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muldermuse · 10 months ago

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Happy Valentine's (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Glenda plans a Valentine's evening for her and Gator. He has other plans.

Warnings: this is written from Glenda's POV at first so is more angsty than usual. as aforementioned, reader and gator are t e r r i b l e people. infidelity as always. i used the upsetting gift narrative from love actually (im so sorry). nsfw!!! mdni!!! no explicit smut written but heavily suggested at. unhappy ending- sorry my loves.

this is the song from the end 🫶

as always, part of the two sinners world ❤️

The table had been ready since 2pm, and finishing touches had been added all day but the table just began to look more cluttered with pink. Glenda had added homemade cupcakes and macaroons as well as a variety of photos of her and Gator. The usually drab and beige-colored dining room had been transformed into something from an awful teenage rom-com. Pink heart balloons floated up to the ceiling with hundreds of rose petals covering the stained wooden floor. Roy had gone out of town so Glenda had taken the full day to make the ranch a romantic paradise to celebrate the 14th February. This was the couple’s third Valentine’s Day and Glenda was sure that Gator was going to propose tonight, well, Roy had hinted as much.

Glenda had dressed herself in her white newest cardigan with a muted pink dress underneath. She wore the perfume that Gator seemed to acknowledge more and spent more time than usual pushing her blonde hair from her face. She’d bought Gator a new wallet, his name precisely sewn in by luxurious thread and a bottle of his favourite whiskey with a crystal tumbler with his name engraved. Gator had no idea about the gifts but Glenda had a rough idea of what Gator had bought her. To Glenda, Gator was great at many things but discretion was not one of them. Maybe Gator wanted Glenda to know? She couldn’t look inside, it wouldn’t be very Christian of her but she could at least admire the bag. It was a boutique just outside of town, they sold bespoke jewellery as well as some lingerie but Glenda and her girlfriends always averted their eyes at that. Since seeing the bag, Glenda had spent nearly every day looking in the store, trying to figure out what her complex boyfriend might have got her. Maybe a necklace? Maybe some undergarments? Maybe her engagement ring had been in this very store?

She couldn’t wait for him to get home.

Glenda had no idea that you’d been texting Gator all day and he was planning on spending the full night with you.

***

The helium from the balloons seeped out without Glenda noticing. The non alcoholic sparkling wine, which was chilled, was now lukewarm. The Etta James record had stopped spinning, she’d restarted it after it played out every time but for the last two hours, she just listened to noise of the cattle outside. Gator’s phone was going straight to answer phone, he’d text her a few hours ago that he would be home soon. It was now just after 9. He finished work at 5. Where was he?

The sky above was black and looked starless.

There was nothing shining down on her tonight.

Every light outside was the brightest she’d ever seen. Did Gator’s patrol car have bright lights? How had she never noticed this? She’d called reception at the station and Amy had the same tone of voice as she usually did when Glenda routinely made this call.

“Has he not come home again?”

“I swear Glenda, he left right on time- no reports of any collisions so it should’ve been a smooth run”

“You need to have a chat with him Glenda, this isn’t fair- talk to his daddy. He’ll beat it outta him”

Glenda wasn’t sure if she had suspicions about Gator or not. She honestly wouldn’t allow herself to even consider it, he would never do anything. What would he even be doing? He could’ve been at the bar with an old school buddy or maybe he’s back at the shooting range. His job was so stressful, he needed chance to unwind and how could she deprive him of that?

***

Gator came round to you as soon as he finished work, you heard the tyres squeal as he braked with force from the speed of his patrol car racing down your suburban street. You’d been teasing him all day, sending lingerie pics from as early as 10 this morning.

[sent at 10:32] You: ok, so i think my boobs look amazing in this

[sent at 10:32] You: image attached

[sent at 10:33] You: but my ass looks unreal in this- right???

[sent at 10:33] You: image attached

[recieved at 10:35] Gator🐍💩: got a lonnnnnng fuckin day ahead- don’t do this

[sent at 11:04] You: ur my valentine right???? i bought this just for u :(

[sent at 11:05] You: image attached

[recieved at 11:56] Gator🐍💩: make sure the doors unlocked at 5. cya then. b good.

He tried to hide the smirk from his face as he text Glenda he’d be home late.

You’d chosen your new lingerie set for him, it was baby pink and had dark hearts sewn in. Your hair was half up half down and slightly curled with a pink bow firmly secured with pins. You looked amazing, you had to admit that it was some of your best work. You’d poured a big glass of whiskey for Gator and left it on the cabinet next to your bedroom door. He’d love that little touch.

The pink tapered candles fluttered and the miscellaneous sexy playlist hummed through the speakers. As soon as you heard Gator slam your front door, you’d arched your back so the first thing he saw when he entered would be your ‘please fuck me’ eyes and the second would be your ass positioned high in the air. You smirked in anticipation.

“Fuckin’ hell baby- tha’s a sight for sore eyes” Gator swallowed half the whiskey in one gulp. He hissed as the liquid slid down his parched throat.

“You like your present?” remaining in your arched position, you shook your ass at him and smiled hearing him groan in response

He slammed the glass down; now empty after one final sip. He sneered at you as his eyes followed yours, he loved you like this, so pretty and complaint. He gripped your hair in his fist and pulled you up to his face; you could smell the heat of the whiskey on his tongue.

“Y’wanna know what I want for my present baby?” his grip tightened in your perfectly pruned hair, and your eyes rounded in response, prompting an answer.

“I want you to be a good girl f’me, all night long” his other hand clasped around your chin, tilting your lips up to his. The caliber of kiss was synonymous with Gator: it was rough, passionate, and filled with a desperate desire for control. His tongue slid against yours and you could now taste the spice of the whiskey on his tongue, along with the artificial taste of whatever disgusting vape he’d been sucking all day. Spit trailed between your lips as you pulled away.

“M’gonna be good, Sir- all night, I promise”

He mumbled a final "good girl" against your lips, kissed you quick, and pushed you back against your cream coloured linen. His ravenous eyes never left yours as he pulled his belt out of its loops, “s’gonna be a long night for you, baby”

***

You must have dozed off on his chest, you awoke to the feeling of his heart pumping and the sound of him taking a drag on some god awful vape. God, he irritated you so much. Your throat felt sore, presumably a mix of Gator’s strong hand wrapped around it and how much of the evening you’d spent crying out his name in pleasure. He smelt of sex- the whole room did. The bedsheets long forgotten as they kept getting in the way of the two of you trying to fuck each other as hard as you could. The playlist had moved onto something more romantic and you were too exhausted to feel uncomfortable. It was Norah Jones- Come away with me.

‘While I’m safe there in your arms’

Gator was too content to leave, he was vaping to try to stop himself from falling asleep in the cozy comfort of your room. He’d cum across your face and your tits, he could feel it drying against his side as you fell into a brief sleep. He knew you were awake now, your breathing had become slightly more laboured. Gator knew you were building up the courage to ask him to leave. You never liked it when it got like this. It was so easy when he was fucking you, when he had your ponytail wrapped around his hand and was using it as leverage to fuck you with everything he had- that was what you enjoyed the most. But, this is what he enjoyed the most.

He had to tell you about what he’d bought you.

‘So all I ask is for you’

The bag alone was beautiful, it was from the boutique outside of town. You’d never even considered going inside, it always looked too expensive and you didn’t like to be surrounded by pretty, delicate things.

Too scared of them shattering.

Too scared of breaking something beyond repair.

‘To come away with me in the night’

It was a necklace. And god, it was gorgeous. It was a simple silver pendant with small diamonds embedded and the heart in the middle was solid silver. Even in the dim light of your bedroom; its beauty radiated. You’d had gifts from guys before but nothing ever, ever like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat. This wasn’t right.

Fuck, this was a mistake.

Gator’s voice broke the crippling silence.

“As soon as I saw it, it reminded me of you” he placed a soft kiss against your temple “s’beautiful like you”. His voice was gentle and tender.

It was too much.

You had to shatter it.

‘Come away with me’

“Give this to Glenda- I, uh, I don’t want it” you felt too vulnerable; you couldn’t look at him. “M’not your girlfriend Gator, give it to her”.

You placed the necklace in the palm of his hand with care, already feeling immense guilt and regret but you couldn’t go back.

Gator got dressed whilst you sat in your en-suite bathroom, pretending not to care about him. You did, of course. You cared too much. After Gator drove away, you re-entered the bedroom, the music had stopped and the candles had burned out into unlit nubs. You didn’t bother to remake your bed, you just crawled into the warm spot Gator had left and tried not to lament.

***

Glenda loved the necklace that much that the thoughts of the abandoned Valentine’s Day dinner dissipated from her mind. Gator was the kind man she always knew he was and this beautiful gift had confirmed it.

Gator climbed into bed and immediately turned away from Glenda. He couldn’t look at her. The necklace wasn’t for her.

She was wearing your necklace.

You should have been wearing his heart.

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leguin · 3 months ago

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Gradually his horror at the events of the day began to give way to the boredom of the road. He told himself the man was just a villain, that was all. The world was full of villains, they were the darkness that King Arthur was driving out, which Collum was - possibly, hopefully - going to help him do. For an hour or two his whole world had wobbled on its axis, the incident in the meadow bespoke some deep chaos, deeper even than evil, from which his soul instinctively recoiled - but now the world was regaining its balance. He'd met an uncouth knight on the road, they fought, and Collum slew him, as any knight of the Round Table would have done. As God had willed it. And God would forgive him. It was a good story. It made him feel better. Stories were useful that way, they smoothed over the gaps and sharp edges of the world. There was no great mystery here, or if there was then there was no need for him to solve it. And if it wasn't quite the whole story, well, it wasn't the only lie he was going to tell when he got to Camelot.

from The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman.

#words #the bright sword #picked this up from the library today and 1) was not expecting it to be 673 pages long. good lord #2) i am enjoying myself very much already

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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

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星洲炒米粉 / Xing zhou chao mei fun (Singapore noodles)

This dish fries steamed noodles and assorted vegetables in a mildly spicy curry paste, made from a bespoke curry powder and a blend of fresh aromatics. The result is a crispy, chewy, complex, warming stir-fry with notes of turmeric, liquorice root, and cinnamon.

Though this dish is referred to as "Singapore noodles," vermicelli dishes common in Singapore do not include curry powder! These "Singapore" noodles in fact originated in Hong Kong 茶餐廳 (cha chaan teng; Western-influenced cafés), and gained popularity between the 1940s and 60s. They combine British influence (in the form of curry powder) with the rice noodles common in Chinese, Malay, and Indian cooking; the reference to Singapore is perhaps a nod to the cosmopolitan, "exotic" atmosphere of these cafés.

This is a vegan version of a dish that often also includes shrimp, char siu, or chicken. Instructions for a vegan version of the typical sliced fried egg topping are included.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Serves 3-4.

Ingredients:

For the dish:

200g vermicelli rice noodles (bee hoon / mi fen; 米粉)

4 green onions, greens and whites separated

1/2 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 medium (50g) julienned red mild chili (such as aji dulce), or 1/4 medium red bell pepper

1 medium (50g) julienned green mild chili, or 1/4 medium green bell pepper

1 bunch yellow chives

Small handful bean sprouts

3-inch piece (40g) carrot, julienned

1 tsp table salt, or to taste

Large pinch MSG (optional)

Rice vermicelli (also known as bee hoon / bihun, mee hoon / mihun, or mi fen) are long, fine rice noodles. They should not be confused with semolina vermicelli. They may be purchased at an east or southeast Asian grocery store; Chinese, Vietnamese, or Thai rice vermicelli will all work. I used Hai Ca Vang rice vermicelli, which I like in this dish for how well they stand up to stir-frying, and the chewy bite they give to the final dish.

Yellow chives are simply chives that have less color because they are grown out of the sun. They may be found in a Chinese grocery store; if you can't get your hands on any, omit them or substitute more bean sprouts.

For the curry paste:

4 tsp curry powder Singapura, or to taste

3 cloves garlic

4 Thai shallots, or 1 Western shallot

1-inch chunk (10g) ginger

1/4 medium yellow onion

White of 1 stalk lemongrass (optional)

1 bay leaf (optional)

Some versions of Singapore noodles are flavored entirely with curry powder, or (if a spicier curry powder is being used) with a mix of curry powder and turmeric; home cooks tend to include less curry powder or paste than restaurants do. You could decrease the amount of curry powder down to about a teaspoon for a home cook version of this dish. If you aren't making your own, Singapore curry powder (咖哩粉) can be purchased online from specialty spice retailers, or from a Hong Kongese brand such as Koon Yick Wah Kee; you could also substitute another mild, sweet curry powder, such as Japanese curry powder (S&B is a popular brand).

You could skip prepping the aromatics as well by purchasing a jar of ready-made Chinese curry paste (咖哩醬) from a brand such as Koon Yick Wah Kee (whose blend consists of curry powder hydrated with white vinegar and soybean oil); Malaysian curry paste would be a good substitute. Some recipes make a quick homemade curry paste by combining curry powder with salt (1 tsp), sugar (1 tsp), oyster sauce (1 Tbsp), water (2 Tbsp), and sometimes chili sauce, and add this sauce to the noodles as they are fried. I prefer versions of the dish that add fresh aromatics, though—I think they round out the curry powder by providing a flavorful base for it. You can experiment until you get the flavor and texture you prefer.

For the egg:

1/4 cup (60mL) coconut milk, or water

1/2 tsp ground turmeric

1/4 - 1/3 tsp kala namak (black salt)

1/4 tsp ground white pepper (optional)

1/2 tsp Liaojiu (Chinese cooking wine)

Liaojiu will likely be labelled "Shaoxing wine" in English. For an alcohol-free version, use ume plum vinegar or apple cider vinegar. The wine is used to flavor and cut the 'egginess' of the eggs.

This recipe usually calls for eggs, liaojiu, and salt. The turmeric and white pepper add flavor and color; the kala namak provides an eggy taste.

Instructions:

1. Prepare the aromatics. Peel and chop the garlic; mince the onion and shallots; scrub and mince the ginger (there's no need to peel it). Divide the whites of the green onions from the greens, and mince the whites.

Pull away any tough outer leaves of lemongrass. Separate the yellow / white section from the green, and cut off the root end. Reserve the green to flavor soup stocks. Thinly slice the white of the lemongrass widthwise, then pass the knife through for another few minutes to mince very thoroughly.

For a "saucier" noodle dish, pulverize the aromatics in a mortar and pestle or a blender rather than mincing them.

2. Prepare the vegetables. Cut peppers into a thin julienne; julienne the carrots; thinly slice the onion. Cut the greens of green onions, bean sprouts, and chives into 1 1/2 or 2” pieces.

3. Cook the noodles. Soak noodles in just-boiled water for about 90 seconds, or until they break when pinched firmly. Depending on the thickness of your noodles, they may need as much as 2-3 minutes.

Drain the noodles, but don’t rinse them. Spread them out on a baking sheet and cover to allow to steam for 10 minutes. With oiled hands, gently pull apart and untangle the noodles. Cut them in a few places with kitchen scissors to make stir-frying easier.

4. Cook the egg garnish. Whisk all ingredients for the egg together in a small bowl. Heat a wok over medium heat for several minutes, then add in a couple teaspoons of oil and swirl to coat the surface of the wok. Pour ‘egg’ into the bottom of the wok, then lower heat to low and allow to cook until darkened and solidified on top. Flip and cook the other side on medium-high until browned in places. Remove from wok and thinly slice.

5. Cook the vegetables. Heat wok on high for several minutes. Add in a couple teaspoons of oil and swirl to coat. Fry sliced onions, agitating often, for about 30 seconds; add carrots and fry another 30 seconds. Add peppers and cook for another 20-30 seconds. Remove from wok.

Cook chives or bean sprouts for 30 seconds to a minute, until slightly wilted, and remove.

6. Make the curry paste. Add another couple teaspoons of oil to the wok. Fry the aromatics (whether minced or pulverized) and bay leaf, stirring often, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Lower heat to low, then add the curry powder and stir. Immediately add another couple teaspoons of oil, or enough to create a bit of sauce (the amount will vary based on how much curry powder you've added).

If you're using pre-made curry paste, just fry it for 30 seconds or a minute until fragrant. If you're using a mix of vegetarian oyster sauce, water, salt, and sugar, skip this step.

7. Fry the noodles. Raise the heat to medium-high. Add the noodles and stir to coat evenly. Allow noodles to sit for a minute or two, then flip with chopsticks or tongs and allow to fry again. This will help the noodles to fry and brown.

Do this a few times until noodles are evenly toasted, 4-5 minutes. Add salt and MSG (or oyster sauce mixture) and stir to coat. Add in vegetables, egg, and green onions and cook for another minute until green onions are wilted.

#cooking #recipes #Hong Kongese #Chinese #fusion #noodles #rice noodles #carrot #bell peppers #gluten free

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samders-sides · 1 year ago

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The Hunt for Prince Roman - Chapter One

Summary: Roman has been in the Imagination for two weeks straight and Virgil has grown concerned. What starts as a welfare check on the wayward Prince turns into a full on quest to find him because things…are not adding up.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51469459/chapters/130071607

Note: Hi! I am back again. I have two WIPs on here but this walked into my mind and I spent the weekend writing pretty much all of it… Will be updating twice a week until it is all posted on Thursdays and Sundays. Also I'm not great at titles. If anyone has any ideas I would be happy to hear them!

Chapter One: The Begining

It had been two weeks.

Virgil shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, shifting his satchel strap to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and moodily glaring at the scene. There were many places that he liked to while away his spare time. Cuddled up into the smallest ball imaginable in the soft armchair in the living room with his headphones on; sitting on the benchtop while he supervised Patton baking in the kitchen (ready to jump in at any notice with a fire extinguisher, should one be needed); sinking into a warm bubble bath…

Virgil smiled at the last thought. For his birthday, one of the gifts he had received was his own bespoke brand of bubble mixture, which, when mixed with water, created large sparkly purple and black bubbles. Blackberry and lavender scents soothed his nerves, and he swore that the bath water would remain the exact right temperature, no matter how long he soaked his troubles away. Roman had really outdone himself on that one.

Roman. Virgil’s frown returned to his face. The reason that he was here, in the imagination, instead of literally any other place that Virgil would care to be. His skin crawled.

Roman had been acting strangely since…well Virgil couldn’t quite pinpoint it exactly. He had been so focused on the threat of Janus, Remus and the Others, and the stresses of a once-in-a-lifetime global pandemic that he hadn’t paid enough attention to the three knuckleheads in the light. Recent events sure had blown his failure on that point wide open.

The wedding was a big one, that had felt like an atomic bomb going off in the mindscape. In the space of a day everything had turned upside down. New friendships. New rules. New high score in Candy Crush…one big gaping hole in the fabric of his close-knit family. And maybe the hole itself wasn’t new but it sure as hell wasn’t anything like what it is now. Virgil could name a handful of days that were so significant in their lives to have had as big of a fallout as that one.

But pinning it all on just one (freaking terrible no good) day, was just one more mistake Virgil had to chalk up on his list.

Virgil shook his head and started walking. He was here for a reason.

Two weeks.

Two weeks with no Princey.

Lengthy absences weren’t necessarily unheard of, or even rare – especially when they were between major projects or Princey was working on something big. He was still functioning, Thomas still had his fanciful thoughts, reckless romantic urges, his ego, and his creative spark. They could all feel Roman’s presence in the mindscape, like he had sprinkled glitter over everything. Patton still set the dinner table for four. There was a growing pile of books outside of Princey’s bedroom door that Logan had come across and thought would be of interest to the creative side. Virgil still peeked into his room on his nightly rounds of the mindscape. Usually, the Prince would send some sort of message to them by now though.

“He’s probably just busy defeating some illogical amalgamation of fictional and non-fictional creatures and has lost track of time,” Logan had said, his voice clipped as he turned the page of his book, not even looking up at Virgil. Logan had said something further under his breath about the creative sides’ appreciation for time and schedules, but Virgil had chosen to ignore it. Instead, Virgil’s eyes had flicked to the four empty coffee mugs on the table, and the glass of red wine in the logical sides free hand, then to the clock on the wall which read 11:46 am. A feeling that Virgil could not quite place welled up within him.

“Yeah kiddo, Roman just needs some space at the moment, I’m sure there is no need to worry.” Virgil turned to look at the other side in the living room, Patton. Virgil had a retort ready to snap back about how could you claim to know anything for certain especially about Princey, but it died in his throat as he took in the newest addition to the father figure’s ensemble – a clumsily made yellow friendship bracelet. Virgil knew what feeling had been welling up inside himself that time.

Virgil blinked himself back to the present, not for the first time since the scene from earlier had occurred. One at a time. He had to sort out these buffoons one at a time before they destroyed themselves and Thomas. Something in his heart of hearts told him that Roman had to be top of his list.

He had appeared on a hill in Roman’s side of the imagination and had immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The weight in his gut lessened just a fraction.

The grass was an impossibly perfect shade of green, and the beautiful baby blue sky held no clouds. There were forests to the right and left of him, an expansive ocean behind him, and towns littering the path up to a magnificent Disney castle ahead of him. Cartoonishly cute birds and animals filled the scenes, and the ambiance could only be described as magical.

This hill had become a favourite spot of Virgil’s, on his journeys here. A large cherry blossom tree grew at the crest, with brilliant gardens radiating out around it in ever growing circles, paths weaving their way through the beds. Gardens weren’t entirely strictly his vibe, but Roman had created this one just for him. The flowers were all different shades of purple (with a few tasteful black roses dotted about here and there) and Roman had fashioned a bench underneath the cherry blossom tree, which was always in bloom. It was a peaceful place at a strategic vantage point so no one could sneak up on him while he was there. It was perfect.

Virgil had wavered here for a few moments, his eyes staring at the table in front of the bench which was set up with a Battleships board.

Roman and Virgil had tried chess, but admittedly Roman had struggled with the rules. The Game of Life had stressed Virgil out with the inevitability of death and taxes. Neither of them would ever emotionally recover from that Monopoly game…

Battleships was as much skill as luck. It had been the perfect medium to bridge the gap after Virgil had been accepted.

At least the imagination seemed to be in good nick. In ways that Virgil had yet to understand (and that Logan would kill to know), the imagination was inextricably linked to the Creative sides and their emotions. For the first time, Virgil started to doubt himself and his mission. If the imagination was this picture perfect, maybe the wayward Prince was fine. Maybe Patton was right…

And it was that thought that hardened Virgil’s resolve to continue, as he steadfastly made his way along the cobblestoned road to the first small town.

Since the wedding, and especially since the mall, Virgil had been spending a lot more time with Roman than he ever had before – including in the imagination. It wasn’t entirely his cup of tea but Roman had kept things low-key for him.

The imagination was always in flux, but there were a few constants. “Video game logic” is what Roman had dubbed it. The first golden rule – walk to a location and find a person to ask a question of. A tavern or a brightly coloured shop were your best bets to find such a person. Virgil’s gut said that he would find the Prince at the castle, but the imagination had spat him out onto that hill for a reason. Virgil had long since learned to trust Roman’s guiding hand when it came to the imagination.

And so, Virgil walked into the quaint town of Brightstar.

Roman had eagerly walked him through Brightstar before, and it was a favourite setting of Virgils’. The small French village had a beautiful fountain marking the centre of town, with cobbled streets reaching out from the fountain like a star. The houses had thatched roofs and were built with stone. It was very Beauty and the Beast.

Which is why Virgil frowned when his feet left cobblestone and hit a tar sealed road.

Brightstar was a hive of activity – which was not unusual. What was unusual was the kind of activity. People in high-vis-vests scrambled about in teams. One team hauled a massive machine down the cobbled streets, covering them in tar. Virgil wrinkled his nose at the smell. Another team were pulling up streetlamps and connecting them to electricity. The crew clapped as the first bulb flickered to life.

Virgil broke off into a run, his anxiety flickering to life. There were only a few streets in between him and the town centre and he didn’t stop until the water fountain came into view, blessedly untouched. Virgil slouched and clutched a stitch in his side, cursing Thomas for not going to the gym more often. The city centre had already been paved and electrified, but the local vendors and citizens seemed unbothered. Virgil took a seat on the fountain and dipped his hand into the cool water, forcing his breathing to come right and his heart rate to chill out.

Everything is okay.

Once again, Virgil chided himself. It was silly getting himself into a panic over nothing. Roman decided to update and change his realm almost on the daily, why was he so panicked over him deciding to update the facilities in Brightstar? Virgil tried not to feel too disappointed. It’s not like he was invested in the old school cobble streets at all…though they were far more his aesthetic than modern paving systems. Didn’t Logan once say that the old Ancient Roman roads were far better quality than anything we could construct now? Virgil looked up from his spot at the fountain and saw that another team of workers were replacing a thatched roof with tiles.

“Howdy stranger.”

Virgil just about fell backwards into the fountain, only just managing to catch himself in time. One of the workers had come over to him while he was contemplating the meaning of change. Virgil hurriedly stood up and tried not to look like he had just let out a screech that a banshee would be jealous of.

“Urgh, hi there.” Virgil grunted, shoving his hands into the safety of his pockets. The worker was clearly of elvish origin if his pointy ears were anything to go by. He had an orange hard hat on his head, green eyes, and a kind smile. He clutched a clipboard against his portly stomach and rocked back and forth on his feet.

“Sorry there friend, didn’t mean to startle you.” The man gave a reassuring smile. “The name is Bertram.”

Virgil sighed.

“No problem, er, Bertram.” Virgil cast his eyes about nervously. This was it; he was sure of it. He had found a person, now, to get the right question. “What’s going on here?”

“New orders from the big guy in charge, massive infrastructure upgrades realm wide and we have a week to do it! Management, eh? In truth, I liked the old look, but not complaining here. It makes sense to move away from combustible materials like thatched roofs. Never know when a dragon will take a special interest in our little old town eh?" Bertram laughed as if he hadn’t just made a joke about a dragon burning his home down. Virgil doubted he would ever understand the folk in the imagination.

“Management…yeah.” Virgil swallowed. He didn’t know why he was so anxious talking to a person that literally did not exist. “So, the Prince has done this? Is he around?”

“Where have you been?” Bertram laughed again. “We don’t have a Prince anymore.”

Virgil’s blood ran cold.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #sander sides fanfiction #logan sanders #patton sanders #imagination adventure #roman sanders angst

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jabbage · 1 year ago

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#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

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downbad4yoongi · 2 years ago

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Seeds

🥀Seeds🥀

Hades!Hoseok x Persephone!Yoongi

⟢ Rating: MA

⟢ WC: 7.919

⟢ AU: type: Give it to Me

⟢ Theme: Betrayal, crime/mafia

⟢ Inclusions: creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, hidden secrets, long-haired yoongi, kissing, angst/hurst

Summary:

“Yes, Sweet Pea?” Hoseok cuts in.

Yoongi’s scowl deepens, “This is not a date. Also, don’t call me that. Actually, why would you call me that?”

Hoseok shakes his head at Yoongi as if he is being ridiculous. “Because, just like the flower, you draw me in with your beauty. Similarly, I would surmise that you also have a bit of a bite to you just like the toxicity of a sweet pea.”

Part One

Yoongi looks up from where he is trimming the stems on a bouquet that a customer will pick up later as the bell sounds above the shop’s door when it swings open. Seeing that it is only Namjoon, he looks back down and keeps trimming.

“Namjoon, this is a surprise. How did we get so lucky to be graced with your presence?”

Namjoon scoffs and places a hand flat on the glass countertop that divides the shop, “Could I not want just to come and visit my friends?” Yoongi sets down his trimming shears and gives Namjoon his full attention. He gets more suspicious as he takes in the bespoke gray suit draping Namjoon’s frame.

His eyes narrow. “Namjoon, you only visit Bloomin’ Cakes when you need something. What is it this time?”

Namjoon attempts to stare him down, nostrils flaring with a deep breath. Yoongi remains steadfast and refuses to back down. A smirk pulls at his lips as Namjoon’s shoulders deflate with a sigh.

“Fine. I’m here for both. I haven’t seen you or Jinnie-hyung in a while, and I need a favor.” Reaching into his suit jacket pocket pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I need a few floral arrangements.”

Yoongi rounds the work table he was at and moves to face Namjoon across the countertop. Yoongi picks up the folded paper and opens it. Yoongi’s brows raise, pushing into his hairline, his eyes flitting back and forth between the paper and Namjoon.

“Joon, this is more than a few floral arrangements. This is a request for fifty funeral wreaths by Monday. What do you even need that many wreaths for anyways?”

“My friend needs a favor, and I told him I knew the best florist in town and that you’d be more than willing to help. He’s willing to pay twice your usual fee.”

Yoongi huffs, “I don’t have the time to make that many arrangements in four days, Joon-ah.” He pushes the paper back across the clear surface. “Sorry, but you’ll have to tell your friend you lied.”

Namjoon taps a finger against the counter's cool surface, leveling a look at him. “Yoongi, you know this isn’t a request. I need you to do this. I owe this friend a lot; he helped me get to where I am now.” Yoongi holds Namjoon’s steady gaze, the silence yawning between them.

Yoongi snatches the paper. “Fine, Mr. Mayor. But you owe me.”

Namjoon grins so wide his cheeks dimple. “I knew I could count on you.”

Yoongi glowers at him. “Fuck off.”

Seokjin shuffles in through the shop's back door, wiping his shoes off on the mat, and is immediately assaulted by thrumming bass vibrating through the entire building. He quickly strips off his rain jacket, hanging it by the door, and maneuvers through the kitchen to push into the storefront, wincing as the harsh cacophony of sound increases when the door swings open.

Seokjin quickly turns down the speaker, his ears ringing in the echoing silence. “What’s with the mosh pit?”

Flowers and discarded stems surround Yoongi, his head snapping up at the sudden silence, a scowl already on his face. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t know about you, but I value my eardrums and not shattering our front windows.”

“Stop being fucking dramatic.”

“Yoongi, my bones, and the windows were literally vibrating with the level of the bass. What’s going on? You only blast the music that loud when you are pissed.”

Yoongi looks down at the arrangement in front of him, going back to work. “And if I am?”

A guffaw leaves Seokjin, his eyes widening. “What happened? I was only gone for a day.”

“Namjoon happened, and now I have an impossible order to complete in three days.” Yoongi drops his shears and shoves the order slip at Seokjin, who picks up the crumpled paper to look at it.

“Fifty! Why would he–” Seokjin’s voice abruptly cuts off, his body stiffening.

It is so sudden that it draws Yoongi’s attention. “Why would he? What? Ask for such a ridiculous thing on short notice? I don’t know Jinnie-hyung, you tell me.”

Jin’s usually loud tenor is missing with his following words, “Yoongi, you can’t do this order.”

Yoongi scoffs, “Try telling Namjoon that.”

“I’m not joking. You can’t do this order.” The finality of his stance rings through his voice.

“Hyung…we’re family, and I know I let you get away with your big brothering, but you aren’t actually allowed to dictate what I do and do not do.”

Jin’s nostrils flare with his sharp inhale, “Yoongs, this is not a situation where I am being overbearing. I am serious. You can’t fulfill this. I– I can’t go into it, but it’s in your best interests that you back out of this.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, “No.”

Jin’s hand flexes, crumpling the order form in his fist. “Yoongi, just fucking listen to me for once!”

“Until you give a legitimate reason, I am finishing this order. So either help or leave me alone.”

Jin is left standing there for several minutes, his neck and cheeks flushed with anger, desperately hoping Yoongi will change his mind.

Groaning, Yoongi curls further around his pillow, his hand blindly searching for his phone to shut off the annoying bleating of his alarm; he rolls onto his back, stretching his stiff limbs. Every fiber of his being is exhausted from spending the past few days carrying out the ridiculous order Namjoon submitted. Now, after being up late into the night, he’s being pulled out of the comfort of his bed to deliver said order.

“Namjoon fucking owes me for this bullshit,” he mumbles as he shuffles into the bathroom to get ready.

Thirty minutes later, he grimaces at his reflection as he rolls up the sleeves of his black oxford shirt and fastens the platinum watch around his wrist. Grabbing his phone, he slips into his shiny, black loafers and leaves the serenity of his home to go to the shop. Since it is so early in the morning, Yoongi is able to enjoy the silence that wraps around him as he walks the few blocks to the store that he co-owns with Jin.

Navigating around the rear of the building, he starts up the delivery van and backs it up to the backdoor to begin loading the order. He had figured it would take closer to an hour to transfer and store the wreaths in the back of the van. However, time seems to be on his side and he has them loaded and secure well before that. Now, there’s only one thing left to do: deliver them to the address Namjoon provided. Which, according to the GPS, is well on the outskirts of the city. Cranking the radio, Yoongi loses himself in the miles and thoughts of just how much Namjoon owes him.

Yoongi slows down as he drives the van through the industrial park looking for the specific delivery address. The GPS guides him through the maze of buildings and warehouses until he is at the last block of buildings, right against the river. He glances at the delivery slip, not fully understanding why he is delivering funeral wreaths to a building by the docks, and turns down the access road next to a large black warehouse. So far, the drive through the industrial park has been a ghost town, it startles Yoongi slightly to see a crowd of people as he eases around the back of the building.

He catches sight of a burly man dressed in an all-black suit flagging him down and maneuvers the van in the direction of the parking space the man is gesturing to. Putting the van in park, he slips out of the driver’s seat as the burly man rounds the hood with a clipboard.

“Name?”

“Min Yoongi with Bloomin’ Cakes.”

The man grunts as he scribbles on the clipboard. “You got the order?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he says sardonically.

The man lowers his clipboard. “You gettin’ smart with me?”

With a hand to his chest, Yoongi deadpans, “I would never.”

It’s fascinating how the henchman’s face mottles as he steps forward to tower over Yoongi. Yoongi just cocks his head slightly and blinks innocently up at his red face, hands behind his back.

“KYUNG!” The hulk's eyes flick over Yoongi’s head as his frame stills. “Why are you about to crush one of our guests?”

Kyung’s voice is like gravel as it rumbles out of his throat, “He’s not a guest.”

The newcomer draws to a stop just behind Yoongi. “Oh?” Before Yoongi can turn fully to face the newest stranger, he can feel the weight of his gaze running down his frame. “Then what is he doing here?”

Yoongi’s shoulders press lightly to the cool surface of the van as he positions himself to keep both men in sight. Beyond the slight twitching of his fingers, Yoongi manages to keep control of his reaction to the handsome stranger that has joined them. He can’t stop his gaze from raking over the other man. His eyes rove from the slick, black hair styled back off of his forehead, perfectly exposing the sides of his undercut to the strands of hair that stop at his nape. His eyes bounce back up once they hit the shiny loafers that are such a deep shade of blue you’d think they were black. The impeccable suit is nothing compared to the sheer force of his aura. It feels like it is pulsing around him, making it impossible to ignore the shiver that roams down Yoongi’s spine.

“You ordered flowers. I’m here to deliver them.” Yoongi finally finds his voice under the weight of the man’s gaze.

The corner of his lips tip up slightly. “I did?”

Yoongi can’t help the frown that pulls his brows together. “Yes. You sent Namjoon into my shop a few days ago and placed a ridiculous order at the last minute.”

Yoongi hears the sharp inhales of the men that surround them when Yoongi is unable to keep the irritation from seeping into his words. From their reactions, Yoongi is expecting a harsher reaction than the slick smile that parts the man’s lips.

“Oh, yes. I did ask him to do that.” He tilts his head forward in a small bow. “Apologies. I am a very busy man and the minutiae often evade me. I have many people I delegate to. Let me introduce myself, I am Jung Hoseok.”

The scowl on Yoongi’s face eases up slightly. “Well, if we can get these wreaths unloaded, I can be on my way.”

“So soon?” Hoseok steps forward, just short of invading Yoongi’s personal space. He runs one slim finger lightly along the buttons of Yoongi’s shirt. “You’re more than welcome to stay and join us. Maybe we can get drinks later?”

Yoongi swallows thickly as Hoseok trails that thin finger over his exposed clavicle. “That is very gracious of you Mr. Jung, but really unnecessary. I need to be on my way anyways, I still have a lot of work to complete.”

Hoseok’s hand trails across Yoongi’s chest and shoulder as he eases away and moves to the back of the van.

Yoongi slips away, rounding the back of the van to the sound of Hoseok tsking under his breath. He yanks the doors open and climbs into the rear of the vehicle. “No need for the formalities. You can call me Hoseok or Hope.”

Yoongi glances behind him before starting to position the arrangements closer to the opening to be unloaded. “Why Hope?”

Hoseok is leaning casually against the propped door. “It’s a name I was given. Hope; as in people tend to hope I will put them out of their misery sooner rather than later.”

Yoongi navigates back to the store on autopilot, pulling around and parking near the rear entrance unable to remember how he got there. He needs to get that man out of his mind, but no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts continue to wander back to the interaction that happened between him and Hoseok.

Most interactions that Yoongi has with other people usually go without significant notice; Yoongi forgets them before the day is done. From the moment he met Hoseok, call me Hope, he knew that wouldn’t be the case here. Yoongi wishes he could put his finger on what exactly it is about this man that keeps ensnaring his focus. While in front of Hoseok, it was easy to attribute it to his looks and style, but what is the reason now? It’s not like he will ever interact with him again.

Yoongi hangs the van keys on the hook by the door and moves into the kitchen, taking note of Jin and the aggravated atmosphere that seems to surround him. Jin is so intently mixing a batch of frosting in a large steel bowl that he hasn’t even noticed that Yoongi is there.

“What did that frosting do to you?” Yoongi speaks just loud enough to be heard over the low thrumming of the instrumental music playing through the mounted Bluetooth speaker.

Jin whips around with the spatula in his hand lofted, the abrupt movement sending frosting flying, some of which lands on Yoongi’s cheek. Seokjin has varying levels of anger, easily gauged by how flushed his skin is and how stilted his movements become. At this point, Yoongi would probably put him at a two out of five on the ‘Seokjin’s Going to Blow a Gasket’ scale.

Leveling a weighted glare at Yoongi, Jin finally speaks up, “Well, at least you appear as if you made it out unscathed.”

Yoongi shakes his head bewildered by Jin’s sharp tone. “What does that mean? Was I not supposed to come back in one piece?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t,” Jin snaps.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “What the hell, Jin! What does that even mean?” Yoongi watches Jin roll his eyes, his chest puffing up. “And don’t give me an excuse or try to redirect the conversation. What is your issue with Jung Hoseok?”

It’s always fascinating to watch Jin move through his scale. Currently, Yoongi is observing Jin go from a two to a four. Jin spins back around and shoves the spatula back into the bowl, his chest heaving as he grips the edge of the countertop.

“He’s bad news, Yoongi. People who get involved with him, even tangentially, don’t always come out on the other side unscathed.” Jin’s shoulders curl inward from whatever weight he won’t share. “Please Yoongi just stay out of his orbit. I can’t lose you.”

Yoongi softens at the vulnerability Jin is revealing. It’s that vulnerability that draws him across the kitchen to Jin’s side. He rubs his hand soothingly across Jin’s back. “I’m not planning to interact with Mr. Jung again. Don’t get me wrong, I am still irritated that you are keeping things from me, but you don’t need to keep worrying about me.”

Yoongi stretches as he walks back into the store, his back aching from carting four cakes with varying tier levels into the delivery van for Jin. Grabbing the broom from the stockroom as he moves into the kitchen, he begins to sweep after turning on a lo-fi rap playlist. He lets himself get lost in the music as he gathers the debris into one spot and disposes of it.

He backs into the storefront, keeping up with the beat letting the words flow from his lips as he drags the broom across the tile floor. Easily adapting to each new flow as the songs change. It’s in the brief pause between songs that someone else makes their presence known with a soft clearing of their throat.

Yoongi jerks around, an apology to the customer poised on his lips; those words wilt before they can sprout as his gaze lands on Hoseok.

“Why are you here?” Yoongi doesn’t hold back the suspicious undercurrent in his voice as he tosses the question out easily recalling Jin’s warnings about the man.

His hands held behind him, Hoseok cocks his head to the side. “You have an interesting method of greeting customers.”

Yoongi stands there and blinks at him, outwardly maintaining his standoffish vibe but inwardly his mind is a tumbling mess that is struggling to settle. He promised Jin that he would stay away from Jung Hoseok but it’s not really his fault that Hoseok came into their store. Maybe Hoseok was just in the neighborhood? He still didn’t understand why Jin despises the gorgeous man in front of him.

Damn, this man really knows how to wear an outfit; Yoongi can’t even stop himself from openly admiring him. Hoseok’s ability to awe completely in monochrome, this time a slate gray suit, is admirable.

Hoseok smirks, silently waiting as Yoongi’s eyes trail back up to meet his own. A rush of pink perfuses over his cheeks as he is caught ogling Hoseok. Yoongi looks away to set aside the broom, buying time to gather his wits before responding.

“Is that why you’re here? To place an order?” Yoongi presses his palms to the glass case between them.

Hoseok gives a sharp shake of his head, stepping forward and bringing out what he was hiding behind his back and setting it between them. “No. I could lie and say I was, but let’s not start off this relationship that way.”

Yoongi’s eyes drop down to look at the two rocks glasses and the decanter of dark brown liquor in front of him. “There is no relationship. And what is this for?”

“These are the drinks I said we would be getting later. I would have come sooner, but some business got in the way.”

“And again, I said no to getting drinks.”

Hoseok tsks under his breath, “No, you said you couldn’t that day because you had work to finish. So, I have decided to bring the drinks to you.” He looks around, eyes perusing the store. “Although, I would have chosen somewhere with a bit more of an intimate ambiance for our first date.”

Yoongi scowls, “Mr. Jung, this is not a date–”

Yoongi’s words are cut short as Hoseok places a slender finger against his lips, silencing him. “I already told you to call me Hope or Hoseok, if you must.”

Yoongi swallows hard as he removes Hoseok’s finger from his mouth. “Hope–”

“Yes, Sweet Pea?” Hoseok cuts in.

Yoongi’s scowl deepens, “This is not a date. Also, don’t call me that. Actually, why would you call me that?”

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth at a loss for words. Eventually, he finds them, “Well that is an interesting perspective, but again this is not a date. In fact, I think it’s time for you to go now. For some reason, my older brother dislikes you, and I have promised him I’d steer clear of you.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrow, the angles of his face sharpening. “And do you always do what you are told?”

Yoongi straightens as Hoseok glowers across the counter from him, “That’s neither here nor there. Thanks for stopping by. Have a nice day, Hoseok.”

Hoseok’s jaw ticks, his stare unyielding, before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop. It is only after he is finally gone, Yoongi is able to release the tension that had crept into his muscles.

If anything, no one can doubt Hoseok’s persistence; since the encounter at Bloomin’ Cakes a few weeks ago, Hoseok has placed orders twice a week for delivery. Yoongi knows he should reject the order requests as gods know if Jin found out, the man would lose his mind. He still doesn’t understand the hatred Jin holds for Hoseok.

Yoongi’s interactions with Hoseok have been nothing less than charming, and he finds his resistance to his charms weakening with each interaction. With each delivery, Hoseok has found a reason to have Yoongi linger, and honestly, Yoongi has enjoyed his flirting.

Nibbling on his lip, he navigates the delivery truck across town to the address Yoongi has now become familiar with as being Hoseok’s home. He is pretty sure the next time Hoseok asks him out he’ll say yes and deal with the Jin fallout later. Yoongi knows Jin cares, but honestly the man is overreacting. Hoseok has been the perfect gentleman, and Yoongi can’t see a reason to resist anymore.

Yoongi shifts the van into park at the top of the circle driveway out in front of Hoseok’s ostentatious mansion. Slipping into the back, Yoongi gathers Hoseok’s order, three bouquets of calla lilies, and carries them to the front door. Preparing to use the brass knocker, Yoongi grips the cool metal lifting it but before he can release it the large black door shifts open.

Odd. Hoseok is usually very meticulous about his security, Yoongi has previously had to go through several layers when he has delivered here before. He nudges the door open wider, sticking his head inside to view the vast empty marble of the foyer. He licks his lips nervously, stepping inside and fully expecting someone to stop him from entering further. None of Hoseok’s many overbearing staff appear, so Yoongi circles the towering, black marble statue of a three-headed dog in the center of the room and heads toward the open archway on the other side.

Yoongi's eyes widen as every muscle in his body freezes at the sight before him. Hoseok is standing with his back to him, one hand casually thrust into his slack’s pocket and the other steadily holding a gun that is leveled at the man kneeling in front of him. The man’s face is bloody and bruised as he cowers in front of Hoseok, pleas for mercy spilling from his split lips.

Yoongi starts to back out of the room, his head shaking slowly in disbelief. His mind is swarming with incomplete, confused thoughts, but the loudest one is yelling at him to get out now. He only makes it two steps before his back hits something, startling him into dropping the vases of lilies. The crystal smashes onto the marble floor and the gun that was previously leveled at the poor man is now being leveled at Yoongi.

Hoseok eyes Yoongi, head tilting to the side as he holds the gun steady on him. “You’re not supposed to see this.” He sighs, shaking his head, “But, now that you have…” Large hands grip Yoongi’s upper arms holding him in place, preventing him from escaping as Hoseok turns his attention back to his victim. “As you can see, I now have other matters to attend to.” Yoongi jumps as the sound of the gun firing reverberates through the room followed by the thud of the body hitting the floor.

Hoseok’s arm falls to his side as he shifts his attention back to Yoongi. Slow, deliberate steps close the gap between them; Yoongi goes to speak but is abruptly cut off by the tap of the cold metal of the firearm tapping underneath his chin as Hoseok’s gaze holds his. “Now, what to do with you?”

Part Two

Yoongi has lost track of the amount of time he has been held captive in this lavish prison. At this point, he is positive he could describe in excruciating detail the Aubusson rug that spans the room's length. If he was honest, he was losing steam and motivation to try and escape. He figured out the hard way that the windows were bulletproof and has the sore shoulder to prove it, sneaking out of the only door was scratched as it is never left unguarded, and so far none of the guards seem like good candidates to aid in liberating him.

The thud of the rubber ball echoes through the room as it sails from Yoongi’s hand, bounces off the carpeted floor, and rebounds off the wall to land back in his hand. Frankly, this is the only thing breaking up the monotony of being trapped inside this gilded prison, aside from the silent intrusions from the rotating guards shoving food into the room. It’s been two weeks since he learned first-hand why he’s known as Hope.

The ball sails more forcefully out of his hand as the images from that day flash through his mind; the look of terror on the man’s face, the ringing echo of the gunshot, and the chilling indifference on Hoseok’s face. The ball stings as it smacks back into his palm, his fingers clenching as he recalls the sensation of cold metal against his face as Hoseok brushed their lips together. He still can’t fully process why he returned the kiss; his mind went into shock after witnessing the brutal act committed by someone he was growing to like and the next thing he knew, soft lips were pressed to his.

The next toss of the ball is just as forceful as the last, but this time instead of ricocheting off the wall, it rebounds off a solid wall of muscle. Yoongi cocks his head as the resonance of the ball pattern changes, and the ball fails to return to his outstretched hand. His head rolls on his neck to look across the room to see a glowering Kyung staring him down, the ball resting at his feet.

Before Yoongi can make a snarky comment, Kyung steps to the side and holds the door open for Hoseok.

Hoseok steps into the room and flicks his hand over his shoulder, “Leave us.”

Yoongi straightens from his slouched position on the chaise lounge and watches Hoseok bend down to pick up the stray ball. He refuses to speak, just eyeing Hoseok with suspicion as the man tosses the ball casually in the air and catches it again.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting for so long before checking in on you.”

Yoongi scoffs, “You say that as if I am a willing visitor.”

With a nonchalant shrug, “Let’s not quibble over the details. I would have come to you sooner, but I have been tied up ensuring your safety.”

Yoongi feels like his eyes are bugging out. “I was safe before I ever had the misfortune of meeting you!”

“Oh, Sweet Pea, that is far from the truth. There are some truly unsavory people out there, and they will do terrible things to get what is mine.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief, “You! You are those people! You murdered that poor man without any remorse.”

Hoseok stills, “Is that what you truly think? That I felt nothing for that man?”

“You didn’t leave me any room to think otherwise.”

Hoseok looks away from him, his jaw clenched; the silence stretches between them long enough that Yoongi is nearly moved to break the tension when Hoseok faces him again. Yoongi is taken aback as he watches undecipherable emotions flash across Hoseok’s face. It is enough to plant seeds of doubt within Yoongi as a pang of concern flashes through him.

Hoseok’s expression and posture settle into one of weary resignation, “Yoongi, I am a man who does what needs to be done. Even if that task would be deemed as morally reprehensible. I go to great lengths to get what I want, and once I have it, nothing will keep me from protecting what is mine.”

Yoongi swallows thickly as Hoseok crosses the room toward him. “I’m not yours,” Yoongi whispers weakly.

A wry smile twists Hoseok’s lips as he stops in front of him. Hoseok’s hand cups his jaw, “Yes, you are. You have been since the moment I saw you.”

He wrenches away from Hoseok and glares at him. “I am not yours. Whatever could have been died along with that poor man; now let me out of here,” Yoongi spits at Hoseok.

“It’s not that simple, Sweet Pea; you’re now in my orbit, and those who would see me fail have noticed.” Hoseok circles Yoongi slowly, “It has become apparent to me that grander measures need to be taken to prevent others from fucking with me and mine.”

Yoongi huffs out a frustrated sigh, “Listen, I have no idea of what you are talking about, and, you know what, I don’t want to know. Just let me go home. I swear never to speak to anyone about what I saw.”

“You still don’t get it.” Hoseok rounds Yoongi again to face him, pulling a slim phone from his pocket. Yoongi watches as he taps away at it for a moment before turning the screen toward him. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, but when they do he snatches the phone from the outstretched hand. His heart rate speeds up as he stares at the grainy image of Jin slumped against the alley wall behind their shop, face clearly bruised as he curls in on himself as the assailant, only a black blur, sprints away.

“What the fuck is this? I need to go!” Yoongi shoves the phone at Hoseok and darts around him toward the door. He doesn’t make it very far before Hoseok’s grip on his bicep pulls him to a stop.

Yoongi yanks on his arm, but Hoseok’s grip just tightens. “This is what happens when I let my guard down. Someone is out there trying to get to me through any means possible. They started with you; the man you say I so callously murdered was stalking you. I found out and was trying to get him to tell me who he was working for when you interrupted. I felt it was best to keep you hidden until I figured it all out.” Hoseok glances at the phone in his hand, “ I guess they moved on to your brother when they couldn’t find you anymore.”

“If there is someone dangerous out there who is after my brother, you need to help him. You’re the cause of all this!”

A tight smile pulls at Hoseok’s lips, “You’re right. I am, and I have the perfect solution.”

“Which is?”

“Marry me.”

Yoongi guffaws. He’s at a complete loss for words, he is sure Hoseok is joking, but the longer he looks at Hoseok, the heavier the knot of dread in his chest grows. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, Sweet Pea, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“While I’m sure you are equally gorgeous without hair as you are with it, you should stop yanking at it like that.”

Yoongi’s finger tangle in the strands even tighter, whirling around fully prepared to lash out when the bedroom door opens. The words choke up his throat as Namjoon steps through the door.

“Joon?” Yoongi’s voice squeaks out. He stumbles forward to embrace his saving grace. Burying his face into Namjoon’s lapel, Yoongi desperately clings to Namjoon’s shoulders, “Holy shit, you found me. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Namjoon is slow to return the embrace, looking over his shoulder at Hoseok lounging on the bed behind them. Joon awkwardly pats Yoongi’s back, “I’m happy to see you well, too.”

Mind still racing, Yoongi pulls back and starts pulling Namjoon back toward the closing door. “Let’s get out of here. I need to see Jin.” Yoongi’s rush toward the exit is stopped short as Namjoon resists his pull, not moving along with his urgency. Yoongi looks back at him, “What the fuck? Let’s go, Joon!”

Namjoon’s feet remain planted as he shakes his head. “Yoongi, we’re not going anywhere.”

Slowly, Yoongi stops pulling at Namjoon’s arm as his eyes bounce between Namjoon and Hoseok. Hoseok lounges back on the bed propped up on his elbows, his foot bouncing idly as he watches Yoongi’s futile attempt to escape. Namjoon’s expression is nearly the opposite, a grimace twisting his lips as he watches Yoongi, eyes full of pity.

“What do you mean? Why aren’t we leaving, Joon?”

Namjoon avoids Yoongi’s pleading eyes as he frees his arm from his grasp. “I am here as a favor to Hope.”

Hoseok sits up, clapping his hands, “Now we can get this show on the road. Did you bring the certificates?”

Namjoon gives a sharp nod, pulling a sheaf of papers out of his inner jacket pocket and offers them to Hoseok. Hoseok unfolds them, eyes skimming the documents, humming under his breath here and there.

Hoseok refolds the papers, smacking the stack against his palm, “Lovely. I thought we could do the ceremony in the gardens.”

Yoongi snaps out of his stupor, stepping forward to snatch the sheaf of papers from Hoseok’s hand. He glances at them, scowling at the bold certificate of marriage script emblazoned across the top. “This is not happening. There has to be another way to fix this mess. I am not marrying you!”

“Oh, I’m sure there probably is another solution, but I am satisfied with this one,” Hoseok smirks, rocking back on his heels. “See, when we are married, what is yours is mine. And you know what happens when someone tries to harm what is mine.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to attach myself to someone who casually defaults to violence.” Yoongi motions between them, “This– we are not compatible; our values just don’t align.”

Hoseok hums under his breath and closes the gap between them. Eyes hooded, lips slightly parted, Hoseok trails his fingers down the center of Yoongi’s chest. Those lithe fingers tease along the waistband of Yoongi’s slacks, the back of his hand close enough to feel the muscles of Yoongi’s abdomen tremble from the touch. Leaning in even further, Hoseok noses along Yoongi’s cheek until his lips are at Yoongi’s ear, “I’m sure we align in more ways than you think. After all, we both want to protect dear Jinnie.”

Yoongi’s breath shudders out of him as he internally processes, struggling with what to do. He can feel his resolve weakening and the echo of Jin's warning to stay away fading in his memory.

"Say I marry you, what happens next? Am I really to believe that just because we sign a piece of paper that we’re suddenly safe?"

Hoseok runs his nose along Yoongi's, " Of course not, but there are consequences to fucking with me and mine."

"What happens after?"

"What do you mean what happens after? We keep living our lives, but now we do it together. It won't be too much change at all. Well, your commute will be longer."

Yoongi's brow furrows, " My commute?"

"Mhmm, your commute to work once you move into my house."

Yoongi pulls back, head shaking. "I can't move in here and live with you."

The soft smile that was playing across Hoseok's lips falls. " I don't believe I'm giving you an option. You will live with me as my husband. Our union will be real in every sense of the word."

Yoongi shakes his head hard, “Jin would never allow it. This is supposed to be just for convenience for the mess you made.”

Sparks ignite in Hoseok’s eyes as he fists the front of Yoongi’s shirt, pulling him even closer, “Nothing about this is convenient. You are marrying me and not Jin; it’s about what we want, not him. I want you and will have you.” Hoseok’s lips crash against Yoongi’s. A beat barely passes before Yoongi is melting against Hoseok, lips melding with his as they kiss fiercely. Lips and teeth fight for dominance, but soon Yoongi acquiesces and yields to the control Hoseok is wielding. Yoongi’s lips part even further for Hoseok’s probing tongue, his hands sliding to hold Hoseok’s hips as the kiss deepens. The kiss is intoxicating and has Yoongi chasing after Hoseok when he pulls back. “And you clearly want me, too.”

Yoongi’s lashes flutter as words fail him, leaving him bereft of any denial, as he sways on the spot.

“Perhaps a compromise is in order?” Yoongi’s eyes snap open, cheeks warming; he’d forgotten that Namjoon was still in the room with them.

Yoongi clears his throat, “A compromise?”

“Yes. A union, in more than just name, and unfettered access to come and go as you please, including staying with Jin if that is what you want.”

Hoseok scoffs, “My husband belongs at my side…always.”

Yoongi starts to protest but is interrupted by Namjoon’s noisy exhale of annoyance. “Hope, you have to give somewhere. I’m trying to help. I’m in your debt but I’d rather not force marriage on a friend if we can convince him to join with you willingly.”

Hoseok falls silent, a pinched expression on his face, as he contemplates Namjoon’s words.

“Three months.”

“Am I supposed to understand what you mean?” Yoongi challenges.

“You are mine and will be at my side at all times, but I will give you three months a year. Three months where you are free to do as you please, and I will not interfere.”

“None? At all?”

Hoseok nods, “Every spring. That’s a good time for your business, too, no?”

Yoongi can’t help the warmth that perfuses through his chest at Hoseok’s consideration. He gives a small nod, “Yes, it is always the time when we are busiest…Hope.”

The intensity of Hoseok’s gaze has not lessened in the time it has taken for the both of them to change and then meet in the sprawling gardens. The gardens are impressive; Yoongi would love nothing more than to explore every square inch, but he’s currently struggling with not gawking at Hoseok with his mouth wide open.

Hoseok’s all-white attire is beautiful, but the white bejeweled harness takes it up several layers to breathtaking. Ever since he gave in, Hoseok’s eyes have been filled with an intensity that drives his allure off the Richter scale. The intensity of his attention has remained steadily focused on him ever since Yoongi willingly referred to him as Hope.

The off-white outfit that he was styled in is nothing compared to the exquiteness of Hoseok’s. He is absolutely certain of that, but the way Hoseok roams him from head to toe is almost convincing that he is equallng as breath stealing as Hoseok is.

Namjoon clears his throat, and the couple’s attention is finally pulled away from staring at each other to the man standing between them.

Namjoon ducks his head with a shy smile, “Well, we all know why we are here, so I will cut to the chase…” Namjoon’s tenor flows around them as he reads their vows, and they each parrot them back to the other. Sooner than Yoongi would have expected, the ceremony is over, and he is officially Hoseok’s husband. His mind starts to run away from him, filling with anxious, intrusive thoughts that are soon to send him into a tailspin.

Abruptly they are cut off as warm lips meld to his, all thought ceases, and he is melting into Hoseok’s hold. Hoseok’s lips smoothly glide against his as Hoseok pulls him even closer, the kiss gaining momentum as their lips part.

By the time they part, Yoongi is breathlessly clinging to his new spouse. His forehead presses to Hoseok’s temple as the man dismisses Namjoon. Their words filtering into his consciousness slowly as he tries to regain control of himself.

The crunch of Namjoon’s retreating steps are what snaps him back to the presence. “Wait– now you’ll get those thugs to back off?” He steps back fingers unfurling from Hope’s shirt, “I need to go check on Jin. Tell him what has happened, and we’re okay.”

Yoongi doesn’t make it very far before his wrists are shackled in the other man’s grip. “Shhh, Sweet Pea, it is all being taken care of. Joon can check in with Jin and my men will take care of the rest.” He tugs firmly on Yoongi’s wrist, pulling him back toward him, “We have far more important things to take care of.”

The intensity of Hoseok’s gaze as Yoongi turns back to him steals his breath. Any protest dies on his lips as warmth blooms low in his abdomen. He lets the other man guide him back through the garden and into the house. They move swiftly across the marble floors to Hoseok’s bedroom upstairs.

Yoongi has merely a moment to catch his breath before Hoseok’s lips are on his again. At the flick of the other man’s tongue, Yoongi’s lips are parting for him. The strokes of Hoseok’s tongue are sure and measured as they navigate blindly across the room to the opulent bed in the center.

Time slips away from Yoongi as their lips and tongues slip in and out of each other’s as clothes are stripped and littered across the floor. He is breathless as Hoseok pulls back and pushes him onto the bed, the soft, silk sheets caressing his bare skin.

Hoseok stands over him, his presence even more domineering stripped of all the fine threads. His torso is long and trim drawing Yoongi’s eyes directly to the hard length of his cock straining toward his belly button. Yoongi starts to sit up, reaching for the other man, needing to feel every inch of his skin against the other’s.

He doesn’t make it far, collapsing back down onto the bed when Hoseok’s slender fingers wrap around his own turgid length. His head is thrown back as the other man’s hand strokes him, slowly increasing the pressure with each pass of his hand. Yoongi rocks his hips upward, thrusting into Hoseok’s fist, moans and whimpers begging for more spill from his lips.

More is what Hoseok eventually gives him, Yoongi’s hips jerk as the slickened tip of a finger teases his rim. He opens his eyes and catches the smirk playing across the other man’s lips as that teasing finger presses in, working slowly inside him.

Hoseok bends over him, trailing his tongue along Yoongi’s jaw to his ear. He circles the digit inside the prone man, “Oh, I can’t wait to ruin you.” His finger draws back slowly and returns with two, drawing a loud moan from Yoongi as the fingers scissor inside him, slowly working him open.

Yoongi rocks his hips between Hoseok’s hands chasing the pleasure that he is being promised. He is overwhelmed with sensation between his husband spreading stinging kisses across his chest to the tight grip of the fist twisting around his throbbing cock to the deliberate way his three slender fingers manipulate that spot inside him just right. Yoongi is ready to combust.

Without warning, it all disappears, wrenching a sob from Yoongi’s chest. He opens his eyes and all the tears that were being held back, flow down his cheeks, “Why did you stop?”

Hoseok shrugs nonchalantly, “Because I could.”

Wet lashes cling to each other as Yoongi blinks up at the other man momentarily at a loss for words. Hoseok towers over him, looking very calm and self-assured as he leisurely strokes his own cock with long, sure strokes.

“Pl-please, please don’t stop. I need more. Please, please, please, please,” Yoongi’s voice cracks as he begs but he is so desperate to come he doesn’t care.

Hoseok runs his hands down the length of Yoongi’s thighs. “You have to be more specific than that,” Hoseok teases, his hands cupping the back of the prostrate man’s knees lifting and folding the legs back until Yoongi’s thighs are touching his chest.

Yoongi tosses his head back in frustration, his hands cover his face struggling internally on whether to give in or to push his husband’s limits by teasing back. The incessant throbbing of his cock has him folding to the other man’s silent demand. “Please, I need you.”

The last word has barely left his lips when he feels Hoseok’s cock catch his rim and press inward. Both men groan loudly as Hoseok steadily pushes in, the liberal application of lube easing the glide.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Hoseok bites out, his fingers flexing repeatedly on the back of Yoongi’s thighs as he pauses waiting for the other to acclimate.

Yoongi bucks his hips up, “Move.”

The simple demand ignites something inside Hoseok. He draws back slowly, pulling little whimpers from the man under him. Tightening his grip on his folded legs, Hoseok snaps his hips forward thrusting deep into the tight heat waiting for him. Yoongi’s hands scramble desparate to hold onto something as Hoseok doesn’t hold back. Hips smacking against round, ass cheeks with each deep plunge inside.

Each cry from Yoongi drives Hoseok to increase his pace, he wraps his fist around the dripping length pressed to Yoongi’s belly and starts stroking it in time to his cock pushing into Yoongi’s clenching hole. Hoseok shifts just slightly, using his free hand to push Yoongi’s legs toward his chest just a little further, and is rewarded as a scream is ripped from Yoongi’s lips. Each stroke of Hoseok’s length now nailing Yoongi’s prostate directly.

Hoseok maintains that angle, tears leak down his lover’s face as he adds a deliberate twist of his wrist with each upstroke of his hand around Yoongi’s angry, red cock. Between one thrust and the next, Yoongi is arching off the bed, screaming silently into the pillows as he spills across Hoseok’s hand and his own chest.

Hoseok keeps pistoning his length in and out of Yoongi, working him through the orgasm. The vice-like grip of Yoongi’s hole around his cock has him chasing his own orgasm moments later. His hips stutter against the other man’s ass before stiling and spilling deep inside.

After pulling out, they both collapse onto damp sheets to catch their breath, riding out the post-orgasmic glow. Hoseok is the first to move, slipping off the bed and into the en suite to clean up. Yoongi lays there, eyes closed, listening to the other man moving around in the bathroom.

His mind drifts to contemplate if he made the right choice, will Jin and he be okay? Will he need to constantly be on alert from now on? He was so deep in his thoughts, he missed the sound of Hoseok returning. So when the warm washcloth strokes across his messy chest, it startles him and he reaches out gripping the other wrist, preparing to push it away.

Hoseok arches a brow and silently waits. His look says it all and Yoongi fingers pull back quickly. Hoseok finishes wiping him down before he tosses the spoiled cloth and slides them both under the covers.”

Yoongi curls onto his side facing Hoseok trying to ignore the distracting way Hoseok’s fingers run through his hair. Yoongi clears his throat, “So what now? When will we know when Jin and I are really safe?”

Hoseok brushes the concern away, stroking Yoongi’s temple, “Oh you are perfectly safe. No need to worry at all.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows, “How can you possibly know that already?”

A truly wicked smile spreads the lips Yoongi was just kissing earlier, “Because I called my men off.”

Confused, Yoongi shakes his head not wanting to believe what is being laid out before him. “You…you did all this?” he asks, referring to allegations of stalking and the attack on Jin.

Hoseok pats Yoongi’s cheek condescendingly, “I always get what I want.”

#mythology au #fanfic #bts #bts ff #bts fanfic #bts smut #hades!hoseok #persephone!yoongi #bangtanwhq #sope #enemies to lovers #manipulation

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thejourneymanandco · 1 year ago

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#thejourneymanandco #customfurniture #handmadefurniture #handmadeuk #customfurnituredesign #bespokefurniture #custommade #bespoke #custom #handmade #oakbenches #round oak side table

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pixldigitalsolutions · 10 months ago

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Best 7 Performance Marketing Agencies in Hyderabad

In the bustling landscape of Hyderabad's digital marketing realm, finding the right performance marketing agency can be akin to discovering a gem in a treasure trove. With businesses vying for online visibility and consumer engagement, the demand for adept marketing partners has soared. Among the myriad of options, seven agencies have emerged as trailblazers, offering unparalleled expertise in driving results-driven campaigns. Let's delve into the top picks for the best performance marketing agencies in Hyderabad, with PIXL shining brightly at the forefront.

PIXL: As the focal point of this list, PIXL stands tall as a beacon of excellence in performance marketing. With a knack for crafting bespoke strategies tailored to each client's unique needs, PIXL consistently delivers exceptional results. From PPC campaigns to social media advertising, their comprehensive approach ensures maximum ROI for every marketing dollar spent.

DigitalMarketing.: Renowned for its data-driven approach, DigitalMarketing. excels in leveraging analytics to optimize campaign performance. Their proficiency in SEO, SEM, and conversion rate optimization sets them apart, making them a preferred choice for businesses seeking measurable outcomes.

WebRank: Specializing in holistic digital solutions, WebRank boasts a stellar track record of elevating brands through strategic marketing initiatives. With a focus on fostering long-term client relationships, they prioritize transparency and accountability in every campaign they undertake.

AdVantage: True to its name, AdVantage capitalizes on cutting-edge advertising techniques to give clients a competitive edge. From dynamic retargeting to precision targeting, their arsenal of tools ensures maximum exposure and engagement across diverse digital platforms.

DigitalEdge: With a penchant for innovation, DigitalEdge pushes the boundaries of conventional marketing to deliver avant-garde solutions. Their creative prowess combined with a results-driven mindset makes them a force to be reckoned with in Hyderabad's marketing landscape.

OptiReach: Emphasizing the importance of reaching the right audience at the right time, OptiReach excels in crafting hyper-targeted campaigns that resonate with prospects. Through meticulous audience segmentation and personalized messaging, they drive conversions and foster brand loyalty.

MarketMasters: Rounding off our list, MarketMasters combines strategic acumen with a customer-centric approach to drive sustainable growth for its clients. From lead generation to brand awareness campaigns, they harness the full spectrum of marketing channels to deliver exceptional outcomes.

In the dynamic realm of performance marketing, these seven agencies stand out as paragons of excellence, each bringing its unique strengths to the table. However, among the multitude of options, PIXL emerges as the quintessential choice for businesses seeking unparalleled expertise, unwavering dedication, and transformative results. With PIXL at the helm, navigating the complexities of digital marketing becomes not just a journey, but a resounding success story.

#pixl #digital marketing #webdesigning #seo #webdesign #social media marketing

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thomasshelbydrabbles · 2 years ago

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Everything’s a Negotiation (Part 4/?)

Pairing: Modern!Tommy Shelby x OC

Warnings: series typical violence, language, sexual situations

Summary: Mackenzie has an unwelcome visitor and argues with Tommy.

Word Count: 3545

A/N: Let me know if you want added to the tag list. Oh! And I have a face!claim for Mackenzie - Here.

The Shelby Company proposals sat on her desk. Mac had spent the last several hours reading through them, highlighting, earmarking, and making notes as she went along. If all of their business dealings were as well put together as the proposals presented to her, then she understood why they were as successful as they were. Of course, intimidation, bribes, and extortion probably didn't hurt their bottom line either. She’d spent most of the weekend thinking about Tommy. After their date, he’d dropped her off and she’d used the paper thin excuse of Sydney being inside to keep him on her doorstep. However it hadn’t kept him from giving her a kiss that nearly melted her resolve and left her horny for the rest of the weekend. She’d been warned that working in security would eventually make her paranoid, but she’d been wary before her career took off. It’s part of why she built the client base she did. What did damage were her personal relationships. As the owner, she wasn’t concerned about missing business with pleasure because it was no ones fucking business, but could create a security concern. Tommy’d asked her out after she’d rejected his business proposal…twice. She couldn’t ignore her instincts.

“Miss Theil?”

She glanced up, startled. Too distracted by her thoughts, she hadn’t heard Katie open her office door. She needed to get a grip.

“You have a walk-in.”

Mac pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is it another fucking Shelby?”

Katie shook her head. “No, but he does say he knows you.”

“‘Course he does.”

Mac closed the contracts and slid them into her top drawer, locking it before sliding the key into her pocket.

“Show him in; hold my calls.”

Kate nodded. Mac glanced at the vase of flowers on the corner of her desk. She’d almost left them at home, but the bright colors brought a smile to her face, and it felt somehow less personal to have them here, as though she could put distance between her and Tommy. The flowers had arrived first thing Saturday morning, hand delivered with a card in his own handwriting.

She had the card in her bedside table. Blushed each time she thought about it.

When the door opened, she stood to round her desk and greet her walk-in. Half way around her desk she froze as she caught sight of the man standing in the doorway.

“Fuck.”

“Ever the professional, Mac.”

“Go to hell.”

“At least offer me a cup of tea.”

Mac crossed her arms against her chest. “Not sure I should be trusted with scalding hot liquid around you, Hank.”

“You threaten all potential clients? It’s a wonder you’ve been successful at all with that attitude of yours.”

“We both know you’re not here to be my client, so what the fuck do you want?”

Hank pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it to her.

“I found this at Rodney’s flat when I went ‘round to check on him. He missed our weekly family dinner. I was concerned.”

“Sure you were,” Mac said as she took the letter. “Boy wouldn’t miss a hand out for anything.”

“Watch your tongue!”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll disinherit me?”

Hank’s jaw tightened.

Wanting him out of her office, she unfolded the paper. Scanning the contents, she saw a series of ideas sketched out, some with lines through them. Then she saw “Peaky Blinders” and “Stronghold - Mac” both circled with a line connecting them. What the hell had Rodney been thinking? Had he been adopted? Glazing up at her uncle, she wished she’d been adopted instead. Sharing blood with these idiots pained her.

Damn Rodney. Damn the Peaky Blinders. Damn Thomas Shelby for getting her into this mess.

“Am I meant to know what this means?”

Her uncle glowered down at her. Growing up, she’d been so intimidated by him. The bespoke suits and imported Italian loafers always reminding her of what she couldn’t have, who she wasn’t allowed to be. Rodney had everything he’d ever wanted, and according to his father and mother, was just shy of sainthood.

“I haven’t spoken with Rodney or any of you since the trial, so I’ve no idea what he’s on about.”

“He’s missing.”

“So go to the police.”

“Do you even care?”

Mac laughed. It was an inappropriate response, but it was also inevitable. “No. I don’t.”

“I’ll take this with me when I go to the police, and then where would you be?”

“That scrap of paper doesn’t mean anything, no matter who you show it to.”

Hank leaned in, pointed a finger at her. “I know you had something to do with this. He wouldn’t just write your name down on a whim. And, business with the likes of the Peaky Blinders? I know you have no sense of propriety, but honestly, known criminals? Even you must have some standards.”

God, she hated that he was sort of right. She knew better than to do business with them. If it hadn’t been for the three of them coming into her office, she wouldn’t have to deal with Hank standing in her office bellowing at her. Why had they dragged her into this? She knew why Rodney did. Little rat could always be counted upon to fuck things up for her by being a complete idiot. But, now she had the Blinders to deal with. She had Tommy and his damn blue eyes and soft lips…and wandering hands to deal with. Maybe it was time for a vacation.

“Not my apartment you found that little slip of paper in, is it? Did it ever even occur to you that it might be your precious Rodney that got himself into a mess? Gambled away his own inheritance, his own fortune…” Mac paused, looked around her office. Met her uncle’s gaze with a hard stare. “I’ve no need of money, or the Peaky Blinders’ business, as you can see. Do use your brain, uncle.”

“Impertinent little bitch.”

As insults went, she gave it a four for the use of impertinent, but it did lack a creative flair.

“Help me find him.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “My, we are desperate.”

“I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“No.”

Hank jerked back as though she’d slapped him. “No?”

“You heard me. I’m not a private investigator, and I’d rather die than take your money.”

She’d rather take a loan from the Peaky Blinders if it came to that level of desperation. Least they’d have the courtesy to kill her if she couldn't pay it back.

“I’ll never understand what happened to my sister. She had such potential. Such poise. Shame you take after your father.”

“Thank the Lord for his mercies.” She never understood the woman Hank described when he spoke about her mother. It was as though they were two different women, and perhaps they were. She tended to think her version was better.

“Mark my words, young lady, one day you’ll look around and regret breaking ties with our family.”

“Wow,” Mac shook her head. “Your memory is something of a wonder. How is it possible to be so wrong all the time? Do you ever tire of it? Best thing mom did was marry my dad and leave you lot in the dust. Talk to some of Rodney’s idiot friends. Check the local pub, see if he’s with one of his whores if you’re really interested in finding him. But, something tells me this is more about you saving face than it is about finding your son. Do tell me how that works out for you, won’t you?”

Mac walked past Hank and opened the door. She gestured for him to leave. He stared at her, face red, hands closed into fists. As he took measured steps towards her, she wondered if he would try to hit her. She doubted it, but then she never thought to see him again and here he was stood in her office.

He opened his mouth as though to speak to her, but with a shake of his head, closed it before striding out the door. Closing it behind his retreating back, Mac rested against it before sliding to the floor, head in her hands. Leave it to family to make encounters with one of the largest criminal enterprises in Great Britain seem manageable by comparison.

Fuck.

She’d told her uncle to go to the police. With information about the Peaky Blinders. And Stronghold. And a connection between them.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.

Just because there wasn’t a connection now, didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one. She hadn’t made a decision about doing business with them, not really at least. And if Rodney was missing or…more than missing, it would just make things so much messier because the police wouldn’t care about the details. It could blow up before the truth came out, and the timing was suspect.

Standing to her feet, Mac walked out of her office. Katie sat behind her desk, and glanced up with a surprised smile on her face.

“Miss Theil?”

“I think this is a stupid question, but did we get any intake information when any of the Shelby’s or Michael Gray came to visit me?”

Katie’s brow furrowed as she looked down at her desk and began sorting through the stack of papers there.

“Not from the Shelby’s, but Michael Gray did leave a contact number for when you’d finished looking over the contract he brought.”

“Fantastic.”

Katie handed Mac a post-it with Michael’s number on it. With a wave and a ‘thanks’ thrown over her shoulder, Mac walked into her office. Shutting the door behind her, she glanced down at it. Perhaps it was time to upgrade, to install a door with a lock, and a bolt. Given the type of people who kept finding their way into her office, it might be inevitable.

She dialed the number in her hand, listening to it ring through. Why were her hands shaking? She hadn’t done anything. This was exactly why she avoided business with dangerous men, or even with less dangerous but powerful men. Too much risk. Too much threat.

“‘lo?”

“Hi, Michael? This is Mac with Stronghold.”

“Hello, sweetheart. Have a chance to look over our proposals did you?”

Mac rolled her eyes, both at the nickname, and at the smug tone of voice he used. “I did. You and Mister Shelby put together a very tempting proposal.”

“Mister Shelby is it? Thought the date went well from the mood he’s been in.”

“This is business. And, that’s not what I’m calling about. I’ve had a visit from my uncle, and we should talk. Can you and Mister Shelby meet with me?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. When he spoke again, the laughter was gone from his voice.

“Yes or no, Mac. Are you alone?”

“Yes?” What was he playing at? She didn’t like the change to his voice.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Has somethin’ happened?”

“Michael, it’s fine. We exchanged angry words, nothing more.”

“Car’s on its way. Lad’s name is Isaiah. He’ll bring you to us, alright?”

“Michael, honestly. I don’t have time now. I thought we could just put something on the calendar.”

“Just get downstairs. Car should be there.”

“This isn’t another home invasion, alright? I’m fine.”

“Tommy’ll be the judge of that, yeah?

Mac rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Oh my god are you following me again? Still? I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him, you know.”

“Not until you get in the car.”

“Damnit, Michael. Is all this necessary?”

Before he could answer, she saw the car when she reached the front door, a young man with the same peaked cap she’d seen the others wear stood next to a two-door, slate gray Bentley.

“See him.”

“Ask him ‘bout a bird.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

Mac rolled her eyes, but looked up at the young man who smiled at her. “I’m meant to ask you about a bird?”

“Hummin’ bird, ma’am.”

“That’s him,” Michael said.

“You’re utterly ridiculous. This is stupid, Michael. There’s no reason to bother him. I’m sure he’s busy. Hell, I know, I’m busy.”

“Did you like the flowers? The ones from Tommy?”

The topic caught her off guard, and it took her a moment to respond. “I did. They’re lovely. Look good on my desk.”

“He’ll be glad to ‘ear that.”

The line clicked off and Mac shoved the phone into her bag before sliding into the passenger seat. Isaiah was quiet as he drove through the streets of London. The further away from her office they drove, the angrier she felt about the whole thing. Her uncle was powerful because he was old money, and land and British gentry or whatever. She’d never paid too much attention to any of it, and her mother had rarely spoken about it when she’d been growing up. But, her uncle was also a bit stupid - like his son. Still, they were both mean, petty little things when poked. Now she had Tommy fucking collecting her from the office as though she were at his beck and call.

When the car rolled to a stop, her door opened before she could reach for the handle. Isaiah held a hand out to her before escorting her into a pub. As soon as she entered, Tommy was in front of her. His warm hands cupped her cheeks as he tilted her head up to him.

“Alright?”

Eyes narrowed, she shook out of his hold. “I’m fine. Michael has totally overreacted.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed a bit as he nodded. For this time of day, the pub was empty. Too empty. Glancing around, it looked closed.

“Isaiah, make the lady a G&T.”

Tommy gently nudged Mac into a chair. He leaned against the bar and rolled a cigarette along his lip before lighting it.

“Is Rodney dead?”

She blurted the question before thinking about anything. She supposed it was better than the what the hell am I doing here? she wanted to ask. Isaiah placed the drink in front of her, and she took a large sip before looking back up at Tommy. His eyes had narrowed further, almost suspicious as he gazed down at her.

“Why do you want to know?”

“His father, my uncle, came to the office today. Managed to avoid seeing the man for nearly a decade and he shows up asking questions about Rodney because you decided to loan my halfwit of a cousin money. Now my uncle knows about the Peaky Blinders, knows you came to see me, well, he suspects there’s a connection, don’t know if he knows anything.”

Tommy blew smoke from his lips and Mac wanted to kiss him or slap him. Maybe both. Probably both. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out the piece of paper Hank had brought with him. Holding it out, she waved it until Tommy leaned forward and took it from her fingers.

“Everyone out.”

Mac watched as one by one, everyone filed out the back door, leaving her alone with Tommy. His eyes were still on the piece of paper in his hands. When the room was empty, Tommy looked up. She couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.

“Apparently Rodney missed family dinner, and Hank came round to see what I had to do with it once he found that in Rodney’s flat.”

“Family dinner?”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not welcome, or invited, thank heavens.”

Tommy nodded. “Go on.”

“Came in demanding I help him find his son, as though I give a fuck, then he offered vague threats when I declined. He pissed me off though, so I told him if he was that concerned about his missing son he should just go to the police.”

“The police, eh?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy nodded again. God, she wanted to shake him. See some sort of reaction from him. It was altogether unnerving.

“Figured that’s what a caring parent would do when they suspect something has happened to their beloved son.”

“He’s not dead.”

Mac felt a rush of air through her lungs, but couldn't have told you what exactly she felt at the news. Being alive made things both more and less complicated, as would him being dead. Fucking Rodney. She drained the rest of her drink.

“I don’t know why Michael freaked out. I just didn’t want to meet at the office to talk about all this. My uncle is powerful, but like Rodney he’s a bit of an idiot. But idiots are dangerous in their own way.”

“Can he make trouble for you, this uncle of yours?”

Mac scrunched her face. “Not really. Maybe? Probably? He’s done most of the damage he can do to me. Nothing more for him to take, really, and his lawyers won’t let him go after what’s left because they know mine would win.”

“Why’d he need the money then?”

Mac tilted her head. “Who? Rodney?”

Tommy nodded.

“The fuck should I know? He came to you lot for the money. Shouldn’t that have been a question you asked him?”

He didn’t say anything. Tommy just leaned against the bar, lazily smoking a cigarette. Yet, he made her feel as though she were sat outside the principal’s office waiting for the detention slip and the call home.

“God, you’re infuriating.” Mac stood from the table and closed in on Tommy, stopping with not a foot between them. “Have you forgotten that this whole situation is your fault?” She jabbed her finger at him. “And you’re just going to stand there staring me down like I’ve done something wrong? I didn’t ask for any of this. I’d manage to avoid anything to do with my fucking family for near a decade and in the span of a week you’ve managed to fuck that all up for me. Then you’re going to stand there all imperious and - ”

“Tom,” Arthur stood in the doorway, body leaning around the frame. “We’ve got to go if you want to make your meeting.”

Not taking his eyes away from Mac, Tommy nodded. Arthur glanced at her and offered a smile before ducking back out the way he came. Tommy snubbed out his cigarette before tucking his hands into his pockets. He bent forward a bit so that he loomed a bit over where Mac stood.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

Again, the whiplash of a conversation with this man caught her off guard. “Of course I’m bloody well alright. You lot are the ones making a fuss about things.”

Tommy’s lips twitched as though he were fighting a smile. “Either way, glad it brought you to me.”

“Like getting screamed at do you?”

Tommy pulled his hands from his pockets to place them on Mac’s hips. He hauled her flush against him, forcing her to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

“Like havin’ you in me arms.”

“I’m still upset with you.”

“That’s fine.”

His hands squeezed her gently. Standing this close to him she was once again overwhelmed by the smell of him, the depth of his eyes, the various shades of blue she could see.

“Are you free tonight?”

Mac tilted her head. She was, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to let him off the hook quite so easily.

“I’ll come by ‘round 7.”

“I never said I was free.”

His arms slid up her back, drawing her closer to him. As his fingers sunk into her hair, his lips captured hers. She resisted. For about three entire seconds she resisted the pull she felt. Honestly, there should be a reward for her efforts. Of course, then his tongue swept along her bottom lip and his thumb caught the sensitive spot behind her ear and she melted against him like butter.

“I’ll deal with your uncle,” Tommy whispered as he pulled back a bit.

“Like you did Rodney?”

“That’s not for you to worry about, love.”

“You this insufferable to everyone?”

“Yes.”

She pulled herself from his arms. “This affects me now. Not because I want it to, but because they are my family. And we’ve got a messy, publicly messy, history. I don’t need you mucking about and making it worse. They want nothing more than to find an excuse to destroy me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Right. ‘Course you will. Nothing for me to worry about then because Thomas Shelby’s got it sorted, right?”

She strode towards the door. Tommy getting involved with Hank was a recipe for disaster, and she had to start making plans now. She refused to lose everything she’d worked so hard to build. Fucking Rodney. Part of her wished he were dead. Maybe. Fucking Thomas Shelby and his blue eyes.

A hand on her shoulder caught her just short of the door and she whirled around, nearly colliding with Tommy.

“Fuck off.”

“Calm down, Mackenzie.”

“Don’t.”

He didn’t let go. His hands squeezed into her arms. “Can’t do anything ‘bout you being involved. I can see to it that you’re safe.”

“Fine.” Mac broke out of his hold. “I’m going back to my office. And I’m taking a taxi.”

“Mackenzie - ”

“Not now, Thomas.”

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