#i drew disgust too but I still needa find a way to get her right in my style

[cheesebrackers]

[astralaffairs]

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

-------

“...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.”