown.” You said.

“I think we’d better leave.” Kylo interjected, before anyone had a chance to say anything else.

You nodded in agreement, and smoothed your hair down. It had been a roller-coaster of twenty-four fucking hours, that was for sure.

You took Kylo’s hand and simply walked out of the kitchen, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone.

“Oh so you’re not even going to stay for lunch? After all that?” Leia was incredulous, following the two of you out into the parking lot.

What timing, you thought, as Luke was just parking his car next to yours.

“No, I don’t really think that’s a very good idea.” You said, giving her a falsely apologetic glare that she saw right through. “You guys enjoy, we’ll see you soon.” You lied, only nodding in passing to Luke who was visibly confused as to the presence of you and Kylo – or rather, more like your departure.

Dopheld must have had a sixth sense, because he had already started up the car and warmed the seats, ready for you and Kylo to sit comfortably in the back.

When the house and the neighborhood were firmly far enough away for Kylo to release a breath, you tried to lighten up the mood.

“Well that went about as well as it was going to.” You gave a sad smile, heart breaking for him, for how his relationship with his family was so damaged, had only grown more and more damaged over the years.

“It could have been worse.” He shrugged, jaw set, even as he lit up a cigarette and sucked down the nicotine anxiously, opened the window just a crack so that he could blow the smoke away.

“How?” You asked, and he swiped his thumb across his face, wiping away a trickle of blood that had oozed out from a sliver thin slice Rey had managed to nick into his cheek.

“She could have cut my face up again.” He said, making you both smile.

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Tagging some mob loving pals! As always, if you’d like to be on the list or taken off, please just let me know <3 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @the-wayward-rose @taylovren-types magikevalynn tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov romancedeldiablo @elfieboxcat (I’m sorry my dear it won’t let me tag you!)

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo/reader #mob boss #mob au #each eye #my writing #kylo ren au #modern au

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 4 years

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A Bouquet For You || 02 - Carnation

A Bouquet For You Masterlist

taglist: @disgruntled-gay @moonchild-kun94 @skyguy-peach @error707-thememelord @o51oc @nanacee @prettysetter @sugawsites @shareyourfandomfaves

The next morning is exactly what you feared. You wake up late, missing the three alarms that you had set for yourself, and after some deliberation, you decide to go without breakfast. Not your best idea, but between being late on your first day or a hearty meal, you’d choose the former any day. First impressions were important.

“Are you sure you’re not going to eat?” Kenma asks, watching you fumble around with your shoes at the doorway. “Or actually, where are you even going this early?”

“Work. First day,” you say hurriedly. Turning the doorknob, you turn back to give him a quick wave or something similar to it. “See you. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“B-bye?” he responds like a question. After all, Kenma still doesn’t understand why you’re conversing with him like a real person. The feeling of living with someone after so long feels foreign, and he’s continuously caught by surprise with your behavior. Even a rush, you still poured a glass of milk for him, forgetting that spirits don’t need calcium for strong bones. He drank it nonetheless, being very confused.

Work is exactly what you had imagined it to be. Hell. Within your very first hour, you’re bombarded with new tasks and papers. “Experience is key,” your supervisor had said, but between the directions being fired at you and more coworkers just giving you endless stacks of files, you quickly are at a loss for what to do. Between flipping through the manual and managing your work properly, you find yourself already utterly exhausted by lunch break.

Lunch break. That was your next problem. Nobody wanted to involve themselves with the new, troublesome rookie, leaving you to eat on your own, albeit quickly, because you wanted to get things done.

“D-do you mind if I sit here with you?” a small, shaky voice stammers. You look up from scrolling through your phone to see a short, blonde woman. She grips tightly at her lunch bag, eyes quivering. “You don’t have to let me, though! I don’t want to be too pushy!”

“I don’t mind!” you answer kindly, offering the chair next to you. You watch as the woman of nerves shakily takes the spot. “Actually, thanks for offering. I was worried that I was going to have a hard time getting along with other people.”

“It’s always hard on the first day. I’ve been here for a few months, and it’s still really difficult for me!” she agrees. She seems more relaxed, shoulders going down slightly. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the woman opens her lunch before jolting upright. “I’m sorry! I never introduced myself. I’m Yachi Hitoka!”

You vaguely remember her name, and you realize that it’s the person whose desk is right next to you. You’re embarrassed, to say the least, realizing that you barely made sufficient introductions to the people around you. Offering your own name in turn and apologizing profusely, the two of you get along better than expected. As it turns out, Yachi, though having only been at the company for less than half a year, was a designer genius. Often tasked to be the leader of poster projects, your coworker who seemed only to be made out of nerves was a master at what she did. You hoped to be like her one day.

“It’s a little rough at first,” she admits, wiping stray crumbs off the table, “but you’ll be fine. To be honest, I saw some of the samples you sent in with your resume. Just a peek though! Your pattern-designing is really interesting and pretty, so I think they’ll be useful in the future. If you need any help…you know…feel free to ask me.”

After lunch, you feel like a new person. You’re not sure if it’s just getting food in your system, or Yachi’s genuine optimism and show of support, but you’re determined to work harder. After getting chewed out by your supervisor for making multitudes of errors in the files, you’re back at rock bottom again. Expected.

Walking out of the office building, you trudge your way back home, squeezing your way through the mob of people all rushing to get back home at the station. Taking the train was economical on your part, but a massive hellish experience. You always took notice to stay near the doors, but eventually, people would just push you toward the middle, and you’d be stuck there. Pushing your way back out was a million times worse, as you never felt good about shoving other passengers, even if their actions warranted it.

From there, you carefully follow your GPS back to your apartment complex on foot. You didn’t exactly know yet the area that well, so you were careful to not get lost. As you’re walking, you stop and notice the little florist shop and its display of pink and red flowers. They’re small, and the way the setting sun hits the freshly watered petals, reflecting glimmers of light, fascinates you. Walking closer toward the shop, you lean down and admire the delicate beauty in awe.

“Sorry, but that’s just display. We’re currently out of carnations,” a familiar deep voice informs, followed by the closing and locking of the door. You look up to the source and let out an audible gasp. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

“So that’s what you meant last night by cutting and dying,” you muse, looking at your neighbor and the daffodils he has in hand. “And here I thought you were some kind of gang leader.”

“I suppose what I said taken out of context sounds pretty bad,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He looks down at his bouquet and motions them toward you. “I was gonna give you this when I got back, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Here. Congratulations on moving in, Neighbor.”

“Thanks,” you laugh, graciously accepting the house-warming gift. “Although, it’d be better if I could get a name to thank. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Shit, did I never mention a name?” he murmurs, tsking. You almost laugh again. Poor introductions seemed to be a pattern, and you were one of the worst offenders. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m, as you can see, the owner of this shop. Some people call me a florist, but I’m really a plant magician.”

“I’m sure you are,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “Did you just get off from work?”

“Yup. This shop closes every day at 7 PM. Won’t be catching me doing overtime.”

“What about last night?”

“Except when I forget things, which usually doesn’t happen,” Kuroo clarifies with a smirk. He glances at your offense attire and raises a brow. “First day not so good, huh? Are you going home? I’d be willing to lend an ear if you’d like.”

“How kind of you,” you sigh, then nod tiredly. “It’s my second day here, and I already have a therapist. Lovely.”

“It’s good to complain a little from time to time.”

Following the florist, you hum a little in contemplation. Then, taking a deep breath, you being to talk about how terrible your day was and how you’ve been yelled at more times today than ever in your life and that reading the manual over and over again actually didn’t help, but none of the senior workers were very approachable. To be honest, you felt a little bit silly, opening up so quickly to a stranger, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. In fact, you don’t even notice when you’re right in front of the door to your apartment room until you hear the jingling of Kuroo’s own keys.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” you murmur, embarrassed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “I didn’t mean to rant-“

“But you look so much better after letting a little bit of steam off,” Kuroo interrupts, flashing you an insanely bright smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Since we’re neighbors that share the same route home, let’s just be friends, yeah?”

“Y-yeah?” you say like a question. “I mean, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Then, see you around, or maybe tomorrow, Y/N,” the florist concludes, unlocking the door to his room, already halfway in. “Hope tomorrow goes better for you.”

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a wave before stepping into your own home. Setting your shoes aside, you quickly wonder what to do with the flowers. It’s not like you had a vase ready, so you take an empty water bottle out from the recycling instead. Carefully setting the yellow buds into the container, you leave it at the center of the table, deciding that the centerpiece brought a little life into your apartment.

“Hey,” you hear Kenma murmur, walking out of your room with console in hand. You then remember that you really did more life in your apartment. “Nice flowers.”

“You’re not even looking at them,” you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The neighbor gave them to me. Do you like them?”

“They’re fine.”

You laugh again at his aloof attitude and try to throw away the parchment paper that was used to wrap the bouquet. It’s until then that you notice a small note flutter down onto the floor. You bend over and pick it up, wondering if it’s a price tag or something of the sort.

“Hey, it’s Kuroo. You probably already knew that lol. Anyways, I hope u like daffodils. Keep them away from direct heat, and they should live for a while. Since we both seem to be like night owls, feel free to cure my of my boredom. XXX-XXX-XXXX”

“Why are you smiling in the middle of the kitchen?” Kenma asks, brow raised, and in hindsight, you must have looked dumb. If a ghost thought you were creepy, the look you had on must have been just terrible.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and scramble to set the note aside. You know he doesn’t buy it, but you don’t care or want to elaborate on how the florist next door’s kindness made you feel unusually warm. Surprisingly, finding your first friend in a new area was much more relieving that you had expected it to be, especially when your new friend seemed so open and lived close by. “It’s just a note on how to take care of the daffodils.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence, and you brush it off as him going back to his game. “I guess that’s fitting since they mean new beginnings or something like that.”

Now that was odd coming from a ghost who couldn’t even remember why he was still here.

“How do you know that?” You watch as he comes to a realization too, eyes widening ever so slightly out of sheer surprise. HIs reaction reassures you that he isn’t lying to you about the amnesia, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not sure.” He’s frowning, seeming to rack his mind for any clue, anything at all to remind him of where his knowledge came from and why he couldn’t move on. It’s all fruitless in the end. “I…really don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter that much anyway. I don’t mind cooking another portion, especially when you eat so little. Or maybe I eat a lot- Well, whatever.”

From the couch, Kenma nods and sinks into the cushions. Still, he wants to know why out of everything he could have remembered, why were they the flowers. In his current state, he can’t imagine himself as a flower buff in the past; hell, he doesn’t remember being the sun, but every morning when it rises, he feels like he’d hate to be in it, so if he can’t stand the outdoors now, he probably couldn’t either in the past. He thinks hard and long, but when you call him and tell him that’s dinner’s ready, all he can do is give up and go listen about your day.

It’s all so strange, he thinks.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma kozume

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jq37 · 4 years

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The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 19

The Ties That Bind

The penultimate Fantasy High: Sophomore Year episode is upon us and not a moment too soon. Seems a little counter-intuitive to seek comfort from these objectively wild current events we’re experiencing from a fictional Nightmare Forest but we know what we’re about so let’s jump back in and start with the death of a beloved main character.

Yay.

Rewinding back to two episodes ago, last we saw Kristen, she got stabbed through by a skeletal unicorn and died. We pick back up there and, as she’s dying, she feels a sense of pain, betrayal, and anger--very similar emotions to what Brennan told her the goddess was feeling with her Nat 20 Religion Check. Kristen gets a vision of the goddess being destroyed in cracks of lightning by her own followers--the same vision Fig saw in the dream scrying pool when she scry-ed on Kristen last week--and then she wakes up on the chapel floor.

She’s not...dead exactly. But she’s not super alive either. She’s bleeding, but more oozing blood than the normal mechanical way of bleeding out because her heart isn’t beating. There’s a hole in her chest and, within it, her heart is crushed. Her skin is pale because the blood isn’t pumping through it properly anymore. Her breathing isn’t regular. And a piece of her finger tip (the piece taken by her friends for a possible Revivify) is missing.

She sees evidence of her friends having been in the room--footprints and the smashed wall--and to place this in the timeline, she can’t remember Fabian right now. When she checks her crystal, she sees it’s been 90 minutes since they walked into the forest. She does Cure Wounds on herself to stop the blood from dripping. Then she heads out towards the forest, passing the Oracular Pool Fig used in the last episode as she goes. She stops as she sees it and something in her heart glows with golden light. When she looks into the pool, she sees the sun reflected in the pool (and also Fig’s boot prints leading up to it). That’s weird because it is super not a Sol/Helio aligned Chapel/Area they’re in. She also sees the moon reflected and she feels like she’s being called in. It doesn’t necessarily feel safe but it feels like she might get some answers and also she already died today so how much worse can it get? She dives in and come up and when she does, she’s suddenly in the outer planes. Specifically, she’s in Elysium which is like the Neutral Good heaven. She hears a voice that she mistakes for her dad’s because of the major dad energy she’s getting from it: You can come home.

As she walks, she finds herself--as Kristen weirdly often does for some reason--in the presence of gods. Specifically, Sol (god of the Sun) and Galakaya (goddess of the Moon and his sister as we find out). Helio is also there, like the screw-up son of a CEO, hanging out in his office. Both of them are good gods but not neutral good so Kristen gets the sense that they brought her here to have a neutral place to talk to her.

Kristen is hilariously nonplussed by being personally Uber-d to heaven by arguably the biggest gods in the pantheon and when she is asked to take a walk with Helio so she can get some important information, she’s like, “Nooooo, can literally anyone else do it?” Galakaya agrees to do it instead.

They take a lap and she asks about Tracker. Galakaya says that Tracker isn’t dead but she’s in major danger. Then, she changes the subject. Has Kristen ever wondered where her spells have been coming from when she’s been between gods? Because, as Galakaya says, doubt is nothing. She reveals that even though Kristen rejected him, Helio has been providing Kristen spells this entire time. He sent the philosophers and the grad students to be her spirit guardians. Kristen rejected him but not the light. Galakaya likens it to a child running away from home to the front yard. Kristen isn’t too far gone. She can still come back to the fold. And, if she doesn’t want to be Helio’s champion, she can be hers instead and become a Moon Cleric, which would still be keeping it in the family. But that’s the problem Kristen has with it. Helio to Galakaya? It seems like more of the same--especially the way she’s been acting, like she would fit right in at a brunch table with Arianwyn and Anguin. Except, when Tracker comes up, Kristen notices she gets a little snarly, almost like a tic she’s trying to keep under control.

Kristen asks for her pitch, and it’s basically the same deal she was getting with Helio but with different window dressing. The Moon, sisterhood, and unquestioning obedience. Galakaya can’t see into Sylvere to check on Tracker like Kristen asks but if she had a Champion, say Kristen, she could send her all kitted up with new powers. She says she wants the Nightmare King dead more than anyone seeing as the Nightmare King killed her baby sister (the Mystery Goddess). She calls her baby sister sweet and sometimes confused, seeing as she thought destroying her name would make her more powerful. But Kristen knows that’s not what happened. It was her followers who destroyed her name as she desperately warned them not to. Some chicanery is going on.

She says she will take the job as Galakaya’s champion and when she makes like she’s going to pray to her to seal the deal, she instead reaches out to the mystery goddess again. The golden light in her chest disappears and is replaced with cool shadow. She feels shock from the goddess, that Kristen would still choose to reach out to her after she died at her hand. The goddess says, emotionally, “I’m sorry, I’m just so scar--” But, before she can finish the word, Galakaya grabs Kristen by the shoulder and snaps her out of it, face snarling and wolfed out. After a second, she composes herself and seems almost embarrassed that Kristen saw that, which makes Kristen realize what’s going on with her. Tracker is a cleric of Galakaya, but knowing Tracker, she wouldn’t worship someone so reeking of high elven prim and proper-ness. And she also knows what the number one rule of godhood is: As above, so below. Galakaya has basically been claimed as a high elven goddess. Which means that the vast majority of her followers aren’t like Tracker. They’re snooty high elves. Which means so is she and her wolf part is still there, but it’s buried and distasteful to her now.

Which, coincidentally, is how Kristen feels about this entire godly family. She “respectfully declines” both of their offers. And by “respectfully declines” I mean she socks Helio in the face and makes a run for it. Sol, full of rage, says, “I told you that kid was trash! Now get her!” The philosophers on Sol’s payroll look at each other and instead mob him (why is the literal sun god so easy to 1v1?) and help Kristen escape. As she does, Helio calls out after Kristen something she kind of already sensed upon arriving in Elysium. Most people are a soul in a body. But Kristen, at the moment, is a soul *as* a body. If she dies again, with no god to intercede for her, she’s dead-dead. No afterlife. But that’s not enough to make her stay. She keeps running and makes it to the pool. For the first time, she feels herself fully cut off from her spells.

Back in the cave in Sylvere, Kristen chats with the Philosophers. They tell her they were working for Sol so they couldn’t tell her what the deal was but they were always rooting for her. One of the philosophers quotes her own words back to her: Doubt can’t be a belief but it can be a practice. And as she says this, she turns Kristen’s Shepherd's Crook cool and metallic and turns it into a question mark. She can’t hold doubt in her heart but she can hold it in her hand (stats for the Staff of Doubt below; also what a sick line from Brennan).

She knows that to get to the center of the forest where she needs to be, she has to follow her fear, so she goes in the direction she doesn’t expect to find Tracker.

Shifting gears, we find Gorgug and Fabian at the mouth of the cave (and no longer high on duskmoss) in their floating rock island surrounded by the others. They see that there are other openings and decide to check them to see if they can find any of their friends. They spend a good two hours, tied together and climbing this rock face which is some extremely solid male bonding. When they reach the cave they were aiming for, they find Baxter, riddled with arrows they know to be Sandra-Lynn’s. He’s dying but not dead. I am outraged at Brennan until I learn a fact that I don’t think has come up until now: Artificers get spell slots. Which means that Gorgug has Cure Wounds. He only cures him for 3 points but that’s enough to stabilize him at least so we can all stop sharpening the pitchforks. However, Baxter is clearly dejected and confused. He has no idea why Sandra-Lynn would suddenly turn on him. So maybe the pitchforks are still called for.

They want to leave Baxter in the cave so he can rest up but, on a 1 Animal Handling, Baxter absolutely demands to follow them. It’s faster than climbing at least. They do so.

And we switch again, this time to the Abernants.

Adaine is still trapped in a prison orb and barred from doing most of her spells. She can, however, do the Message cantrip and Aelwyn is still in the room along with Anguin. She Messages Aelwyn and asks, What’s going on? Why is she working with their parents still? Aelwyn replies that she doesn’t like her parents but she does love them. Doesn’t Adaine? “They don’t love me,” Adaine shoots back. Aelwyn parrots back ideology that she’s clearly learned from her parents: Love has to be earned. What value does something that hasn’t been earned have? Adaine, fresh off of therapy and with full knowledge of Aelwyn’s broken psyche, fully calls her out. She is so closed off to love, to everything that abjuration is her school of magic. Aelwyn tries to wave her off but Adaine, very seriously, says, “I don’t love our parents but despite the fact that you have not earned it, I do love you.” Aelwyn fully dissociates (and I’m not far behind).

Adaine notices that Anguin is readying some kind of Sending spell and that he’s wearing a sword that he usually doesn’t have. He tells Aelwyn to ransack her sister’s brain for the info they need from her while he prepares her punishment. Aelwyn, clearly in a slight panic, tries to (not at all) casually persuade Anguin to just leave Adaine in the orb, unharmed, when they are done with her. She tries to do it in a, “This isn’t worth our time,” kind of way but betrays herself when she blurts out, “She’s a baby!” Anguin raises a hand at her and she flinches, apologetically casting Detect Thoughts on Adaine who has already (via Message) said she’d support her no matter what she did.

Enter, Adaine’s Mindscape: A series of interconnected rooms--and her Aelwyn’s rooms--repeated over and over. Adaine has her surface thoughts be all of her memories of Aelwyn *almost* being nice to her and then pulling back at the last second for fear of her parents. Aelwyn doesn’t press deeper than these thoughts and says that if Adaine’s goal was to humiliate her then she’s done so. But that’s not what Adaine wants. She wants to rebuild their relationship. They’re gonna be sisters for the rest of their quasi-immortal lives. These memories suck but they can make new ones.

And then, through a window, Aelwyn sees another memory. The memory of herself in the hot-tub post Calethriel Tower rescue mission. She doesn’t remember this because of the events in the memory itself. Adaine went into her mind and, at her written instructions, reboot her memory and personality. They’re able to Inception themselves into Adaine’s memory of Aelwyn’s mind and they walk through it. Aelwyn is confronted with the knowledge that this is how she is and that Adaine knows this. Siobhan, from her sniper perch, gets the kill order from Brennan to take the shot directly into my chest.

“Would you be my big sister? I would really, really love to have you as a big sister.”

So now it’s both Kristen and me who have crushed hearts this episode.

Aelwyn fully loses concentration on the spell and snaps out of it. When Anguin asks for the information, she, on full glassy-eyed autopilot, says she didn’t find it. Anguin decides to go for the nuclear option, readying a bolt of magic to throw at Adaine. “Prepare to be better, dear, sweet daughter.”

The magic races at her, ready to do something Stepford-ian to her mind I’m sure, but, suddenly, Aelwyn steps forward, still out of it but following her true, deeply buried but natural protective instincts. Protective magic covers Adaine and the spell is Counterspelled.

Adaine quickly dispels her orb but then it’s Anguin’s turn and he goes for Aelwyn. Adaine attempts to return the favor she has just been given and Counterspells but Anguin Counterspells her Counterspell and Lightning Bolts Aelwyn. The second before she’s hit, Aelwyn looks at Adaine and says, “I’m sorry”. She goes down.

Adaine’s turn.

And, if you recall, Adaine just received two boons: A bonus to her Strength score and a little spell called Adaine’s Furious Fists.

And, my dude, if Adaine has ever been furious in her life, it’s now.

5th Level. And it’s a strength saving throw but, just to be certain of her success, Adaine gives her undoubtedly weak father her 4 Portent roll. That’s 10d10 damage.

77 points of damage.

She charges forward at Anguin.

“Guess what bitch? I’m strong now.”

And she full Dragon Ball Z energy punches her dad, dealing more than double his max HP. You know what that means? Ding Dong the bitch is FULLY DEAD.

Deed done, she rushes to Aelwyn’s side and gives her her 11 portent roll for her first death save (super clutch use of a mediocre portent). Then, on an 18 Medicine check, stabilizes her without the need for any more checks. Aelwyn is immediately weepy about how she doesn’t deserve the kindness she’s being shown. Adaine, again, gently says that love isn’t about deserving or not deserving, though she definitely doesn’t deserve the crappy situation she’s in right now. And, maybe when this is over, she can exchange her bed for a bunk bed and Aelwyn can move in? If Aelwyn wasn’t crying before, she super is now, and spilling her guts. She’s the one who sank she ship the previous elven oracle was on, she worked for Kalvaxus and Kalina--things Adaine is willing to attribute to being under the thumb of evil, abusive people but that Aelwyn seems desperate to atone for. She gives Adaine an important piece of information for their mission: In the past, heroes going after the Nightmare King have failed because they failed to undo all five curses. They need to make sure they do that.

Adaine gives Aelwyn the tincture she has on her, freeing her from Kalina’s influence, and then Aelwyn gives her one more piece of information before she slips into unconsciousness. Before Aelwyn had the previous Oracle killed, she was sure that Adaine was going to be the next Oracle and she told Kalvaxus that. Why was she sure? Because the elf that becomes the next Oracle is always the most skilled Diviner alive at the time.

“I love you too,” Adaine replies.

Then she nicks the dope sword (and 30 gp) off her dad’s corpse, leaves Aelwyn there to rest, and goes to find her friends.

And, speaking of, let’s pop over to see how Riz and Fig are doing.

In a word, bad.

They’re still tied up and cornered by the skeletal unicorn who says they’re captured and soon their friends will be too. Nightmare Fig shows up with Baby (who is shortly tied up as well) and reveals herself to actually be this many-armed, snake-woman demon. A whole army of demons show up, ready to start wrecking house as soon as they’re ordered to.

Fig wants to try and use her lighter to set her bonds on fire and Riz wants to use his spy-watch to laser her bonds off. They both fail but Riz notices they’re not being stopped from trying. It’s like the demons want them to escape so they have an excuse to chase and kill them. He also notices a jiggling from his briefcase.

At the same time, Fig gets a Sending from Bill saying he just hawked all of Gorthalx’s stuff, including the six suits of magic armor. But, wait a minute. There were seven suits. On a Nat 1, she thinks Bill is screwing her over.

But then.

All of a sudden.

Riz’s briefcase of holding springs open and out pops a figure in gleaming gold Pride Armor. The armored figure, holding a brilliantly gold halberd, cleaves through some demons and the raises his visor showing that it’s none other than the chosen one himself--GILEAR! You see, the Deadly Sin armor feeds on its respective sin in the user and consumes them, but, as Gilear puts it, he has no pride.

He absolutely wrecks house, killing demon after demon. Riz records it on his tie-camera for posterity. Gorgug and Fabian on Baxter see the commotion and fly down, seeing the tail end of the fight. Gilear kills the last of the demons then gets spit out of the armor like it’s an Iron Man suit, fully dead. Again. He may have had no pride when he put the armor on but watching himself kick ass have him just enough to be fatal.

Fig gets free from her bindings and, on a 27 with Bardic from Fabian, beats the 25 DC she needs to make an illusory diamond (which turns into a real one) of high enough quality to cast Revivify. She does so, after a heartfelt statement about being proud to be like him and a sick lick on her bass.

Gilear comes back up and we learn that he’d been hiding in RIz’s briefcase with the armor since they sent him away because it was the only way he could think of to be useful to them and protect Fig. Fabian and Riz (along with the audience) also unfortunately learn that Gilear is hung like a horse when they fail their saves to look away quickly enough.

Adaine rushes in with her new sword and the information that she killed her dad which everyone congratulates her for. She then ritual casts Identify on the sword. Aelwyn told her earlier that it’s the sword that belongs to whoever the current Oracle is and she also learns it’s called the Sword of Sight, it can be used as an arcane focus, and was made by Fabian’s Grandad (full stats below).

Riz gets the footage from his tie onto his crystal and posts it on Fig’s account which has got to be the wildest social media account on Magic Facebook.

The Bad Kids are mainly reunited, but let’s get back to the final missing member.

Kristen, alone in the woods, starts using her blood to draw a picture of the Mystery goddess. She hears a creepy voice say, “Be careful what you give a face,” and some other ominous stuff. But Kristen ignores it as she lies prostrate in front of her drawing because she understands something extremely important.

As above, so below.

Galakaya is worshiped primarily by stuck up high elves, so she has become that.

If Kristen is now the only follower of the Mystery goddess and she says that she’s real and she’s good then as above, so below. The math checks out.

The bloody image changes to a beautiful woman’s face. The Mystery goddess. She says she only ever wanted to comfort her followers and tell them that the night itself was nothing to fear. Kristen sees flashes of the chained Court of Elders--the representatives of the five races who worshiped the Mystery Goddess and were convinced to destroy her name (ignoring her warnings not to). Among them are the unicorn and the decaying elf Adaine saw in her Scry.

Fear of the NK breaks her out of the vision and she finds herself surrounded by Twilight (that she’s generating) with Tracker in front of her, fully wolfed out with a bloody muzzle. Tracker is going feral, all, “You’re so selfish, everything is always about you.” Something is going wrong with her. Now, good news/bad news:

Good News: Kristen is fully committed to this Mystery Goddess so she gets her spells back and she is now a Twilight Domain Cleric.

Bad News: She goes Invisible (eliciting a, “Why are you running? I knew you would leave me. Why won’t you accept me like I am?” from Tracker) and tries to cast Greater Restoration but all she needs is a 4 and she rolls a 3. Tragic.

She finds that she is insubstantial still and is whisked away from a snarling and lamenting Tracker. As she is traveling, she sees the face of the Nightmare King who asks why she would follow a dead goddess whose path is just going to make her life harder. Kristen feels a pang of doubt and fear that she has just done exactly what her religious upbringing warned her against and put herself and her friends in grave danger for no reason by straying from the path, but then she has another classic Kristen-ism: Everyone is basic and wrong. She’d rather follow a goddess who is like, “Hey y’all, I also don’t have it all figured out but I will for sure do all I can to help you navigate it,” than a god who demands unquestioning faith and loyalty. And with that, she finds herself floating above her friends.

She feels the pull of her missing finger bone in Adaine’s pocket and she feels like it might be impossible for her to fully, properly, come back but on the other hand, she’s died like three times at this point. What does impossible even mean? She gets the sense that she can cast Raise Dead on herself and she does so.

Welcome back to the Bad Kids, St. Kristen Applebees of [REDACTED], halo aglow, newly reattached finger shedding a bit of light.

(“That’s hot for being gay,” Ally says about Kristen’s new glow.)

Everyone hugs everyone and catches up everyone on everything. Kristen heals up Baxter for 20 HP and gets a +2 bump on her Intelligence mod for her ordeals in the forest. They all make a plan to get everyone in one place so Kristen can put some of her new AoE healing spells to use. Fig wants to go on Baxter to get Ayda. Adaine, bringing us full circle, invites Fabian on a rescue mission to get her sister.

And we take a break.

Deep breath y’all.

Detention

Brennan for Cursing us With Knowledge About Gilear’s Penis

@allsevenmaidens put this very reasonable request in and I have to concur because what’s the alternative? Giving Anguin this spot AGAIN? Like, I don’t even want to give him the satisfaction of being the best of the worst. Adaine gave him the death penalty which is what he deserves and all he’s gonna get.

So, Brennan gets this spot for forcing me to hear the words “Gilear” and “hung like a horse” in the same sentence.

Honor Roll

Gilear for Kicking SERIOUS Ass

Listen, SO many Honor Roll-worthy moments happened this episode. Kristen’s Amazing As Above, So Below moment. Aelwyn finally stepping up to protect Adaine. Adaine absolutely obliterating Anguin in a single punch.

But, at the end of the day, I have to give it to Gilear “Just a Guy” Faeth for cramming himself and a suit of cursed armor into a mostly airless briefcase out of desperate need to do whatever he could to help protect his daughter and her friends who are basically demigods. He truly is the Anti-Anguin and I’m so glad Riz got that on tape for posterity. Way to go man.

Random Thoughts

I already wrote so many words and we have a five hour finale tomorrow so I’m going to try and keep this section brief.

We’re staring down the barrel of the last episode (coming Friday at 8PM EST) and I want to say this now rather than later: thanks for reading these and leaving nice comments in the tags and stuff like that. I’m not always the most confident person and the support really means a lot.

We’re also staring down the barrel of a global crisis right now so, you know, be nice to yourself and escape through fiction when you need to, reach out to people, and eat a vegetable if you can. Read a 5000 word recap of an episode you presumably already watched. Whatever you need to do.

The Staff of Doubt has ten charges and can cast the following spells at the cost of the amount of charges listed: Detect Magic (1), Lesser Restoration (2), Dispel Magic (3), Banishment (4), Greater Restoration (5).

The Sword of Sight gives +1 to attack and damage rolls. It gives a base 12 AC which bumps Adaine’s to 15. It lets her cast Divination cantrips as bonus actions. She gets to take the Dodge action when she casts a Divination spell. And she gets no disadvantage on attacks on Invisible creatures (seems very useful against Kalina possibly).

EDIT: I forgot to say! Gorgug saying very sincerely to Kristen, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” “there” being, “at her most recent death” broke me.

Where in the World is Ragh Backrock? We have at least an approximate idea of where the rest of the hirelings are but nothing on Ragh. I’m concerned. His vision was asking Gorgug if he was his dad. Maybe it has something to do with that?

Very curious about what the mechanics of the final confrontation will be. What Aelwyn said seems like it could be setting up for some shenanigans. Plus, there are still all the hirelings to worry about.

Another question, I feel like we still have almost no idea what’s going on with the NK. Half of me is almost expecting some kind of Te Fiti/Te Ka situation. On another day I might try to speculate and play detective but that’s not where I’m at today so I’m just gonna leave it at that.

I feel like Kristen is always negging deities to their faces. Like, girl. Her Axe/Dove metaphor was *chef’s kiss* though. Anyway, when (hopefully) Tracker is back to normal, I hope Kristen has a take that’s different than, “I met your goddess and she sucked.”

Kristen makes me feel bad for Helio. He’s just a surfer dude who likes corn, OK. He never did anything to her except give her magic!

Didn’t have a good place to mention this earlier but Fig alerted Bill to their situation and location so if there’s a Bill Ex-Machina next ep, it’s not out of nowhere.

(Also, just a small point of order, Gorgug did say he had a bone from Kristen last ep but so did Adaine. Doesn’t really matter but just wanted to explain the mismatch with my last recap).

Making everyone roll a save to not see Gilear’s dick is so funny. As was Zac invoking danger sense to roll with advantage.

“I cast Spare the Dying on Gilear’s Penis.”

“I am no man,” from LOTR but instead it’s Gilear saying, “I have no pride.”

“Drink deeply Gilear.”

Why is Kalina working for the NK? She’s supposed to be the Mystery Goddess’s familiar, right? Just another thing that doesn’t add up. Where’s that puzzle piece we’re missing?

The thought of Baxter being so confused and dejected and fatally injured, not understanding what he did so wrong to have his mistress riddle him with arrows makes me wanna throw down with Brennan IRL. Also, I’m Concerned about Sandra-Lynn.

I need to say this on the record. Ally Beadsley does some bonkers things in D&D that I could not even begin to understand but that As Above So Below Gambit was Galaxy Brained.

You knew this was coming. Abernant Time Bay-Bee (the abridged version because I need to get this out before Friday)!

First off, I am very happy to say that basically exactly what I predicted/hoped for in my last recap for this scene is what happened, with Anguin making Aelwyn cast Detect Thoughts on Adaine. And basically EVERYTHING I had on my Abernant Sisters Reconciliation checklist was checked. The Detect Thoughts. The pointing out that they’re gonna live for a long time and do they want to do it at each other's throats? Aelwyn finally stepping up to the plate and leaning into her Abjurative Instincts in a positive way and shielding Adaine from their father. And then the stuff that I wanted so bad but didn’t know it. The bunk beds moment? The “I love you too” moment. “She’s a baby!” I mean, “Will you be my big sister?” F off Siobhan. That was beautiful.

A little concerned about Adaine having left Aelwyn unconscious so close to where their mom is but I am glad she remembered to cure her of Kalina.

When Brennan said, “In Aelwyn’s last moment,” for a second I thought he meant she was about to be perma-dead and my heart legit stopped.

I was up until about 2 AM last night, popping bottles with @camwritery (my Abernant Sisters confidant) about Brennan and Siobhan giving us everything we wanted and I’m going to get yelled at by her if I don’t mention something I said while we were talking. Last week, during the fireside chat, all of the players talked about what future lives/jobs they’d want for their characters. I posited the same question for Aelwyn and offered my answer--CPS Case Worker. Because, like, think about it. She is an extremely protective person. She wants to atone for what she did and failed to do for Adaine. When she gets all the therapy she needs, she’s going to be equipped with deep, personal knowledge of what abuse looks like/what it can do to a child and an extremely long lifespan. Can’t you see an adult Aelwyn, in the living room of a well appointed house, speaking cordially to some high class A-hole with his terrified kid sitting next to him, trying not to say anything or do anything that will get them punished and Aelwyn does a surface level Detect Thoughts at the same time so she can mentally kneel before the kid and tell them, “I’m on your side. You can be honest with me. I’m here to protect you. I promise. Don’t be scared.” This is all I want for her.

This episode Fig rolled one Nat 1 and Gorgug rolled two but one was cancelled with advantage. No Nat 20s were rolled.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high live #(kind of a rush job bc the next ep is so soon so def hit up my asks if I missed s/t you wanted to hear about)

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xxsanshinexx · 5 years

Text

The Chaotic Gryffindor

Happy birthday @soulofatiny! Here’s your present, a hogwarts san au cause I know you love hogwarts and san, so why not put them together? I hope you have a good birthday lovely <3

Characters: Gryffindor! San x Ravenclaw! reader

Words: 4173

Genre: Fluff (this should just be expected at this point lol)

Choi San = the most chaotic Gryffindor

He was proud, he was brave and most importantly knew how to prank

It’s what earned him the title of the most chaotic gryffindor, by both students and professors.

Its not that he didn’t have other redeemable qualities, San was plenty smart and scored very high on tests (being one of the most proficient students at Defense of the Dark Arts and Charms)

He was even a renown beater for the quidditch team, one of the best the school had seen in several years

It’s just that he was so adept at pranking

and his pranks did not discriminate between professors, students, or houses.

His favorite targets were hufflepuff and slytherin

Hufflepuff because Yunho and Mingi gave the best reaction when jinxed snakes slithered on the floor of their common room

and Slytherin because they often blamed one another before turning heads towards the infamous Gryffindor. San just loved the turmoil he could so easily cause by setting off a few fireworks at Yeosang’s feet from a distance.

No one even knows how he has all the passwords to the common rooms, he just managed to get his hands on it one day and ever since then no one’s been safe

but his favorite pranks came during class, when it was an entire free for all

And that’s where you come in.

Charms was one of the few classes the Ravenclaw shared with the rowdy Gryffindors. It wasn’t bad, they did their work and were relatively relaxed about it most of the time.

Except when Choi San decided to make his presence known

And today was unluckily one of those days.

“Today, class, we will be reviewing rictuhsempra!” Flitwick announced as he lifted himself up to stand on his platform, “Does anyone remember what it does?”

Your hand was up in an instant, though none of the other students paid it any mind they were used to you answering everything about your preferred subject, “It’s the tickling charm, professor.”

“Very good, L/n.” Flitwick gave you an approving nod before he turned to the rest of the class, “As Y/n said, we will be learning about the tickling charm today. Last class we merely discussed it’s usage and how it would work in theory-”

His words bleeded into background noise as you made eye contact with the grinning lion across the room. San always caught your eye in this class, mainly due to the fact that he sat directly across from you, and tended to make you loose focus on Flitwick’s words. It didn’t hinder you much though as you practiced Charms enough in solitude that you barely needed his lengthy instructions.

San raised his eye brows at you, with his lips quirking up further, as the two of you made eye contact. You just rolled your eyes with a light smile and went back to focusing on the way Flitwick was waving his wand about.

It was decided from day one of charms that you and San were the most proficient. You both needed little instruction to do things that would take others a week to learn.

Your proficiency at charms though didn’t mean you two were good friends however, you knew to stay away from the gryffindor who caused more trouble than what he was good for. San and you barely spoke, and when you did it was mainly about charms.

San enjoyed the fact that you didn’t fawn over him like the rest of the houses did, that you weren’t swindled by the trouble he loved to cause.

“Now this movement is very precise! I’m sure the vast majority of you forgot how to cast it since your second year-” Guilty eyes avoided Flitwicks gaze, “And nonetheless, there are some better revisions to the spells motions. Now please follow along with me.”

You sighed as you ran through the motions robotically. You were one of the few students who retained the information regarding charms since your early years at Hogwarts.

It was no surprise either that San was moving through the movements rather skillfully as well, except there was a twinkle in his eyes. That was never a good thing.

He noticed your gaze and turned his head to glance at you, a sly smile gracing his lips. Your eyes narrowed as that slyness reached his eyes while he waved his wand from side to side provoking way, eyes scanning the room before coming back to met your own.

“Watch this,” He mouthed and your eyes grew wide in shock.

“Don’t you dare,” You mouthed back but it did nothing but make him grin wider from across the classroom.

The unfortunate subject of whatever San was going to do was Lee Chan, a quiet, quick witted Ravenclaw that you knew didn’t deserve anything but goodness. San casted you another infamous smirk before casting a quiet, almost inaudible and unrecognizable spell at the unsuspecting Ravenclaw.

Lee Chan quickly bursted out in uncontrollable laughter as his body began to contort like someone was actually touching him. The class entirely stopped at his uproar and Flitwick’s face became panicked as he assisted Chan.

All while San casted you a wink from across the room, to which you gave him a rather obscure gesture in response.

“Which one of you casted the spell!” Flitwick cried, scanning the room for any guilty faces, but San was just as stone faced as you.

“Well I know I didn’t cast the spell so it had to be one of you.” Flitwick’s eyes landed on you with a slight glare before they landed in the opposite direction, piercing San’s stony features.

“There’s only two people in this classroom who can cast that spell without me immediately knowing. Now Choi or L/n, would one of you like to come clean about the situation.”

“It was San-”

“It was Y/n-”

You and San both gave one another a glare while Flitwick shook his head in exasperation, “If one of you does not come clean in the next five seconds I am giving the both of you detention for a week!”

You thought that was fairly lenient for what San had done, “Professor, I promise you it was San. Why would I try and hex my own house?”

“You were bored and Chan stole your homework last week,” He shrugged, an aura of persuasiveness coming off of him and you wondered why he wasn’t placed in Slytherin for it, “You got that look in your eye like you did it.”

“I look nothing like you, Choi,” You huffed and snarled, while San just gave you an amused grin.

Flitwick sighed at the impasse and how hostile the air had become, “Well, since the both of you are so adamant about your innocence, detention for both of you for a week-”

“Wait what!?”

“And twenty house points taken from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Class dismissed besides those two, I have some desks that need polishing.”

Both you and San slumped into your seats as the mob of students rushed for the door. It was apparent he thought he could get away with his pranking once again, and he might have, if it weren’t you he had been thrown against.

Flitwick followed out the door, stopping only to give the two of you instructions, “I want these desks polished and all my books in order in the next hour. I am severely disappointed in the two of you.”

The door slammed shut and their was the faint click of a lock following it

and then it was just you, a highly disgruntled ravenclaw, trapped with the one and only nuisance, Choi San.

“I really hope Merlin curses you, Choi.”

“I figured you would have started off with something a little more extreme, L/n.” He laughed but quickly quieted down to a cough as you raised your head and threw him a deadly glare.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t decide to hex someone.”

“I didn’t even hex him, it was a tickling curse.” He huffed and stood up from his chair, opting to sit on the desktop and let his feet dangle, “if I wanted to hex him it be a lot more dangerous than laughter.”

“And humiliating I suppose.”

“Well, what kind of hex do you have in mind?”

“For you, Choi? Specifically the instant scalping hex or even the hurling hex for your next game.”

San snorted and jumped off the counter top, walking over so he could lean against the counter in front of you. Immediately there was a sense of warmth that flowed off of him, like he was nothing more than a furnace, and it invaded your senses. You hated how tingly it all made you feel. His hair dangled in front of his cat like eyes, and they held an amusement that was unlike the type you usually saw, “I didn’t realize I pissed you off that bad.”

“I’ve never gotten a detention and I have never gotten house points taken away.”

“Prissy pants.”

“Go clean the floor you piece of hippogriff dung.”

“Oddly specific insult, L/n.” He grinned and pushed himself away from the counter and a part of you was a little saddened by the lack of warmth, “But i’ll get the floor as long as you get the tables.”

“Organize the books too.”

“So demanding,” He chuckled as you threw a crumpled piece of parchment at him, “I’m not getting that one.”

“Oh shut up, Choi.”

You were pleasantly surprised when San actually complied with your conditions. It was known he didn’t listen to much of anyone, much less during detention; where many said he either charmed his way out of doing the work or used magic to be done in five seconds.

You never understood why so many people fell for his blatant lies and schemes, especially when he barely even covered his tracks. He could sign his name at the scene of one of his pranks and the professors would think it was Yunho.

“I’ve already finished all the book cases and you’re still working on the same three desks?”

Indeed, San had organized Flitwicks bookshelves by alphabet and you were still polishing the front row of desks until they shined. The professors would except nothing less.

“Sorry I took the hard job.” You huffed as you finished off the corner of the desk, it polished so heavily that you could nearly see your reflection. All your hard work would probably be gone by the time you reached class tomorrow; the second years would probably mess it up by the next hour.

San just chuckled a little as he took a rag from the cleaning supplies Flitwick laid out for you, “It’s not that hard if you use magic.”

You scoffed as you re-dipped your cloth in polish, starting on the next section of desks, “Magic can’t solve everything.”

“Says the one who’s the top fifth year.” San came to stand next to you, mirroring your actions learned from years of housework.

It was odd for him, so well versed in magic and its splendors, to be cleaning something by hand once again. He barley remembered a time where magic wasn’t used for everything he did. Growing up a pureblood, magic was what did everything for him from before the time he could walk.

You gave him a side glance as you picked at a chip in the wood, “I did it through hardwork, not magic. Most of the tests are written, you know... Or do you cheat on those too?”

San sighed at the remark, “I’m not a bad person, L/n, and i’m certainly not a cheater.”

“Just a liar than?”

He through you a small glare, but their was a hint of a smile at his lips, “I just cause a little trouble, nothing harmful. Tell me one instance where my mischief has caused harm.”

“Yeosang literally fought a sixth year last week because you set off firecrackers at his feet.”

“That was bad judgement by Yeosang, not my fault.”

“You’re too much, Choi,” You huffed with a shake of your head, but San was quick to notice the small smile gracing your lips. It was one of the only times he had seen you smile; and it was the first time he had made one appear on your lips. Something in him decided he wanted to see it again.

He moved to stand besides you, so close that your elbows brushed, and raised an eyebrow at you, “Can you please use my name?”

“What, don’t like your last name?” You questioned doing your best to keep your voice from wavering. Once again there was that warmth San exuded, consuming you wholly, and you had to fight whatever feelings wanted to surface.

“I just think San is a little better, don’t you think Y/n.”

You licked your lips at his words and tried to block out how close he was to you- his robes swishing against your own with every movement, “We always use last names whenever we speak.”

“Well I want to change that,” He said dropping the small rag and turning to you fully, but you didn’t move, “I think I like your actual name better.”

San knew exactly what he was doing, trying his best to get some reaction other than anger from you, but he couldn’t figure out why. Why he so badly wanted you to smile because of him again, why he just wanted you to look at him in the way you always did; a way wholly different from everyone else.

San got his wish as you glanced up to him, eyes shining with uncertainty as you gave him a once over. The ravenclaws often told him how cautious you were of things; people, places- hell even the teachers. So when you gave a little head tilt to signify that you had made up your mind he became a anxious, even more so as you turned and avoided his eyes once again.

You wished Rowena Ravenclaw herself were here in this moment; because as soon as your eyes met San’s your mind drew a blank. His brown orbs, usually sly and charismatic, had this new look of contrasting hopefulness and worry. It made you have to look away before you said anything stupid.

Okay than San,” You said, his name rolling off your tongue like you had said it a thousand times prior, “Go... go finish the floors or something.”

The words were enough to put an abnormally large grin on his face but his playful tone was still in his voice, “Whatever you say, Y/n.”

You had to fight a smile at the way he said your name. Who knew the boy you thought was always a nuisance could have you blushing like a school girl.

“How fast do you think I can finish this, Y/n?” He already loved saying your name, without the sense of false contempt the two of you usually had towards each other, “Think I’ll be done by the time you finish that row?”

“I don’t really care as long as it’s good enough to pass by Flitwick.”

Your mundane response made him roll his eyes as he dipped the mop in the soapy water, opting to follow your method of doing things the “hard way” rather than short cutting it with magic.

And he found it all awfully boring. The way he had to push and pull the mop across the floor, how he had to cross the room to get more soap once he ran out; he found it all so tedious and realized he could never understand how muggles did this without crying.

But the tedious task gave him time to watch you work in silence; his groaning from actual labor not affecting you in your thoughtful state. Your lips were pursed in thought as you work, diligently scrubbing away at any marks on the wooden surface. San thought you looked much too tense for a task that could be simple, much too anxious for something that could be fun.

And fun San would make it.

“Y/n,” Your name was the first thing spoken in ten minutes and you almost jumped when you remembered when San was in the room with you.

“What San?”

“Can’t you look at me?” You couldn’t see the impish look in Sans eyes with your back turned.

You rolled your eyes and turned around, expecting to see San in front of an entirely cleaned floor.

Instead you got a ball of water to the face.

The shriek that came out of you was high pitched as ice cold water seeped through your thick robes and splattered against your cheeks.

“Choi San I swear to Albus Dumbledore himself i am going to kill you!”

The laughter that came from him was sweet and joyful, and if not for the liquid soaking you to the bone you might have joined in with him.

“That’s a bold declaration,” You wasted no time in retaliating, flicking your wand so that San would soon mirror you. And due to his laughing, he didn’t realize the giant bubble of water materializing above him.

With a flick of you wrist, the giant bubble burst and cold water engulfed him. The scream he let out was louder than yours, San clearly not expecting any form of retaliation, and he jumped high in the air at the icy contact. You could only laugh at his reaction, head tilting backwards as you chuckled out a muffled, “Oops.”

It was that moment San felt a lot more for you than just the pure interest he typically did. The way you looked so carefree for once, with a light shining in your eyes and a radiance about you that was never there in class. He would never be able to forget this image of you, the look of such utter etheralness, and he would always remember the way his heart swelled with a feeling akin to fondness.

“Seriously y/n?” He chuckled along with you as you stepped down from the rows of desks and onto the soapy floor.

“What I can’t prank you back?”

A smile formed on his lips at the twinkle in your eye, “I guess I’m just surprised.”

“You really thought I was just gonna let you get away with drenching me in cleaning water?” You huffed and poked your toe at the floor, layered with an inch of sickly smelling soap.

“I don’t know what I expected, I just wanted you to stop pouting the entire time.” He laughed as you kicked water his way, splashing the ends of his slacks, “Is that how you want to play?”

“Come on we’re already soaked to the bone, San.”

He just kicked a puddle of water up at you in response, droplets reaching up to your exposed hands. Thus, ensuing a full blown water war.

The two of you both wasted no time in kicking water, scooping up handfuls or even resorting to using magic to try to drench the other. Not that it mattered anyways, you both already looked as though you had taken a dive in the lake.

Water clung to both of your faces, soap littered your uniforms that had molded against your bodies, but neither of you seemed bothered. In reality, both San and you were having the time of your life.

All San could think of was your smile, the laughter bubbling from you and the pure euphoric feeling that the both of you were emitting. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy.

And you were the exact same, the feeling of pure childlike happiness not even leaving as San got close enough to throw a handful of water straight to your face.

“That was uncalled for!” You giggled, brushing away the small bits of soap that were in it, opening your eyes to be met with San’s face right in front of yours.

He smiled at you, bits of water sliding down his face with bubbles of soap stuck in his hair. You couldn’t help but be captivated. You had never been so close to San before, had never seen his brown eyes up close, had never been able to make out his scent of cedar and cinnamon, and you certainly hadn’t noticed the his little dimples before as well. Your heart began to beat erratically as your mind came to the conclusion that San was overall very charming.

“I guess I can agree that one was a bit excessive.”

“A bit?” You gave a breathy laugh, trying to steady your voice as San seemed to lean even more towards you, “There’s soap in my eyebrows.”

“It’s not even that bad,” He reached out with gentle touch, thumb brushing ever so softly against your brows to get rid of the bubbles there. You froze against his ghostly touch that emitted a warmth like an autumn sun, warming your skin without having to do much. His hands lingered against your skin as he spoke, the both of you seemingly thinking the same thing, “It’s... its not that much anyways.”

“Luckily for you it didn’t get in my eyes,” Your voice was soft as you hesitantly met his eyes that were already focused on you. It felt to unreal to be in front of him, a tender look circling through his features as you both just stared at one another for what seemed like eternity.

Who knew the prankster could get your heart beating so fast.

“I’ll consider myself blessed.” His thumb rubbed lightly against your cheekbone, a trail of pure sensations following it. You decided you enjoyed the blissful feeling he erupted in you.

Taking a breath, you leaned into his touch ever so slightly but by the way his eyes widened he noticed it, “You’re not as bad as I thought, San.”

His wide eyes turned into crescent moons as a soft laugh rumbled through him, “You’re not as stuck up as I thought, Y/n.”

The two of you stared, taking in each others physical appearances at close range without the slightest movement. San’s hand still lingered against your skin with that gentle heat emitting from him calming the raging of your heartbeat. San could only focus on the way you looked so content, the gentleness of your features as you stared at him, the sole proprietor of your attention.

It caused the two of you to lean in ever so slightly, just enough so that San’s bangs brushed against your forehead.

San trailed his thumb over your skin one more time before gulping, his breath fanning over you as he spoke, “Would... would you be mad if i kissed you?”

A blush spread across your cheeks as well as a shy smile, “I wouldn’t be opp-”

“What in Salazar Slytherin’s name happened in here!” Flitwick screamed as he barged through the door, making the pair of you stare at him like deer in the headlights. “Oh... well I-uh....I see.”

You both jumped away from one another in embarrassment, hands rising to rub your necks and cover your blushing faces.

“We’re sorry professor, we’ll- uh we’ll clean it up right-” Flitwick just waved his hand in dismissal at your words.

“No need Y/n.... just you and Mr. Choi get out of my sight and cleaned up,” He sighed and you San wasted no time in bolting out the door, it swinging shut behind you. Once outside, you both looked at each other, faced red and still drenched with water, and couldn’t contain the laughter anymore.

“That was...” San tried to speak but he could only shake his head with laughter.

“Embarrassing?”

“A mess?” He added and you both nodded in agreement, before meeting eyes once again the feeling from back in the room still present.

“Date,” You said, a sudden urge of confidence flowing through you, and San cocked his head to the side, “I want a date first before you try to kiss me.”

He gave a gleeful giggle in reply, stepping close enough to where you could feel that raging fire underneath his skin once again, “The astronomy tower? Tonight?”

“Steal me some food from the kitchen and then maybe?”

His eyes softened and he nodded, lips twitched up into a smile, “All the cookies and snacks you want, y/n.”

“Merlin,” You blushed and looked away from his fond gaze, an embarrassed laugh bubbling from your throat, “You’re turning me into a trouble maker too.”

He just shook his head and stepped forward, close enough so you could feel his breath against your skin this time. “I don’t think so,” He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your forehead with complete gentleness before he pulled back, a childlike grin on his face. “Just my future love.”

The wink he sent your way as he turned and bounced off made you eager for it to become nightfall.

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bi-writes · 4 years

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notorious: reboot — chapter three mori quam foedari

You haven’t seen anything yet; you have no idea what I will sacrifice to get to where I need to be.

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 6.4k warnings: mature language and themes, some nsfw content and nsfw innuendos series masterlist

There were webs in your dreams. Spiders, with plump, dark bodies that crawled all over your skin. You could feel them inside of your mouth, coming out from between your teeth, burrowing into the softness of your hair. You itched, squirmed, and cried, but nothing stopped them. Piling on top of each other, weaving their silk around your neck, pulling tighter and tighter until you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, but you could still feel them crawling inside of you. And then you felt a warm hand on your neck, breaking the webs in half, blowing fire onto your skin that burned their fat bodies into nothingness. You opened your eyes, and it was Tom, leaning over you, talking but you couldn’t hear what was coming out of his mouth. Then you screamed.

You jolted awake, sitting up abruptly, looking around your bedroom. The other side of the bed was still made up and empty like always, and the sun was just coming up over the horizon. You sighed deeply, putting your hand on your chest. Tom was in your dreams. He was in your dreams, and he was leaning over you, talking to you, helping you, saving you. The feeling was foreign. You always did things on your own. Your own ambition and determination had gotten you this far, and it was the only thing that was going to carry you through these next long months. Relying on someone else wasn’t in your agenda. No one except your mother had ever looked out for you, and she had been gone a long time, and while you loved Mariposa dearly, she had her flaws, and you always made sure to have a Plan B when it came to her.

Independence was all you had ever known. You ran your fingers over your neck, which you had just imagined tightened and hung around spiderwebs. You were helpless, and he had to come save you. You had tried so hard in your life to never be in that position, to always have a way out, to always have a way to get yourself out of sticky situations, and that was why you always trained, always kept learning, never stopped trying to get better and better at being yourself.

You hoped it wasn’t a vision of what was to come. If you had to rely on Tom, if you had to truly lean on him for help, you had to have been out of your mind. You couldn’t think about it anymore. You just couldn’t.

You slid out of bed, padding into the kitchen. Mariposa was sitting there, at the breakfast counter, sipping some coffee. She turned to look at you. Her curls were combed out nicely, and you figured she had been awake for a little while already.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, and you shrugged. You wanted to forget the dream you had been having for the last few nights, so you gave her a short, vague answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said, and she nodded. You went to the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup, joining her at the counter. Mariposa had partly moved into the spare bedroom in your apartment for the time being. She kept some things here for herself, but she stayed some nights back at her apartment and some nights with you. You did like when she was here. It was nice to have company on mornings like this.

“Me neither,” she said softly, looking down at her cup. She found comfort in the warmth of it. “I’m nervous.”

“For?”

“For tonight,” she answered honestly, tracing the rim of her mug. “I’ve never…I’ve never been a part of an…initiation. I mean…I know my dad has said things about your father and some of his men, doing things to join, but I sort of thought it was a myth.”

It was true. Your father was very insistent on all his lackeys being present at a ceremonial initiation. You thought it had been myth, too, but then you overheard your father on the phone one day talking about such matters. Your father’s initiations involved burning pictures of your younger self, bleeding over their ashes, and getting a certain Latin phrase tattooed behind your ear. Your father ran his business the way his Italian predecessors had, and he was adamant on keeping those traditions.

Mori quam foedari, was the Latin phrase, meaning death before dishonor. Your father expected his men to live up to his name, to their own names, and once you were in the family, the only way out was death. You had heard rumors that men that had wronged your father were expected to die, and upon their deaths, your father had their tattoos blacked out before they were dumped in the Colorado River. They didn’t deserve to wear the phrase, especially in death.

You sighed, thinking too much, brushing your hair back and running your fingers through it. “Don’t worry about anything, Ri. I’m going to be there. We’re going together. I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine. Yeah?” You turned to look at her, and she nodded slowly. She was staring off distantly.

“W-Who’s going to be there?” She wondered, her thoughts roaming to the sweet blue-eyed Englishman she had been talking to much too often.

“I’m not sure, Ri. But…we should be ready for anything.”

“Like…if it’s all made up? If…it’s a trap?” Mariposa asked this because she thought that she should, but she was convinced it couldn’t be. Harrison wouldn’t be okay with having her walk into a trap, would he? Surely, he cared for her enough that he wouldn’t want her to get hurt, not anymore.

“Yes, Ri. That’s what I mean.” You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, sighing. “But I don’t think he’ll do that.”

Mariposa took a long sip of coffee, frowning a bit. She had her reasons for believing that, but she was curious about yours. “Why is that?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “When I saw him the other night, we…I don’t even know how to explain it,” you laughed a bit, shaking your head. “We were close to each other, you know…flirting and…I don’t know.”

You thought about your legs on either side of Tom’s waist, your lips brushing against his, your hands on his chest. You thought about his gaze, his dark eyes that lit your insides on fire, made you feel warm from the tips of your fingers all the way to your toes. You thought about threatening to shoot him with a gun, and how he had smiled at that. You thought about how good he had looked in that suit, and how all you had wanted to do was run your fingers through his curls and kiss the smirk off his face. You weren’t sure what you were feeling; lust, want, desire, need, romance, it could’ve been a lot of things, but you couldn’t deny that there were thoughts in your head that your father wouldn’t approve of.

Jesus, y/n…get your shit together.

“Trying to figure each other out, I’m sure,” Mariposa raised an eyebrow at you. “Both of you are the most mysterious, secluded individuals on this planet. You keep everything inside. Maybe that’s why you’re both like that together. You know each other more than you think.”

You pursed your lips, “Ri, we’re strangers to each other.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she countered. “You don’t have to know someone to know what they’re thinking, to…to figure out why they are the way they are. I don’t…I can’t figure Tom out when I look at him. I never can. It’s like he’s got…a barrier around him all the time. A barrier made of iron.”

You tapped your fingers against the kitchen counter. That wasn’t what you felt, and somehow it made your heart beat a little faster, knowing you saw more than others did. You saw complexity in his eyes, not darkness, not iron. You saw warmth wanting to crawl out between the dark covers of his walls, despite his venomous words, and you liked knowing that no one else could sense that. It was like you knew secrets about him that no one else did, not even Harrison.

Picking him apart, little by little, piece by piece, until he’s nothing but mine.

“How was Harrison? I never…I never asked,” you said, changing the subject, clearing your throat. “Everything went alright?”

She nodded, “uh…yeah. I was in and out.”

You watched as she shifted in her seat, taking a long sip of her coffee. She didn’t meet your eyes, and you narrowed them at her. Mariposa was a romantic. Everything was theatrical and poetic to her, and sending her out on a job, you expected her to tell you how exciting and how easy it had been, how she outshined men and how she was so good at what she did. But her account was short and to the point, and it made you suspicious.

There could only be a few reasons why she wouldn’t give you details. Either her father had said something, but he was in Los Angeles helping yours, so that couldn’t be it. She could have screwed up the job, but you knew that was impossible, because Tom had already replied to your message. It was something else, and she was avoiding your eyes.

God, fuck, of course this would happen.

“You saw him,” you said finally. “You spoke to him.”

Mariposa hesitated, and you leaned forward. She hated disappointing you, almost as much as she hated disappointing her father.

“Ri, tell me what happened. Tell me,” you coaxed her gently. “I’m not upset. Just tell me the truth.”

She swallowed hard as she put her curls behind her shoulders, “we…it didn’t start out intimate or…or romantic or anything. But we were in his office, and it just…it just happened. We kissed.”

She looked at you, waiting for your reaction. She thought you might scold her about getting involved with him. She thought you might yell at her for compromising the plan, the mission, business itself. But her heart was full of love, and Harrison’s eyes had reflected the same. He was soft when he looked at her, and she ached to be looked at like that, to be understood. How could she not kiss him?

You blinked for a moment, thinking.

“You kissed him, or did he kiss you?” You asked finally.

“y/n—”

“Ri, just answer the fucking question.”

“I…it was me. I kissed him,” she admitted, and you took a deep breath.

“Good,” you said, turning back to face your coffee.

“Good?” She stuttered, and you nodded, watching as the light in the room changed as the sun rose up higher.

It was different when it was the woman that kissed her man, especially a man like Harrison. Harrison was a sight for sore eyes, you could admit that. He had a body he worked hard for, dressed expensive and like a man of authority, and he had a handsome face, especially with those killer blue eyes. Harrison was a man that had had many a woman, and he was used to them melting at his touch. He had no trouble drawing them in, and he had no trouble making them fall for him. This time, Harrison had reeled in a woman that wasn’t afraid to fight back, and you knew Mariposa’s loyalty lied with you, even if she did kiss him of her own volition.

Mariposa had kissed him first, and because of it, he would believe he had the upper hand between them, that he could play her like an instrument he had known his entire life. But Mariposa was your wild card, and Harrison could play her all he like, but he would never be able to play the music right. You would make sure of that.

Use him, abuse him, lose him.

“Good,” you repeated. “Because now he thinks he holds something over you. And we’re going to use it against him.”

You didn’t recognize the face you saw in the mirror, not entirely. You were seated in front of your vanity, and Mariposa stood behind you, braiding your hair back. She was doing one single braid, tight and intricate. When she was finished, she pulled a few stray hairs out to frame your face. You looked sweet, innocent. The white dress you were wearing didn’t help convey that message any less. It was strapless and stark white, a blinding color on you that you didn’t wear often. You couldn’t blend in wearing white.

Mariposa finished with your hair, stepping out to the side to look at you and her side by side in the mirror. You were matching, wearing the same dress, but she had her effortless box braids in again. Both of you wore barely any makeup, but Mariposa couldn’t help herself and put a pair of lashes on and some lip gloss. Her bare skin glowed, and you were a little jealous at how put together she still looked even without her makeup caked on perfectly.

“Are you ready?” You asked her, but it was more of a formality than actually wanting to know if she was prepared for the night. She hiked her dress up, showing you the gun strapped to her thigh. You pulled up your own dress, showing her your own firearm, and you both smiled at each other in the mirror. You took her hand in yours, and you both squeezed at the same time.

“Remember the plan?” You asked, and she nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Get him alone,” she repeated. “Get him to talk about everything and nothing. Make an excuse to seem vulnerable, and let…let him take care of me.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, and she seemed unsure of herself.

“Harrison is…tender-hearted,” you said gently. “He wants someone to take care of, Ri. So…let him take care of you. In any way that you need.”

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment to think. You knew she would take those orders to heart, and you didn’t blame her. Mariposa was sweet inside, and maybe she did need to be taken care of. You couldn’t hold that against her. She needed touch, affection, words as sweet as she looked being whispered in her ear. Maybe when this was all over, you would let her be with someone tender-hearted without rules. But for now, you both had a job to do, and she needed to remember that before she allowed herself to get carried away with it all.

Death before dishonor.

When she opened her eyes again, you could tell by the look in her eyes that she was ready to go. Steeling herself inside like the good soldier she was, she followed you out the door.

When you both emerged outside, there was a car waiting for you. Tom had sent a car, and he didn’t disappoint. A sleek four door luxury vehicle, all pretty and perfect for you. The driver got out and opened the backseat door for you both, but then he handed you both black cloth blindfolds.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Boss’s orders,” is all he said, and you both got settled in the car before tying the blindfolds on yourselves. When he was satisfied, he got into the drivers’ seat again and started the car, pulling away quickly. Tom never liked to be kept waiting. You weren’t to be late, not even by a second.

You held Mariposa’s hand as the car drove, and you both leaned against each other. You counted the minutes, and by the time you counted almost forty-five minutes, you wondered if Tom really had just sent you both to your deaths as easily as that.

He wouldn’t do that. Not yet, at least. Not until he gets what he wants from you.

When the car finally stopped, you were allowed to take off the blindfolds. You both undid them, pulling them off slowly, and you both looked ahead at the house in front of you. You weren’t in the city anymore, no, you were somewhere else.

The car had driven up a long, winding gravel driveway, protected by a large gate with a few men hanging around the entrance. The driveway circled back towards another gate, and in the middle of it all was a fountain made of limestone and marble. The driveway was lit up beautifully with small lights, and the entrance of the grand house was lit up as well, with double doors at least ten feet tall made of dark oak wood.

You and Mariposa linked arms as you stepped onto the gravel in your heels, holding onto each other for balance as you followed a few more men as they walked away from the entrance to the house. You weren’t allowed in there, not yet.

You were led around the back of the house. The grounds were beautiful, a large two-story mansion that must’ve been thousands of square footages of old American wood and all its charm. The backyard was made up of an acre of greenspace that led to a dock, a lake that other large houses shared. Behind the house, the cellar doors were closed, but a few men already standing there opened them up for you, showing you the staircase that led downwards towards the basement.

“After you, ladies,” one of them said lowly. You went in first, holding onto the railing and stepping down sideways to not lose balance in your heels. When you got to the end of the stairs, there were a few lackeys waiting for you both, offering you their hands to help you down. You and Mariposa took their hands gratefully, and then they let you go as soon as you were on your feet steadily. The lackeys stood in a circle around a dimly lit table in the middle of the space. The circle opened up to invite both you and Mariposa in, and beside the table were Tom and Harrison and a few others who you noted were family. A few younger suited fellows who shared Tom’s curls stood behind them, and you noticed everyone in the circle was wearing black besides you and Mariposa.

It was symbolic. Two birds in white, about to join the family of Tom’s pack. This wasn’t ordinary, and this hadn’t been done before, not with women, and you could see that the whole room was feeling something new and foreign about the ceremony about to take place.

Would your white dress turn black from fire? Or red from blood?

“y/n y/l/n,” Tom said your name, so that everyone could hear it. You looked around the room a bit. His men towered over you and Mariposa, all from different parts but united in this one circle. They had different faces, different pasts, but in this one ceremony, they were one, and it was the first time you understood why men like your father and Tom did these things. It was to make you belong, and to make others feel like you belonged. Sharing in one ceremony would make you family, and it meant something more than coworker and coworker. You would be their sister, they would be your brothers, and there was nothing purer than a bond like that. Not romantic, but loving, and it would mean that even in death, you would be one.

You sucked in a breath, hating the feeling in your chest. All you ever wanted was to belong, and you tried so hard to belong to your father, to be one with his men, and they refused you because your father refused you. You needed brothers, wanted brothers, but your father shut the doors in your face more times than you could count.

Tom didn’t hesitate. You had only known him personally for a few weeks, and here you were, standing in the basement on his country American mansion, and you belonged. He was making his brothers your brothers, bringing you into a sacred circle of family, love, sacrifice, and blood, and he didn’t hesitate once to invite you into it. You were a woman, you were, and Mariposa was a woman, but he didn’t care. He knew what you were, he knew what Mariposa was, and making you belong seemed like the natural thing to do.

Why does it feel like I belong here more than I belong with my own family?

“Mariposa Muñoz,” Harrison said her name, nodding at her, and she tried not to smile at him. She couldn’t let you see this side of her, she refused. She simply nodded back, but their eyes danced in the presence of each other.

I am yours, and you are mine.

“I’ve written up a contract for you both to sign,” Tom said, passing over two thick papers in front of you on the table. “For eighteen months, you’ll stay here in New York. And when I call, it means I have a job for you. You’re both to do it, and in exchange, this family will help you sort your business in Brooklyn and in Queens, so as long as you don’t bring that business to Manhattan.”

You and Mariposa looked at each other briefly before turning back to him. You just needed to get her simple okay, even though you had spoken of this before. Her eyes told you she was ready as long as you were.

“Deal,” you said simply, and Tom produced a pocketknife from his jacket, pulling the blade out and passing it to you both. Then he put down a single white feather onto the table.

Two little birds, my little birds, signing it away.

You picked up the knife and met Tom’s eyes as you dragged it across your palm. You scrunched your nose a bit as you cut it, turning your hand over and letting the blood drip onto the table. You gave the knife to Mariposa before you picked up the feather, dipped the tip into the blood you dripped onto the metal surface, and signed your name at the bottom of the paper. Mariposa followed suit, making a whimpering sound as she cut herself. She signed her name at the bottom of the other paper, and you both stepped back, your palms dripping blood onto the floor. Tom looked around the room at all the lackeys, especially longer at the ones who stared at the both of you straight on.

He couldn’t blame them. Both you and Mariposa were wearing beautiful white matching dresses, but it was a sign he needed to speak.

I am yours, and you are mine.

“No one is to touch either of them,” Tom said darkly, turning his head. He wanted to meet each one of his lackeys in the eyes, so they knew how serious it was. Even looking Tom in the eyes was a privilege. “They aren’t here for your enjoyment. You will only address them by their last names, and you will call them nothing else. You are only to speak to them if it’s necessary for the responsibilities given to them, and for no other reason. If they speak to you, you answer, otherwise, you don’t say a fucking word to them. If you can’t follow these rules, either of them has my permission to blow your thick heads off. Is that understood?”

Strings of “yes, Mr. Holland,” and “yes, sir,” sounded around the room, echoing between each of them.

Harrison came towards Mariposa, and you were surprised when he put a finger under her chin and gave her lips a single kiss, then both of her cheeks. Then he stepped to the side, looking down at you with his baby blues, and he lifted your chin and gave you a kiss, then kissed both of your cheeks. You watched as Tom repeated the same with Mariposa, kissing her lips and her cheeks, and when he came to you, you both stared up at each other momentarily before he leaned down and kissed both of your cheeks first. He gripped your chin a bit tighter as he leaned down to kiss your lips.

But it was a real kiss. Not a peck that the rest had been, but a kiss, and you closed your eyes to reciprocate it. Tom tilted his head to the side as you kissed, and when he pulled away, you realized he wasn’t just lingering on you, but he was silently saying something to the rest of the room.

She’s mine.

If it had been any other setting, if it was anyone else doing this to you, you would’ve clenched your fist and punched him right across his handsome face. But you had to take a deep breath and take it, because this was Tom Holland, and he was playing you. You had to be smarter, you had to be better, and pretending to go along with everything he planned would keep his guard down. You let him silently claim you with a hot kiss.

“Miss y/l/n, Miss Muñoz, these are your brothers. Like you, they bled on contracts written up by me, and like you, they were kissed by monsters. This is your family, and should you dishonor that fact, you’ll die by my hand or by the hand of whomever you wronged.”

Tom allowed his men to get a good look at the two of you before he dismissed the room.

“Harrison,” Tom called his name. “Take the girls to get cleaned up.”

“You go, Ri,” you said darkly, standing there still. “I need to have a word with Mr. Holland.”

Harrison put a hand behind Mariposa’s back, guiding her back up the stairs, out of the basement. As soon as you were alone, you grabbed the chain around Tom’s neck and yanked him towards you, your touch cold and hard.

The kiss had thrown you off your balance a bit. He kissed you like it mattered, like he was talking to his men, and you hated feeling like less than you really were.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You demanded, the blood still leaking from your palm staining the front of his shirt. He narrowed his eyes a bit, unprepared for your hard attitude.

“What are you fucking doing?” He shoved you off of him a bit, and you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“No,” you shook your head, “this wasn’t…inviting us into your family. This was branding us as one of your…lackeys. This was…inducting us as your girls. You kept your end, Tom, but you’re a bastard. If you think for one fucking second that I don’t see through whatever the hell this was, then you’re as dumb as you look.”

You grabbed him by the chin, blood on his face now. Tom hadn’t had blood on his face in a long time, not since he was running with the lackeys himself. Now it was apparent against his soft cheeks, his hard jaw. They brought out the darkness in his eyes. It belonged there.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Tom,” you said venomously, “Yes, I’ll come when you call. Yes, I’ll do the things you need me to do, and yes, I’ll be doing it well. But don’t you ever, for one fucking second, think that I’m one of your girls. Are we clear?”

He clenched his jaw, “y/n, I didn’t—”

“That stunt you pulled?” You interrupted him, and you could see he was searing with anger now. He hated being interrupted, so much. “Kissing me like that, in front of your crew? You’re pathetic. And if you think you can lay a claim on me, I dare you, Tom. I dare you to try.”

You gasped as he grabbed you by the back of the neck, forcing the distance between you to close. You stumbled backwards as he brought you in for a kiss, forced to sit on the table in the middle of the basement. Tom made his way between your legs, pulling you as close as possible. You let yourself enjoy the kiss for a few minutes. There was a stinging pain in your palm from the cut the blade had made, but you couldn’t be bothered as Tom Holland was kissing you, and he was kissing you purposefully. Not drunk, not high, not completely shitfaced, but Tom Holland was kissing you because he wanted to. You closed your eyes as you brought your arms around his neck, blood staining his creamy skin, but neither of you could be bothered as you kissed hotly.

His hands slipped down your sides, gripping your hips firmly, drawing your hips against his own. Your dress slid up your thighs, and you felt his calloused palms against the bare skin. You dragged your hand down his chest a bit, tilting your head to the side as you kissed, rolling your hips against his gently. The way his hands gripped you tighter told you he enjoyed it, and you let out a breathless sigh as you rolled your hips against his again, letting yourself draw pleasure from the feeling it gave you.

Death before dishonor. But you have never been daddy’s good girl.

You pulled away slowly, and you both exchanged warm breaths as you sat there, panting and breathless from the passionate kiss. You let yourselves enjoy the closeness for a moment, your lips brushing against one another gently, before you brought your elbow up, knocking him back right in his ribs.

What are you thinking? That one kiss is going to change the way things are?

“Jesus, fuck!” Tom cried out, stumbling back away from you, and you wiped your mouth as you got back onto your feet. You pushed your dress back down your thighs, fixing the neckline of your dress. “What the fuck is the matter with you?!”

It was good. Too good. And I hate how much you’re making me feel.

You made your way to the staircase, letting out a deep breath. Intimacy was a luxury. You were not Mariposa. You didn’t need love, affection, or touch to feel whole. You could feel whole all on your own, and you didn’t need a man nor a woman to do things for you. Tom caught you off guard, that was for sure, and you allowed yourself to indulge just for the sake of your own pleasure. But you couldn’t forget who the face was behind those kisses, who the man underneath those touches was. It was Tom Holland, and he used women. You were his…little bird. How could you be anything else to him? How could he be anything else to you?

Making me feel like I belong. Like I matter. You don’t mean it.

“The don’t fucking touch me rule applies to everyone, Tom. Including you,” you scoffed. “What did I say last time you touched me without my permission?”

He clenched his jaw, “you’d blow my dick off, darling.”

“Yeah, I did, so don’t test my limits, Tom. You’re pissing me off,” you started to climb the steps, and Tom came towards you, cautiously taking your hand to help you up. You let him lead you, as you were afraid of falling over in the heels Mariposa lent you, and you made your way into the house. Your heels clicked, echoing around the marbled floors and walls. Your eyes darted around the lavish living room full of lackeys, looking for Mariposa and Harrison, but you couldn’t see her anywhere. You turned back to Tom.

“Does Harrison have…an office or something?” You asked, and Tom nodded.

“Aye,” he answered, going into the kitchen for some bandages and supplies. “Upstairs, beside mine. Come here, we got to get your hand done up, darling.”

Atta girl, Ri. Make him swoon, make him feel important. Make him feel as if he’s got everything in the world at his fingertips, but never let him know that you’ve got his limbs on strings, and you’ve never been better at making him dance.

You came towards the kitchen, and he motioned for you to sip on the marble countertop. With your good hand, you tried to get up, but Tom eventually put his hands on your hips and lifted you up onto it. He took some antiseptic spray and went over the cut on your palm, and you gritted your teeth, watching the liquid foam. He wiped it away after a few moments, taking a bandage and starting to wrap your palm.

“That was stupid of you,” you said finally, looking at him curiously. “Kissing me like that.”

He chuckled a bit, “if you’re looking for an apology, you won’t receive one. I’m not bloody sorry I did it.”

You rolled your eyes, “of course you aren’t. You’re a man.”

He glanced at you for a moment, “don’t give me that, love,” he muttered, pulling tight on the bandages, making you gasp a bit. “You fuckin’ liked it.”

Of course I fucking did.

You met his eyes after he finished, dropping your hand. You stared off as he came close, close enough to touch his lips to your earlobe.

“Can almost smell you from here, darling,” he whispered lowly, and you shivered a bit. “So you can say whatever you want about…touch and permission and your dignity…”

You stiffened, ready to slap him across the face, but then he kissed the skin under your ear, drawing a long sigh from you.

“…but I know what it is you really want. And when you finally get your pretty head out of the fuckin’ clouds, I’ll be waiting.”

Fuck you.

“You’ll be waiting until you’re dead then,” you snapped, and he chuckled darkly, shaking his head, and you closed your eyes as he kissed under your ear again.

“No, baby, you know how I know that?” He brushed a few strands of hair away from your eyes, taking a whiff of your perfume as he studied the way you shivered for him. He knew you were tense all over, he could feel the heat coming off of you. “Because you’re a fuckin’ queen. And you’re too fuckin’ beautiful to lay with anyone less than a king. And that’s me, love, and whether you want to admit it or not, you and I are one and the same. Two sides of the same fuckin’ coin, and when you finally realize that, you won’t be able to stop what happens between us.”

You think you’re so fucking smart. You think you’ve got me all figured out. But your walls are falling, Tom, with every word out of your mouth, and I will not stop until they’re gone.

He watched your reaction from the side, touching the back of your ear. He noticed a small, faint tattoo there, but he waited for your response. You kept silent, your eyes dark and lips pursed.

Tom reached up and touched your bottom lip with his thumb, feeling the softness of it.

“Mori quam foedari?” He asked, and you kept your eyes away from his.

“Death before dishonor,” you explained, looking down, laughing bitterly. “Family motto.”

Family.

All anyone wanted in their life was to have family. People to look up to, people to rely on, people to turn to when things went awry, people that would be proud of what you had become. You hadn’t felt that in a long time, and you doubted you would ever truly feel it again. You only get one family in your life; besides your mother, you had gotten a pretty shitty one when it came to love and affection.

Tom could sense the distance in your eyes, like you were thinking about a future that had been stolen from you. Family was your weakness, because you were robbed of one.

“You were wrong, y/n. You are a part of my family now. For eighteen months, aye, but as long as you’re here, you’re a part of this family. And maybe you don’t want to hear this,” you rolled your eyes at that, “but I’ll protect you. Because you signed your name, you gave me something precious, and I’ll protect you as long as you stay.”

I am yours, and you are mine. But it’s not true. It’s all a lie. It has to be. Making me feel like I belong. Like I matter. You don’t mean it.

You turned your head finally, looking at him straight on. You looked into his eyes, watching as that hard exterior, those iron walls, rusted just the slightest bit. You took his wrist, lifting his hand so his palm came up to cup one side of your face.

Maybe Tom was more tender-hearted than he let on.

“I don’t need your protection, Tom.”

“No,” he shook his head. “But you have it.”

You scoffed, “why should I believe you? When you’ve done nothing but patronize me, threaten me, and objectify me since I met you? You underestimate me, Tom, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being anything less than what I am, and if you can’t understand how much I bring to the table, then you’re not worth the trouble. Because I’ve fought my entire fucking life to get to where I am, and something tells me you might just push me all the way back to where I started.”

He tilted his head to the side, “what does that mean?”

“It means that I fought my father for a long time to get him to trust me, to even look at me like I was worth something. And you give me the same looks, and if you keep doing it, Tom, if you keep acting like I’m not as good as you or any of your men here, then I’m wasting my time,” you said sincerely. “I’m a woman of many talents, Tom, and you’re fucking lucky I’ve agreed to work for you for this long. Because your business is going to change with me in it, for the better, and when I’m gone…” You leaned forward, “you’re going to feel it. And I want you to remember that.”

“Then why would I let you go?”

“Because,” you stared at his lips again, but then forced your eyes to return to his own. Tom licked his lips as you came close, your breath grazing the skin of his ear, making him relax, making him breathe harder. “I’m a y/l/n. And while its nice here in your kingdom…it’s not nearly as big as mine.”

And I’d die before I let you take it from me.

read chapter four

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