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astralaffairs · 4 years ago

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so hear me out- mafia!thom where mc is a spy! working with the rival group or the government (probably run by hamilton) and gets caught? I’m just a simp for e2l~

ok but this prompt is FUN !!!!! ugh the tension

in which thom is a meanie >:( and james isn’t a softie

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��...one of Hamilton’s soldiers. Yeah, we found her down by the docks with a couple others; looked like they were trying to make a hit where we planned our drop.”

“Really? What happened to the others?”

“Got away. She was stationed closest to us, but by the time we got our hands on her, everyone else was starting to split.”

“Some loyalty.”

When Y/N found herself gradually beginning to drift into consciousness, disembodied voices polluting the dank, cold air around her, she found a splitting pain in her head and a dull ache in her shoulders. Cautiously, she cracked an eye open, squinting in the low light as she found herself in some clichéd, nondescript warehouse. Figures.

Her ass was getting sore from the metal folding chair she’d woken up tied to (seriously, they couldn’t have sprung for anything more luxurious?), and the harsh metal of the handcuffs around her wrists was digging into her skin. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out, if only vaguely, two — likely male — figures standing leaned against the wall, chatting about her circumstance as casually as if it were the weather. She sniffled, her nose running in the cold, and she itched to wipe at it. She sniffled harder.

“...She awake?”

“It sounds to me like she is.”

Y/N’s pulse began to accelerate as she heard footsteps echoing across the concrete floor, headed in her direction. She didn’t dare lift her gaze. She searched for any way out of the bind she was in — even if she could pick off the handcuffs, her ankles were tied to each of the chairs’ legs.

“Glad to see you conscious.” The voice was flat, cold as he finally addressed her, and Y/N swallowed hard. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, head still bowed, instead responding with, “Where am I?”

Her tone was gruff, as menacing as she could manage with as small, weak as she felt, but the man who’d addressed her laughed. “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours. Surely, you understand the concept of a quid-pro-quo?”

“You first.” Her glare was burning as she forced herself to look him in the eye, and while the man next to him looked annoyed, he remained entirely undeterred.

“I’m rather surprised that you think yourself in a position to be making demands.”

She scowled. “C’mon, what d’you have left to lose, telling me where we are while I’m your captive? God knows you’re just going to end up moving me, assuming I live that long.”

“A bold assumption,” one of the men said, tone dry and irked, but the man directly in front of Y/N gave him a tired look.

“Aaron,” he warned. “I’ll handle this.”

“Then handle it”

He visibly rolled his eyes as he turned back to Y/N, and the other man (Aaron, apparently), retreated to the outskirts of the expansive room, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“Anyway,” he went on, and Y/N huffed, yanking at the rope binding her arms to the chair. She knew it was futile, but it was more for her discomfort than any genuine attempt to escape. “It seems to me you have even less left to lose than we do. And you must know that we have other, less pleasant means of getting what we want, so it is in your own interest to comply.”

Y/N hesitated a moment — surely, once they’d taken her captive, they’d rooted through her belongings, opened her wallet, screened her for weapons, and checked her ID. Was this just some kind of intimidation technique? A power play? He was unfortunately correct; she didn’t have much to lose.

“My name’s Y/N,” she grumbled, finally. “As though you haven’t already torn through all my documentation.”

“How perceptive of you. Most try a few pseudonyms first.” His smile was serene. “This just might be fun.”

“What might be fun? Torturing and killing me? Throwing my body out to sea?” she bit back, the fury in her gaze never wavering, but he raised an eyebrow.

“What would make you think such a thing?” Mocking offense saturated his voice.

“I know you’re part of Jefferson’s fucking mob.” She yanked at her handcuffs; they clanked loudly against the chair. “I’ve heard about what you do to people.”

“Oh, have you? Thomas will be pleased with our notoriety.” As if on cue, three pairs of footsteps echoed behind Y/N — one of them must have been Aaron’s, as he was suddenly nowhere to be found, but the satisfied smile the man in front of her wore told her that she wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Her eyes widened. Surely, they didn’t bring Jefferson himself to come see her, right? Dealing with captives was grunt work, not the responsibility of a mafia boss. She tugged and picked aggressively at her handcuffs, desperate to find a lock she’d be able to release.

“James.” The voice came from just behind her, a sadistic mirth in the man’s tone as he addressed the man who stood before her (James, apparently). The footsteps stalled at the exact moment Y/N grunted, throwing her shoulders forward with the link of the handcuffs caught on the chair’s edge. To think that she might actually be able to break her hands free was a desperate hope, but the man behind her laughed — not a taunting, mocking laugh, but one that made it clear how genuinely entertaining he was finding her pathetic struggle.

“I gotta say, when you told me you got one of Hamilton’s crew, I didn’t believe you at first.” A chill ran down Y/N’s spine when he circled her, and though she didn’t have any desire to look him in the eye, her curiosity overwhelmed her. When he reached her front, Thomas Jefferson, in the flesh, blood, and magenta business attire, crouched before her, and she swallowed roughly. He still managed to dwarf the chair to which she was tied. “But that mark is unmistakable, huh?”

Her skin burned as his gaze fixed on her neck, where she’d been branded just above her collarbone upon being sworn in as a member of Alexander’s mob. She turned her head away from him.

“She isn’t just any of his soldiers, either.” While James’s voice came from her left, Jefferson didn’t move, watching her with pleased intrigue. “She’s a Hamilton by blood.”

His eyes flashed with delight; his grin widened. “Oh, is she, now?”

With her head turned, Y/N inadvertently met James’s content stare, and though she didn’t waste a moment in tearing her gaze away, Jefferson occupied the remainder of her line of vision. She couldn’t help it when he caught her eye, and she couldn’t seem to look away. The way he watched her was predatory.

James hummed in confirmation. “His sister.”

“No.” His surprise was unmistakable, as was his perverse triumph. When she sneered back at him, he finally drew himself up to his full height, giving a satisfied chuckle. He turned to James. “Where would I be without you?”

“Same place, worse administration.”

“You got that right,” Jefferson said. “Just think about everything we’re gonna be able to do with her. She’s just the leverage we’ve been lookin’ for.”

“We searched her when she arrived, but nothing she had on her person gave us any new information. Her phone was a burner.”

“Normally, I’d call that disappointin’, but,” —Jefferson glanced back at her with a smug smile, if only for a fleeting moment— “we don’t needa dig up any of their communications when we’ve got the primary source all to ourselves.”

“If she’s really a Hamilton, I doubt she’s just going to talk that easily.” A feminine voice came from behind Y/N; she’d assumed Jefferson had entered flanked only by men. “Don’t get overconfident.”

“‘Course not, Maria. I know the limits of my own strength.” Y/N resisted rolling her eyes. “But I can tell she’s gonna be fun to break.”

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut; she wasn’t sure if she was more disgusted by the words they were saying or by how they were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there to listen. Maria scoffed. “Be careful. We need her responsive if we’re going to use her as bait.”

“Please. Bait’s thinkin’ too short-term. We can do a whole lot more with her than that.”

“Seriously? But if we keep her around—”

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Y/N cut them off forcefully, looking up unabashedly with rage in her gaze. No one seemed so much as taken aback by it, hardly reacting to her outburst, and Jefferson met her eyes with an entertained smile, taking a step toward her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, we know.” As he leaned down, Y/N could feel him looming over her, and any of her confidence in her actions was leveled. He hooked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and she grit her teeth.

“No one’s forgettin’ about you, here. After all, you’re the guest of honor,” he cooed, and his soft, condescending tone made her skin crawl. When she tried to jerk away from his touch, he gripped her chin. “And such a pretty little thing, too. ‘S a shame you’re a Hamilton, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind havin’ you all to myself.”

“Get your hands off me,” she snarled, and he laughed.

“You’re adorable, actin’ as though I’m gonna listen to a word you say.” He plastered on a pout, and she was shaking when he reached up to cup her cheek, run his thumb across her bottom lip. “Y’know, it’d do you well to learn who’s in charge here. As of today, I own you, and you’re lucky I like a challenge.”

“You don’t own shit,” she spat, but her voice trembled, and he raised an eyebrow. She could feel her eyes welling up. “My family’s coming for me. And when they do, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Now, don’t tell me you really think that?” Mocking pity saturated his voice, and when Y/N only stared back at him blankly, he went on, “Nobody’s comin’ for you. If they really cared about you, they wouldn’t have fled so easy at the docks at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn’t have abandoned you there.”

“Excuse me?” was all she managed to say in a shaky, breathy whisper. He nodded sympathetically.

“That’s right. I know all about how your family left you for dead.” Her eyes stung when the first tear rolled down her cheek, and Jefferson brushed it away. Despite his contrived pout, satisfaction shone in his eyes. “Aw, no need to cry. ‘M sure all that hurts to hear, but you’re with us now. Your family’s the least of your worries.”

“I fucking swear,” she said, and despite the determined look she wore, her tears were now falling freely, “I swear, no matter what you do to me in here, I’m not going to break. I’m not going to let you break me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no need to be scared. I have every confidence in you,” he assured her, “but I don’t intend to try and break you.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed, and he smiled.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” He leaned in closer to her, and as he eyed her expression, he smoothed a piece of her hair back, wiped the tears from under her eyes. “And you don’t have to be. If you can be a good, obedient little girl and behave yourself, I think you’ll be surprised at just how gentle we can be.”

“And if I don’t?”

"You will.” The words were spoken with a degree of authority that sent chills down her spine; he spoke as though this were an inexorable truth. “I’m not gonna have to break you, and I won’t bother to try. You’re gonna give in to me all on your own, and it’s gonna be so much sweeter that way.”

“You’re delusional,” she seethed, and the smile that split his expression was wide, confident, but above all, unsettling.

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, he finally pulled back from her, looking beyond smug as he redirected his focus to the group, but he quickly adopted a harsh tone. “James, Aaron,” he barked, nodding toward the chair she was bound to. He caught her eye one final time, and while panic flashed in her gaze, he was beyond satisfied. “Set up a room for our guest. Looks like she’s here to stay.”

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robronsecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Scarlet and Emerald

A Robron Hogwarts!AU for @nvrtickleadragon

Aaron wriggles his feet, trying to get some feeling back into his cold toes. His breath is rising in soft clouds over the top of his thick red scarf as he huffs out little sighs. His position on the stone steps of the Astronomy tower gives him shelter from the swirling snowstorm outside, but the room does little to stop the icy wind whistling through, the air bitter against his exposed cheeks and fingers.

That’s not where Aaron’s mind is though, because he can still feel the flickers of irritation flaring inside. Ross bloody Barton had been shooting his mouth off over dinner in the Great Hall, rubbing salt into his and Adam’s wounds after the defeat the Slytherin quidditch team had inflicted on Gryffindor the previous weekend. Adam had been knocked out by a nasty bludger ten minutes into the game, leaving them reliant on their reserve seeker who couldn’t even catch a cold. It didn’t matter how many goals Aaron and his fellow chasers scored, they had no chance of catching the elusive snitch.

Ross and the other Slytherins had started the moment Aaron, Adam, and the rest of the team had traipsed into the hall after a late running practice – freezing cold, wet, and starving hungry. Ross had thrown himself off the bench in a poor imitation of Adam falling from his broom, amid howls of laughter from his housemates, causing Aaron to have to drag his best mate away toward their table to avoid a fight.

“Leave it! They int worth it.” Aaron had told Adam, pushing him down onto the bench and shoving a goblet of pumpkin juice into his hand.

Aaron had hoped that would be the end of it when the Slytherins left the hall, but no such luck. As Aaron and Adam tried to head back to the dormitory, they found their rivals gathered on the main staircase.

“Oi Dingle! You want a hand carrying your buddy up to the hospital wing? He looks a bit peaky.” Ross yelled as soon as he saw them approaching.

“I’d retire him for the whole season. He obviously doesn’t have the stomach for it.” Chrissie White said snidely from behind Ross, flicking her glossy dark hair back as she laughed with her sister.

“Move.” Aaron said to the group blocking their path.

“Or what?” Ross goaded, standing right in front of Aaron, chest puffed out aggressively.

“McGonagall.” Said a voice from the back of the Slytherin pack that hadn’t spoken until then, quiet and even, almost bored sounding. Aaron would know that voice anywhere – Robert Sugden. Up until he’d spoke he’d been perched on the step behind his friends, his face impassive and apparently unconcerned about the confrontation.

As Aaron turned to look over his shoulder, he spotted Professor McGonagall exiting the Great Hall with Professor Sprout, which was the Slytherin’s cue to disperse away towards the dungeons, not stupid enough to pick a fight in front of the two teachers.

“C’mon” Adam muttered, his face red and angry.

But Aaron couldn’t help watching the Slytherins’ retreat, his eyes following a head of carefully styled blond hair. Just for a second, Robert’s head seemed to twitch back in their direction, but then he turned a corner and disappeared.

“Aaron, get a move on!” Adam huffed from half-way up the stairs, and Aaron was forced to jog to catch him up.

–

Adam had gone straight up to the boys’ dormitory in a foul mood, and Aaron knew it was best to let him sleep off his annoyance. But with nothing to do except Potions homework, Aaron decided instead to throw on his cloak and head up to the Astronomy tower.

It was somewhere that Aaron had discovered in First Year was a great place to relax and think. It might be freezing cold, but at least it was quiet. This time though, he couldn’t stop his thoughts straying to a certain blond Slytherin.

Everyone knew the name Robert Sugden. He came from a long line of respected Aurors, all of whom had a reputation for being outspoken against the Dark Arts, strong and brave and passionate – Gryffindors to their core – all except for Robert.

Aaron still remembers the day their year was sorted under the sky of floating candles, he can recall the rest of the raucous Dingles hammering on the Gryffindor table as they welcomed him in with them. But he also remembers the ripples of shock and gossip that had erupted when the Sorting Hat declared a member of the famous Sugden family a Slytherin.

Aaron is so lost in the memory and the howl of the wind, that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, so he jumps a mile when he feels two arms snake around his neck.

“Shit! You idiot, you scared the hell out of me.” Aaron yells, his heart-rate still thundering at the shock.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Comes the amused drawl from behind him, a warm breath behind his ear sending tingles down his back. “I hoped you’d be here.”

That voice is no longer cold and dismissive, but warm and full of humour and affection, and Aaron can’t resist turning in his spot on the step to pull Robert in to sit next to him, tugging on his boyfriend’s scarf as his cold, chapped lips search for a kiss.

Robert’s hand snakes up to cup Aaron’s red raw cheek as they kiss, and lets it linger there when he pulls back, their misty breaths mingling.

“Sorry about earlier.” Robert mutters eventually. “I told Ross he was being a prat, but you know…”

“Mhmm.” Aaron hums, pecking Robert on the lips again to show that he understands, because he does. Aaron knows that Robert can’t be too openly sympathetic to Aaron, because of their houses, their status, and the secrecy with which their relationship is shrouded. The supposedly straight pureblood Slytherin and the out, mixed-blood Gryffindor. They both knew they made an odd couple.

“I wish you didn’t have to go home for Christmas.” Robert says quietly, resting his head on Aaron’s shoulder.

“So do I. But you know what my lot are like… they’d want to know why.” Aaron repeats back automatically. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation, but he still feels a pang of guilt every time. Robert, unlike Aaron, is staying at Hogwarts while most of the other students are reunited with their families.

Aaron knows that it’s a sore point for Robert, that he doesn’t feel comfortable going home to his family. He knows about his grief over the loss of his mother, and the animosity with his brother – Gryffindor’s popular head-boy Andy. The truth of what Jack Sugden did to his son when he caught him kissing the young muggle-born lad next door was a secret that Aaron guarded as vociferously as Robert did. Their long hours spent cuddled away in small corners of the castle and its grounds meant that Aaron knew Robert better than anyone – maybe even Robert himself.

“I’ll try and get back a few days early.” Aaron says, determined to try and lift Robert’s mood. “I’ll tell my family that we’ve got extra Quidditch practice or summat.”

The soft affection in Robert’s eyes, as he lifts his head and reaches for Aaron’s hand more than makes up for any missed family time.

“I’d love that.” Robert says, before grimacing. “Your hands are like ice!”

Robert reaches into his cloak pocket, pulling out a pair of thick, green and silver knitted gloves. He slides them carefully onto Aaron’s almost-blue fingers, his own warmer digits brushing gently over the delicate, scarred skin of Aaron’s wrist as he tucks them under his sleeve, kind and reverent.

“Thanks.” Aaron says.

“I can’t stay much longer, I promised Vic I’d meet her in the library to give her a hand with her Charms essay.” Robert says apologetically, but Aaron just waves the comment off.

Most people would never know it, but Aaron knew that Robert was incredibly loving and protective with his little sister, the little second year Gryffindor with a sweet disposition. Vic also happened to be the only person who knew about his and Robert’s relationship, after she arrived early for one of their study sessions and caught them snogging in the Restricted Section. Unlike the rest of her family, she was always supportive of Robert and would regularly carry messages from Robert to Aaron in the Gryffindor Common Room when they were arranging to meet, so Aaron wouldn’t begrudge his boyfriend spending time with her before she returned home for Christmas without him.

“You’re gonna love the present I’ve got you though.” Robert teases, breaking through Aaron’s musings.

“Tell me!”

“Nope.” Robert grins, popping his P. “If you want to know, you’ll have to hurry back to me.”

“I don’t need any encouragement for that, believe me.” Aaron says, realising too late that his voice had missed the blasé tone he was going for, and had landed somewhere between sentimental and downright soppy.

The green of Robert’s scarf makes the flecks of colour in his eyes seem brighter as Aaron pulls him in for one last kiss.

It takes another five minutes before Robert is eventually able to tear himself away to head to the library, but not before calling back over his shoulder.

“Get back to the Common Room. Hypothermia isn’t a good look on you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow before I leave.” Aaron tosses back, ignoring the jibe entirely.

“Merry Christmas Aaron. I love you.”

“You too.”

–

It’s only as Aaron approaches the portrait of the Fat Lady that he remembers he’s still wearing Robert’s green and silver gloves. He pulls them off, and shoves them deep into his cloak pockets so nobody can see them.

Aaron already knows that he has no intention of giving them back.

#robron #robron fanfiction #aaron x robert #emmerdale

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