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nathanbatemanfucker · 7 months ago

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Sycamore Part 1: Along the Deep

summary: Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest.

pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader (Eclipse)

wc: 2,415

warnings: not sfw/minors dni/18+, strangers to lovers, eventual smut, mentions of canon typical violence, mental health issues (ptsd), addiction mention, food mention, internal angst, pining

an: its good to be back! hoping this series will propel me forward and get me writing more consistently. can't wait to hear yalls thoughts, and as always thank you for reading <3

sycamore masterlist

Santi’s running, headed to a place he’d never dreamed of setting foot in: Alaska. It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling–running is his forte– but this time around he truly feels like a failure. This time, he’s running because it's life or death and with the loss of Tom, Santi finds himself yearning to live. He had to make this grief burrowing in his chest worth something, and he was grateful to do it in the face of a stranger.

Frankie had assured him that you’re calm and collected. But, Santi didn’t know who you were– had never heard of you before this moment. He felt it was fair to have his doubts.

“Who is she?” Santi had asked once they had touched back down in Florida.

“Childhood friend. She served and seen as much as we have. I’known her longer than I’ve known you,” Frankie had explained.

Any of those doubts that lingered in Santi’s mind crumbled and were lost to the wind as he continued driving down the windy Alaskan roads. He’s surrounded by rows upon rows of trees. Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest. Sunlight is endless this time of year and the salty coastal breeze bathes everything it touches.

He knows he’s in the right place once his tires hit gravel. The driveway stretches on a couple miles and he feels his heart rate increasing, palms slick against the leather steering wheel. This isn’t a test, this isn’t something he has to get right. All he has to do is mind his own business, keep his head down– something he does with the people that care so deeply for him day in and day out.

The house comes into view, sand and sea as its backdrop. You are not what Pope expects– neither is the house. You’re sat on the porch swing waiting for him, a book in one hand, a mug in the other. The word that comes to mind isn't one he uses often, but you are distinctly lovely. You look so relaxed, in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair up and framing your face. The house is white and rustic, and the porch wraps around it entirely.

Pope exits the car, treating you to an awkward wave. He doesn’t understand why his knees feel weak, but it could be your intense gaze. You wave back at him with an easy smile. You look welcoming, like a woman waiting for your husband to return home. But he has to remember, he doesn’t have a home anymore, that he hardly knows you even though he already likes everything he knows about you. He’s nothing but a man who bounces from place to place, contract to contract, there isn’t room for him here.

“Need some help?” You call out to him as he heads towards the trunk.

“I’m alright,” He says, not unkindly.

You stay put on the swing, sliding a bookmark between pages to save your spot before you wrap your hands tightly around your mug of tea. He’s more handsome than he was in the pictures, but there’s something in his step, in the way his shoulders slouch that tells you whatever he’s just experienced has changed him.

Frankie wouldn’t tell you much besides that they’d had a big job in South America that had gone awry. They’d lost a friend– a brother, Tom who’d you seen pictures of before. You hadn’t pressed for details knowing that the more you knew the more at risk all of you would be.

But, from the lost look in Santiago’s eyes as he trudges up to the porch, you know it had to be heavy. A loss deeper than he’d ever known.

He holds out a hand to you, words rushing out of his mouth in an unfamiliarly clumsy way, “Santiago. Santi. Or Pope, I don’t know.”

“Santiago. You can call me Eclipse.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly despite the current that seems to follow between the two of you. You brush it off, standing and gesturing towards the house, “Let me show you your room.”

He continues to be surprised by you. The inside of the house is simple, all cream and light wood and house plants with small pops of color. The couch is large and fluffy with a colorful patch quilt on it, taking up most of the living room space. There’s lots of black and white art, even a set of twinkly lights in the kitchen.

You lead him into what seems to be a never-ending hallway, showing him the bathroom he’ll use, where closets are, your room. He notices that you neglect to tell him what’s in the room beside the one he’ll be staying in and the curiosity that’s been bubbling inside him overflows.

“What’s this room?” Santi asks, his voice strangely polite. He doesn’t want to offend you. The only thing he really wants right now is to know more about you. He points to the closed door between the large bathroom and his room for the next two months.

He notices your body stiffening, and for the first time since the two of you have met you look guarded. Secretive. Your eyes are wary as you answer him, “My art studio.”

Santi’s fascinated, you’re even more mysterious now. He’s thrown by how taken he is with you, how his knees feel weak and not from all of the bullshit he’s but him through. This pull he feels is different than usual, complex and genuine. He wants to unravel you, but unlike his usual habits of leaving when it’s all said and done, he would put you back together. He’d be drowning in his fear if he wasn’t so hungry for the knowledge of you.

“The art’s yours?”

Your face warms, but you shrug, brushing off his…wonder. That’s what you identify; he’s marveled by you. “Living up here, I had nothing better to do.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off, not wanting to discuss your art in depth– it isn’t yet what you want to be. Something has always been off, always been missing.

“Are you hungry?” You ask quickly.

“Starving, actually,” He says sheepishly, his mouth pulling up into a soft smile.

So handsome and so broken, you allow yourself to think for just a moment.

“Get settled, I’ll heat up some food for us.”

“Thank you, Eclipse.”

“Of course,” You say easily, like this choice of you inviting him into your home took no thought, no effort. Like you’ve known each other for multiple lifetimes.

As he watches you walk down the hall, he finds himself wishing that to be true.

With plenty of stew in the freezer, you preheat the oven to bake some potatoes. While the stew heats, you prep the potatoes, chopping them into small cubes and coating them with an herb mix. It’ll only take them 20 minutes in the oven, enough time to throw together a fresh salad with vegetables from the garden and warm some rolls.

You hear him shuffling down the hall about 15 minutes later, and when he appears he’s changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You allow yourself a single glance at him as you stir the stew, quickly forcing your eyes away from him, “Drink? I’ve got water, soda, coffee, tea. Matcha.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking a little disappointed, “No beer?”

“I’m sober. 3 years.”

Santi has to force his expression to stay neutral. You’re sober like Fish. He wonders what your vice is, how you made it to this point. It was hard with Frankie, a fight every step of the way but one he’s dedicated to helping win.

“I have ginger beer,” You offer when he stays quiet.

“I’ll take it.”

He can see it clear as day, how good for Frankie you’ve probably been and will continue to be. Frankie may not know it, but you’ve been taking care of him in your own way for a while now. He’s described you to Pope as a younger sister, familia through and through despite losing each other for a while. Santi wonders just for a moment how you’d treat a lover, his eyes roaming your body. The thoughts are whisked away by the crack of a can, and you slide it over to him.

“Thanks,” He croaks, his cheeks warm from his thoughts.

If you notice you don't mention it, quipping back with another soft, “Of course.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, and he takes a seat at the sturdy wooden table. He tries and fails not to watch you move around the kitchen. You’re incredibly graceful, floating around the room as if you’re on a cloud. You get the salad on the table along with some plates in perfect timing; the oven dings just as you turn towards it.

You’re a machine, just like him. Just like Frankie, and Benny and Will. Like Tom was. And yet it seems like it hasn’t plagued you the way it has all of them as you plate up dinner and sit across from him. This little life you’ve built, even if he ‘s just gotten a glance of it seems peaceful. He wonders if he could be whole in a place like this or if that’s just wishful thinking he’ll never verbalize.

“What made you move out here?” He asks softly after several minutes of silence marked by the sound of forks on plates.

“Solitude suits me,” You say simply.

Santi knows that’s not true. With how easily you welcomed a stranger here, the second nature of you fixing him a meal. He doesn’t push, its not his place.

“I guess I’m ruining that for you then.”

“Francisco trusts you. So I trust you.”

Trust, not solitude. You need safety and instead of finding it in people around you, you find it in yourself. Santi sees you a little clearer now– sees that this isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a fortress surrounded by water and sand and sycamores to keep everyone out.

“That’s why you don’t live in town?”

“I can’t– the guns,” You explain gruffly. “I need to know where they are and when they’ll fire or it gets– bad.

Oh.

He gets it. He hasn’t experienced it himself, his body’s still in this flight mode, but he can imagine what happens when it’s been turned off and then triggered. He’s heard the stories, though he files them away in a box in his head, never to be touched again. Or so he thought, until he met you.

In a strange way, you remind him of himself–even with all the work you’ve done he sees you as guarded, though less closed off than he is. Just like him you crave organization, and belonging, though it seems like your versions are much more poetic than his. More than ever, Santi feels like the scraps of belonging he had with his men is out of reach with Tom gone. Everything’s jumbled and off balance, and now they’re left to figure this out again. Like it wasn’t hard enough the first fucking time. But here…it feels like he could start to. Like he could do it properly.

The sun is finally starting to set when you finish dinner, and Santi insists that you stay put and let him clean up. When he gets all the food scraps in a pile you head out to put them in the composter and give the plants one last little sprinkle, though the coastal spray was probably enough. As always you find yourself staring into the abyss of the ocean, eyes captivated by the crash and fall of blue hues.

He watches you through the kitchen window, slowing down his methodical movements so that he can spend more time simply looking. There’s no purpose, no quota he must fill in being here with you unless he truly wants it. And right now the only thing he wants to do is look, and look and look at how beautiful you are.

With the dishes done he follows after you, standing awkwardly on the porch. Santi looks down at his feet, as if the answer to the question in his head rests upon them. But as if you’ve heard his silent steps, you look back at him expectantly and his eyes rise to meet yours. Your mouth raises just a fraction of an inch, he wouldn’t even count it as a smirk, but it pulls the question out of him, “Do you mind if I join you?”

You just beckon him on and his feet move without thought, listening to your siren call. You sink further into the sand as he nears you, burying your feet and resting your head on your knees. et. He kicks his shoes off before joining you, keeping his legs straight as he leans back into his palms. The sand is cool and scratchy against his calloused hands. You stay like that as the minutes go by, the sun sinking further and further into the sky.

It looks half submerged in the ocean, its golden hues reflecting off the dark water, when you finally speak again, “I’m gonna head in but you should stay a while. It’s an experience, watching the sun leave the moon alone.”

He hums noncommittally as you rise to your feet dusting the sand off your body. “Thank you for letting me come here. Especially without Fish.”

“Fish,” You repeat, laughing softly. You hardly even glance at him when you say, “You never have to thank me. Goodnight, Santi.”

Winded, Santi can only nod and you both avoid eye contact as you pass him, the moment already feeling charged enough. He likes it though, being on edge about something other than a mission or objective. Your jury’s still out, but she can’t deny what you’re feeling already.

“Goodnight,” He calls after you once his voice returns.

When you make it to the door you turn to look at him; there’s a pull, an invisible string wound between the two of you. Slowly, you commit this scene to memory so that you can start painting it. You’ve found a muse in him and how long has it been since you’ve painted in color?

He stays there to watch the sun leave the moon, thinking of you the entire time.

> Part 2: Juna's Bloodshed

taglist: @sylviantree, @whatthefish, @marc-spectorr, @mccn-bcys, @toracainz, @xbellaxcarolinax, @reallyrallyauthor, @missdictatorme, @lesbianhotch, @campingwiththecharmings, @veritable-trash, @ivystoryweaver, @iolaussharpe-24, @aria725, @hana-hanako, @kingtwhiddleston, @for-a-longlongtime

#santi garcia #santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #santi garcia x f!reader #santi garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #not sfw #sycamore #arson writes

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 years ago

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trouble with a capital T (tony montana x reader)

summary: (y/n) has an unexpected admirer.

warnings: angst, smut-bit of a size kink? idk u tell me, violence, drugs, abuse, dubcon, blood, swearing, domestic abuse, fluff and a little stalking ig. also tony montana

words: 8.9k

notes: this is toxic asf pls beware when reading it. also reader here is stupid asf for narrative purposes do not be like that irl im begging you. i rly have a concerning taste in men and if someone ever finds this i dont kno any of you <3 enjoy!

There’s this new guy in town who looks like trouble with a capital “T”. Everyone has seen him in person, except (y/n). However, by the stories and theories she hears, the figure of this man becomes even more macabre. Nobody knows his real name. He’s known only as Scarface, which should be an indicator of his perhaps not-so-scary nature, but (y/n) is a bit of a coward, if she’s being honest.

Still, when the girl thinks of him, she likes to imagine he has his own reasons for doing what people say he does. It is a morally questionable service, certainly illegal—considerably inhumane—, yet something inside of her extends this guy the benefit of the doubt. It’s not an uncommon theme in Florida, anyway, selling drugs and whatnot, so perhaps Scarface isn’t of all bad. He is still surely just a man, right? But when she received Elvira’s messages saying there was a shooting in her neighborhood, and that Scarface was arrested for allegedly taking part in it, (y/n) felt a little overwhelmed about her previous considerations. Even if the guy wasn’t the devil like everyone made him to be, he was a criminal. A violent one at that, putting innocent people’s lives in danger, like her friend’s.

She couldn’t go see Elvie that day, but (y/n) told her she’d drop by as soon as possible. Elvira sent some pictures of her neighbor’s window with bullet holes, six of them. The neighbor was a man who lived alone and listened to loud music all day on Sundays. Why anyone would have ordered his death, they had no idea. But then again, (y/n) didn’t really trust men who’d hit on women even after being told “no” a couple of hundred times. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if he was a rapist, or a pedophile, or both. Anything was possible nowadays. The neighbor managed to escape the sniper’s attack and left through the back, anyway, and Elvira said he entered the backyard of her house to protect himself. She was really lucky that by that time, the police had already arrived at the scene and readily took the shooter into custody.

Scarface, according to Elvie’s description, was a short, rustic-looking man. He was white, but sunburned, with a stylish haircut reminiscent of the ‘80s and a shaven face. His eyes were big and dark, with a prominent nose, and there was a scar on his left eye, which obviously earned him the infamous nickname. He walked around with a worn Hawaiian shirt and a white wifebeater under it, the one everybody says he’s always wearing; from the waist down, he had shabby jeans held up by a leather belt and old-fashioned cowboy boots. The kind they used to wear in the Wild West, probably.

The guy was just an almost cartoonish figure, a villain straight out of some children’s TV show. And still, somehow, he was the terror of this city as of lately. Everyone licked his balls in an attempt to spare their own lives. Uselessly, of course, since he didn’t seem to have any real consideration for anyone or anything, except for money. So, it wasn’t exactly a certainty that he wouldn’t kill any of his so-called “friends” downtown, unless they owned something valuable to him—drugs, for instance.

And him being detained now, for the hundredth time that month, wasn’t really a relief, since he would soon be out. Because no one could ever catch him in the act—he was a professional, after all—, his stay in the precinct’s modest jail was only for a few hours. At most one night. Five hundred, even a thousand dollars in bail—or a bribe, in fact—was enough for the sheriff to release him with a faithful promise he would see Scarface again the following week. And it was no sooner said than done.

Nobody knew where he lived. There were rumors his home was in the neighborhood next to (y/n)’s, but it was never confirmed. It also wouldn’t make any difference to know where his residence was. Again: the guy was a professional. Even the mayor licked the floor he walked. But Scarface also had his enemies, obviously. On her block alone there were four or five men who would kill him in broad daylight with their bare hands, if given the chance. She didn’t know the story very well, but it obviously had something to do with settling scores. It always did.

Scarface, the cowboy-boots and burnt-skin, revolver-stuck-to-spine and walk-of-an-insufferable-bastard Scarface, was the greatest example of how the universe does not give any tips. The divine does not send signs. And when it does, it’s a bullet in the head, right in the middle of your eyebrows. Scarface is the universal clue of at least three people a week, but no one recognizes him as such. They’d rather bow to his feet, fearing for their lives, as if the devil had any sympathy in him in the first place. It was a funny paradox. Furthermore, the universe is also a sneaky son of a bitch. So, of course her brother would get into some trouble and end up in jail. And of course he would ask (y/n) to save his ass as she often did.

She quickly turned around the way she was making to the supermarket and parked in front of the station, luckily only a few blocks away from her destination. The girl entered the room in silence and wrinkled her nose slightly at the strong smell of pee and cigarettes coming from the back, where the small jail was. In the waiting room, there were only two men sitting with their heads down and a guard in front of the hallway that led to the detainees.

(y/n) went to talk to the guard and before disappearing, he told her to wait right there. She took a sit as far away from the two ominous-looking men as possible and pretended to be fiddling with her phone. In fact, she was distressed. Despite Manny being known for his little transgressions, he’d never been arrested before, so she had also never been to a police station up until that point. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her fingers were trembling slightly.

The guard finally returned and she let out a sigh of relief. He handed her some paperwork to fill and she paid the bail in silence. While she gave him her signature, loud voices and laughter could be heard approaching in the hallway next to the waiting room. The laughter was undeniably masculine, a deep voice reverberating through the walls of the quiet police station. (y/n) held her breath as her eyes landed on brown shoes touching the floor. She didn’t dare look up and quickly finished signing the papers, going back to her chair while the guard went to get Manny.

She stared down at her phone, her heartbeat speeding up again. The disturbing laughter ceased and the girl heard a rattle of keys followed by another clang. A thick accent thanked someone and (y/n) let out her breath, thinking he was leaving at last, but the heavy boots made their way to the water cooler right next to her. She bit her lip and sighed shakily, still not daring to look up. The way he was standing betrayed the lack of care for his spine, as he was unnecessarily leaning too far back. His loud gulps almost made (y/n) roll her eyes, despite her nervousness. He really looked like he came out of a cartoon with such deliberately theatrical behaviour.

The two men sitting away from her got up at the same time and walked out of the station, leaving just Scarface, another guard who was on the computer, and her. But as she had no luck, a voice called that damn guard and he left them both alone in the waiting room. At that point, (y/n) knew the asshole was just messing around with that glass of water he’d been drinking for the past two minutes. And for that reason, she decided to stand up straight and look at him. There was nothing to fear. She had nothing to do with his drug shenanigans.

The girl was only still hesitant of Scarface maybe trying to do something inappropriate, but she didn’t have time to run when he threw the cup in the trash and sat down on the empty chair right next to her. That man’s sly smile and predatory gaze made her shiver from head to toe. “Mornin’”, he states, his deep voice very close to her ear.

(y/n) turned to look at him and kept her expression solemn. “Morning”, she simply replies, and perhaps it comes out too imposing, because Scarface raises his eyebrows and looks at her with some humor.

“A tough one, huh? Just the way I like it.”

She wants to laugh at his words, but only shakes her head. “Are you fucking serious? You wish....”

“I wish what?”, he grabs her face tightly, forcing her to look at him. (y/n) freezes under his touch and can’t hide her panicked expression. He smiles satisfied and moves closer to her. “Your mama never told you not to talk to strangers, huh?”, she tries to pull away from his grip, but he pushes his fingers harder against her cheeks to the point of hurting. “Answer me.”

“You’re not a stranger, Scarface”, she grins and he lets go of her at last. (y/n) takes a deep breath and clears her throat, checking the time and tucking her phone into her front pocket. Thankfully, Manny’s voice is approaching in the hallway and she gets up, giving the guy a scowl. “I know you think you own this town, but remember you’re still just a guy. Get over yourself.”

“Oh, I know”, Scarface mutters, smirking like she’d just told him a great joke. He stands up and tries to touch her again, but (y/n) manages to avoid it. He then pulls her closer by the waist for a split second, as the guard and her brother appear in that instant. The man lets go of her quickly, and before he leaves, he flashes her a wink, “have a good day, baby.”

She watches angrily as Scarface disappears, caressing her aching face. The girl turns around to find Manny with a sorry expression, and she clenches her jaw. “Let’s go”, it’s all she says, walking out of the station without waiting for him.

♡♡♡

A week after that incident, (y/n) never left the house again. Until today, that is; she only went to her brother’s because he was starting to get a little worried about her confinement. She didn’t think of telling him why she was hiding for protection, because the less her family knew about that crazy drug dealer bothering her, the better.

(y/n) walked out of her car fast so she wouldn’t bump into Scarface on the street by any chance. Although it was pretty unlikely to happen, seeing as he didn’t usually hang out in her neighborhood, but she wouldn’t take any risks. No one besides herself knew what went on in the station and she didn’t intend to tell anyone else. The girl didn’t even know if she should have told anyone in the first place. The guy had this city in his hands. If he wanted to find her, it was a snap of his fingers.

But of course, (y/n) couldn’t run away forever. And the day she decided she’d go to Manny’s without any fear, while she was sitting on the sofa, that damned thick accent came from the front door. She widened her eyes and got up quickly, but when the girl reached the kitchen door, her scared expression met the man’s pleased one. He was smiling at something her brother was saying, however, as soon as he saw her, the mirth on his features was borderline sickening. Still, he visibly tried to play it cool because Manny was there.

(y/n) pretended not to care as she made her way to the bathroom and locked herself there, hands shaking violently. She sent millions of desperate messages to Elvira. The voices continued to chatter excitedly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have Scarface at her brother’s place. Like they were buddies.

Suddenly there was silence and someone knocked on the bathroom door slowly, barely audible. Her heart raced and she felt a lump forming in her throat, eyes watering without warning. Another knock. She put her phone away and slowly opened the door, not knowing what else to do or where else to go. The man’s intimidating presence greeted her and a victorious grin hovered on his lips. (y/n) looked into the living room for Manny, but there was no one. He seemed to have left for some reason, and she felt her world fall apart.

The girl stared back at Scarface and he was now serious, examining her body up and down with no shame. “So you’re family, huh?”, he muses, his terrifying voice making her shiver sharply. She sighed and went to sit back in the couch, accompanied by him, who was leaning against the doorway and still gazed at her without blinking. “When they told me you were Manny’s lil’ sis, I couldn’t believe it, baby! But here you are, I guess that makes him my brother-in-law”, he states, content as a child who solves a puzzle. “He told me you live alone, right? I might pay you a visit someday.”

“Right”, she merely scoffs, attempting her best not to show the shift in her seat hearing his words.

He smiles macabre, moving his index finger from side to side in denial. “You don’t talk to me like that, tigress. Let’s start there”, he looks around, making sure Manny’s still not there, and approaches her. (y/n) instinctively pulls away and he grabs her face just like before, forcing her to glance at him. “You don’t talk to me like that. Got it?” She doesn’t answer and he squeezes her cheeks even more, making her let out a groan of pain. “Got it?”

“Got it”, she spits out, begrudgingly.

(y/n) thinks he’s going to let go, finally, but first he gives her an awkward, aggressive peck on the lips. She instantly shoves him and wipes her mouth to somehow undo that contact. Scarface laughs, “you’re so cute, baby.”

“What are you doing with my...”

Manny arrived as soon as she closed her mouth, readily engaging in another conversation with Scarface while ignoring her presence there. They talk about people and places she knew nothing about, it sounded like a bunch of codes, and she gaped at each sentence they exchanged. How the hell did they know each other? What was that asshole doing with her brother?!

Dinner came and Scarface—his name was never mentioned, for some reason, and she wasn’t about to ask—made a point of sitting next to her, but if Manny noticed their closeness, he didn’t pay any mind. They continued talking through the meal and Manolo chit-chatted (y/n) now and then, forcing her to answer Scarface’s falsely innocent and curious questions about what she was talking about. As if he didn’t already know everything about her life, apparently.

After helping clean the kitchen, (y/n) said goodbye to her brother. Scarface watched them silently from the sofa and she tried to keep her focus on Manny. “I have some stuff to do at home now, gotta go.”

“You going alone? It’s late”, he frowns.

She waves her hand to make light of it. “It’s fine, Manny. It’s a ten minute ride.”

Manolo shakes his head. “Even so, (y/n), you know this neighborhood ain’t safe. I can’t take you home, but Tony can.”

So that’s his name.

Scarface—Tony chimes in, not letting her answer Manny just yet, “c’mon, let’s go. I’ll take you.”

“It is not necessary. I literally drove here!”, the girl huffs, already taking the first step to leave.

Manny stops her before she reaches the door. “No, no. It’s too dangerous here at night, you better go with him. C’mon, you take her, Tony. She’s just a little stubborn.”

(y/n) locks her jaw, but doesn’t say anything.

“I noticed”, Tony mutters tauntingly, giving her an ambiguous look that surely only she saw. The girl took a deep breath and surrendered, waving goodbye to Manny as she walked with Tony to her car. They strolled in silence to the garage and as soon as she opened the door of the vehicle, he pulled out a little plastic bag from his pocket, full of a white powder. He pointed with his chin at it, raising the object. “I just made some business with your brother today, baby, no worries.”

(y/n) stared at him confused, but still didn’t say a word. Manolo was really going down an irreversible path, it seemed, and there was nothing she could do about it. With a heavy heart, she could only get in her car and pray she’d make it home safe that night. Scarface followed her and started driving, shooting her a smile or two over his shoulder. Luckily, it wasn’t long until they parked in front of her building. He turned off the ignition and got out of the car with her, obviously inviting himself in.

Of course.

(y/n)’d been trying for a few seconds to open the stuck gate and Tony notices her suffering, helping her to complete the task. She doesn’t thank him and simply walks into the house, knowing he’s on her tail. His eyes burn into her back, but she tries not to focus on it while starting to unlock the door. She is greeted by her cats rubbing against her heels and she smiles automatically. Forgetting for a brief moment that Scarface is there, the girl takes the smaller one in her arms, hugging and kissing her soft dark fur. When she puts her down, the man is watching her with an amused expression.

Her cheeks tingle and (y/n) makes her way to the kitchen, with Tony still following in silence. She pours herself a glass of water and offers it to him next, which he accepts, still staring at her with the same predatory demeanor. He’s going to try to do something ugly to her, obviously, and she is trying not to think about it, but it’s getting harder and harder. If she screams, no one will hear her. Fortunately or not, she has no neighbor on her floor. She makes a mental list of what objects she can throw at his head to make him pass out like in the movies; a brand new moisturizer that is full; a makeup bag; her favorite pan. If she is quick enough, maybe she can lock him in her room and call the police.

(y/n) snaps out of her thoughts when Tony approaches her behind the counter, while she still holds a glass of water. She is staring at his chest when he calmly takes it from her hands and offers her a smile. She tries to hide her trembling fingers from his vision, but he notices them and takes her palm in his, raising it to her eye level.

“Not so tough now, huh?”, he mocks, making (y/n) bite her own tongue so she doesn’t give him a sharp answer and gets punched because of it. He kisses her fingertips softly, catching her off guard. Tony notices her confused expression and grins again, lowering his face to bring it closer to hers. “What, you think I was gonna keep scaring you off? I’m not that bad, baby.”

“If you say so.” She mutters reflexively, regretting it right away when his dangerous orbs fall on her. She sighs and looks away. “Sorry.”

He nods approvingly. “Good girl.”

There is an old gouache paintbrush she could use to pierce through his neck in case it gets bad. The glass pitcher is over the sink. (y/n) looks at the table and there’s a fork and a spoon. The big knife is in the drawer—

Tony lets go of her hand and walks to her room. She listens to the sound of his wooden soles echoing against the tile floor a little astonished, before following him. She opens the door, which creaks imposingly through the empty, closed house, and her heart skips a beat when she hears the mattress shift, indicating he has settled into her bed.

(y/n) is in front of her window to open it, but before she can do it, his arms wrap around her from behind and pull her away from it. She widens her eyes and tries to pull away, however, the grip tightens. She starts to shake more aggressively and an agonized scream leaves her mouth, causing his hand to slam against it, muffling the sound. She looks desperately at Tony and he’s signaling her to be quiet. Panic takes over her body and she gives up trying to get out of his grip. He seems happy with this decision and removes his palm from her lips, laying her body down on the bed and straddling her, legs wrapping around her waist as his knees sink into the mattress.

Her eyes water and she closes them tightly, waiting for the inevitable. (y/n) remains like this for a few seconds, but nothing happens. She thinks maybe Tony has given up on what he wanted to do, however, when she opens her eyes again, his face is hovering over hers. His brown eyes are scrutinizing the girl minutely, there’s not a single vestige of that villainous smile that lives on his lips. She returns his gaze and they stare at each other in silence. His elbows are propped up against the mattress and his hands are still gripping her arms, holding them in place, but with no force.

(y/n) wants to ask him what he’s doing, but the thought leaves her mind as soon as he takes a gun out of his pants. She screams in desperation, “help! Help! Someone help me!”

“Shhh. Hey, calm down!”, Tony puts his hand over her mouth yet again, holding her down so she’ll stop her kicking. She watches, still horrified, as he places the gun on the chair beside her bed. “I’m not killing you, baby, calm down”, there’s a smirk on his features that makes her stomach turn. “Yet”, he adds, taking his palm away from her trembling lips. (y/n) tries to get up, but he pushes her back down. “I ain’t killing you, but I’m gonna do other things.”

“No, no, please...”

She can’t finish her pleas as his full lips crash onto hers, now in a kiss deeper and less brusque than the peck from earlier. The girl tries to resist at first, but soon her body speaks louder and she ends up giving in to the contact. She lets out an involuntary groan as his rough fingers lift the hem of her shirt, almost like an animal in heat. Damn hormones, she thinks in the back of her mind, not really caring for that much when his fingertips send shivers through her skin.

Tony pulls apart so he can remove her garment, smirking at her bra-covered breasts. She blushes terribly. “You’re so cute, baby.”

He kisses her again and (y/n) reciprocates vehemently this time, wrapping her legs around his waist tightly. His lips trace down her neck and she faintly laughs at the little tickle there, making him lift his face to look at her intently. There’s something different in his eyes, almost adoration, but she can’t finish the thought as he unbuttons her pants and unceremoniously pulls them down, leaving the girl in her underwear.

Tony drops to his knees on the bed and shrugs off his iconic floral shirt and wifebeater. (y/n) can’t help but smile seeing his near-athletic pecs and gets on her knees too, silently volunteering to strip him out of his own pants. He watches closely as she unzips his jeans and unbuttons them, sliding them down his toned thighs. Tony finishes getting rid of the piece and goes back to kissing her neck urgently, leaving more aggressive caresses in place. A chill travels her spine when his member bumps into her stomach and she squeezes his arm reflexively, catching his attention.

“You good?”, he asks, sounding so worried he seems to be another man completely different from the Scarface criminal who’s been with her until now.

She simply nods and lets out another moan as his lips descend to the gap between her breasts, leaving sinuous kisses all the way down. He licks at the sweat accumulated there and kisses her again; a salty, icy kiss. A hand finds her face and trails her cheek lightly, while his tongue invades her mouth shamelessly. His touch is so gentle it looks absolutely nothing like the man who bruised her face twice with his brute strength. Tony gropes down her back and unbuckles her bra, making the girl shiver as he grips her nipple. Soon, he pays attention to them with his mouth and she bites her lip so as not to make too much noise. Still nibbling at the sensitive skin on her breasts, his deft hands slide down her panties and her face heats up violently.

He slips two fingers into her without blinking an eye. (y/n) arches her back and blurts out a high-pitched groan, which had him chuckling, turning her on even more as his thick voice vibrated against her nipple. When his tongue meets her clit, the feeling is indescribably divine. She’s now a carefree mess of moans and ragged breathing. Tony’s hands grip her hips strongly, holding back her unconscious thrusts.

He lifted his face again before she came, his chin visibly wet. “Got protection, baby?”

“No”, she lets out an incredulous laugh. “I never did that, I didn’t have to...”

“Right”, he says thoughtfully, as if just connecting the dots now. Tony fumbles in his pockets and doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, so he looks back at her. “I got nothing on me either.”

“What now?”

They exchange a silent look and he shrugs, getting back on top of her body. “Now I’m pulling out y qué sea lo que Dios quiera.”

(y/n) is going to protest, but Tony takes off his boxers and invades her without warning, causing her to groan in pain. He soon notices her expression and stands statue over the girl, waiting for her to recover. Tears form in her eyes once again and he leaves light kisses on her cheek, trying to calm her down. She smiles softly at the delicate and unexpected gesture. Soon she’s ready and he starts to move, gradually increasing the pace.

The solemn creak of the bed is the only sound besides their gasping breaths and moans she can’t contain. Every now and then his golden chain hits her chin, however it doesn’t hurt, it’s but a little friction. His big hands are squeezing her breasts as he speeds up the movements little by little. (y/n) looks to the side and sees the revolver on the pink chair, the contrast of that scene making her want to laugh. She returns her attention to Tony and he’s got his eyes closed, mouth open, leaving wet kisses all over her cleavage. He’s dripping with sweat, just like her.

He takes her lips again and only then does she return to the moment, losing herself in her own pleasure and letting the orgasm overtake her without precedent. Next up is Tony, who comes with a husky moan and one last kiss. He lets his body slide off hers, pulling out his cock while his cum paints them both. (y/n) kisses his face after the effect of orgasm and he returns the caress, pulling her into a fairly tight hug. She smiles at the contact and lets him hold her there for a few minutes. They’re silent the entire time, until he pulls the sheet from under the pillow to cover them. Tony and her exchange indecipherable, sinuous looks, and that’s when her penny drops. She just had sex with a criminal.

Jesus.

“This shouldn’t have happened”, she say abruptly, sitting up.

Tony also sits down and shrugs. “But it did. So what?”

“So it won’t happen again!”, (y/n) exclaims in annoyance, not caring that this man has a gun and isn’t afraid to use it at all. “You need to go.”

“Already? You just wanna use me and throw me away, huh? Now that’s cold, baby”, she rolls her eyes at his mockery and stares at the wall as he stands beside the bed, his stuff swaying back and forth. “Hey”, he calls, but she doesn’t answer. He then touches her chin and gives her a lingering, incredibly soft peck. She sighs as Tony pulls away and there’s a gentle smile on his face as he puts on his clothes. “You’re cute, (y/n).”

“Thanks”, she timidly blurts out, not really knowing what to say. The girl looks for her underwear and tenses up as she watches him handle his revolver, placing it on his back again.

He notices this. “I ain’t hurting you with that gun, you know? You can relax.”

“Even if you don’t use it against me, it’s still a weapon”, she mutters seriously, turning her back to him so he can buckle her bra.

He does the task and hugs her from behind, kissing her locks. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything with me, baby, not even a weapon.”

She turns to face him, hugging his waist lightly. Tony gets serious all of a sudden and lets out a long breath as he finally releases her. He checks his pocket and fixes his messy hair in the small mirror on top of the dresser. Before leaving, they exchange one last look. None of them says a word. (y/n) watches him disappear behind the gate and looks around the empty house, returning to her room and closing the door. She stares at the completely messed up bed and the sheet painted by drops of blood and sperm, which they shared for a few seconds, now on the floor. Ha.

Trouble with a capital “T”.

♡♡♡

Two weeks after the incident, (y/n) didn’t go to her brother’s house anymore. But Elvira, being such a pain in her ass sometimes, had practically bullied her into going out tonight. She was anxious, it’d been a while since she went out to have fun like this. Her fear of bumping into Tony—Scarface wasn’t exactly as strong as before, for obvious reasons, but she’d still rather not take her chances in finding him again. No matter how good his dick game was, he was a dangerous individual. Better to stay away.

So, for the record; she fucked a hitman and was most likely falling in love with him, maybe even reciprocally, just after he got violent with her several times. Elvie obviously didn’t know about it yet, but what would she do when that time inevitably came? Because (y/n) was going to tell her, no doubt. She couldn’t keep it all to herself forever, hiding it from everyone like it was some sort of crime. Elvira would probably call her crazy and even threaten to lock her up in an asylum, wanting to choke Tony if it was as much as hinted he laid his hand on her. And she wasn’t even wrong for that!

But what about her family? God, if her father knew... He’d go after Tony’s blood. He would simply never look her in the face again, especially since their relationship was already fragile enough because of Manolo. And what of her reputation? All of Miami would talk about this. She’d be the new bitch on the block for sure. No one would respect her, she’d become a joke. Not that she cared about what those people think of her, but it would be nice to stay anonymous. It was safe, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

With a heavy sigh, (y/n) finished getting ready and stared at her reflection, smiling faintly. Perhaps it was best to let those corrosive thoughts for tomorrow’s hangover. She grabbed her bag and locked her apartment, walking down the deserted street. As the club was close to her house, there was no reason for anyone to come and get her, so she’d go alone with no worries. It wasn’t like anyone was going to do anything to her on her quiet neighborhood, anyway, much less on the weekend. Plus, criminals in this town had a schedule and they liked to stick to it. At least the ones who grew up there.

Already approaching the place, she saw Elvira with some of her friends waiting for her in the line. They greeted each other and entered the club, going for a table next to the bar. (y/n) immediately asked for a strong drink to try and calm down her nerves, feeling rather unfit for that environment after such a long time away from it. At the first glass, she felt lighter and smiling, pulling Elvie to the dance floor.

They’re dancing and laughing like idiots when a tall man approaches them. He is moving to the song and calmly smoking a cigarette while he watches the girls, eyes glued to (y/n)’s form in specific. She doesn’t hear a word Elvira is saying over the music as she stares back at the guy, so distracted she accidentally knocks over a waiter’s tray behind her, making a huge mess. (y/n) apologizes quickly and starts clumsily picking things up on the floor, while the mysterious guy crouches down and helps her with it. She smiles shyly and they finish fixing everything in place.

She thanks him softly and turns to go back to her table, but he grabs her arm gently. “In a hurry?”, he questions playfully, an amused smile on his full lips.

She blushes. “Oh, no, I was just…”

He shakes his head. “You’re a little shy, I can see that. Let’s put an end to this shyness now, come with me!”, he walks off, dragging her to the bar. “So, what’s your name?”, he asks, signaling for the bartender to bring them two beers.

“(y/n).”

“Frank, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Their drinks arrive and they make a toast, while she takes a big swig. Frank smiles and pulls her by the waist, taking her by surprise. “Lost your shyness yet?”

“I...”

He attacks her lips before she can finish, leaving a wet, beer-tasting kiss on her mouth. (y/n) has to make a tremendous effort not to drop the beer from her hand, making way for his tongue to explore every corner of her mouth. Frank separates them just to take another sip of his drink and starts kissing her neck. Elvira’s eyes from afar give her a surprised and mischievous look. She flashes her a smug smile, but as soon as she does, her friend’s expression completely shuts down and now it’s one of sheer panic. (y/n) frowns and turns to look at where she’s staring so terrified.

She’s greeted by Tony’s aggressive hands pulling her away from Frank in a sudden movement. He drags her out of the man’s arms, keeping her behind his body. Tony then hits him with his fist. (y/n) widens her eyes with the amount of punches Tony is throwing at Frank and tries to get him off the guy, but he pushes her away. She looks around and people surround them, watching the fight in silence and astonishment, however no one moves a finger to help break it up. Of course. It’s Scarface.

No one would dare stop him.

Frank managed to leave a blow on Tony’s stomach, but he couldn’t dodge another punch to the jaw and fell to the ground, looking dizzy. When she thought Tony would back down and leave it at that, he went over to Frank’s body on the floor and striking him wildly again. She was desperate for help to separate them, but nobody did anything. (y/n) tried to pull Tony away from him and he pushed her once more, only this time she didn’t give up so easily. She grabbed his arm with all the strength of a slightly intoxicated person and made him look at her. The fury in his eyes slowly seemed to soften and he dropped Frank’s semi-conscious body.

Once on his feet, Tony looks around him, menacingly showing his gun tucked into his pants. Everyone scatters like startled ants immediately, without him having to say a word. When they’re alone, he glances at Frank one more time and looks back at (y/n). His anger seems to have returned.

“I wish I done that to you”, he begins, his thick voice making her shiver. She takes a step back, but he grabs her by the neck and pulls her close again. “Lucky for you, I’m doing good lately, baby. So I’m generous, you know? But you both should be fucking dead now.” (y/n)’s hands start to shake and her eyes water instantly at his words, fear taking over her entire body. She tries to free herself from his grip, but he won’t let her. He continues, “you are mine. Ain’t no one touching you but me from now on. Got it?”

“Yes”, she chokes, tears falling down her face uncontrollably.

Tony, however, doesn’t seem to feel any remorse for her deplorable state. Finally his hand lets go of her neck and she takes a deep breath, sobs leaving her throat aggressively. (y/n) gets as far away as possible and before she knows it, she’s running away. He doesn’t come after her, which she mentally thanks. She felt so scared and angry at that moment that she couldn’t think of anything but running, running for her life.

♡♡♡

(y/n) got home and locked the door thoroughly. She isolated in her room and cried herself to sleep. It was dawn when she managed to close her eyes and rest for a few hours, only to be woken up by a loud noise outside the next day. There were loud bangs on the door, nearly knocking it over. Her breath hitched and she made sure to lock the bedroom door. Maybe she could just pretend nobody was home.

Another banging thud, now it sounded like someone jumping on the floor. Then there was yet another furious knocking, this time on the front door. Her stomach turned. A bang on the window echoed in her ears and (y/n) began to cry profusely, sobbing in terror. A crash startled her and her eyes widened seeing the wooden blinds breaking in front of her.

She unlocked the bedroom door in a second and ran behind her apartment, opening the kitchen door as it lead to emergency stairs. Footsteps approached once she managed to get out and run across someone’s yard. She looked for somewhere low enough for her to reach so she could climb, finding a little doghouse in the corner. There wasn’t anybody or anything around, thankfully. However, as soon as she started to take off, big arms grabbed her waist from behind, pulling down her body violently.

She kicked as hard as she could, but Tony wouldn’t let go. He towed her back into her house and locked the kitchen door, dragging her by the arm back to her room. He threw the girl on the bed without any delicacy and looked at her from where he was standing. She continued to cry copiously, all her strength quickly draining away. (y/n) crouched close to the headboard and watched him sit on the far side, studying her in silence.

“Crying ain’t doing you no good, baby.” She turns her face to the wall and he walks in her direction, crawling until he’s next to her. He whispers in her ear, “you can’t win for losing.”

“Shut up!”, she pushes him away, taking Tony by surprise. He looks at her with raised eyebrows, but he doesn’t look annoyed.

He looks pleased.

“C’mon, now”, Tony approaches again, grabbing her chin to make her eyes stay on his. “Now, now you look like the fucking girl I met in that station. Badass baby”, (y/n) tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let her and gives her a forced peck. His stubble scratches her face and she grimaces, dodging and breaking the contact. This seems to irritate him deeply, because in the next second, his palm meets the soft skin of her cheek and the sensation burns. Tony pointed in her direction, warning, “don’t you ever do that again.”

“I do whatever the hell I want”, she spits out, not caring about the consequences at this point.

He gets hold of her neck, glaring. “No. You do what I want, you bitch.”

(y/n) smirks, mockingly. “You think you’re offending me? How cute.”

Tony then slaps her again, this time much harder, and she laughs out loud at his fragile ego. She pulls herself together and faces him again, pretending not to be shaken. Tears have dried under her eyes and she only cracks a half smile, taking in his scowling features. “You men are such a joke, so easy to figure out.”

“Careful, baby”, he says in a warning tone, making her chuckle once more.

“Who do I have to be careful with, you?”, she asks smugly, smacking the hand he lifted to squeeze her neck again. Tony is surprised, although he’s trying really hard not to show it. “You...”, she continues, lightly touching the collar of his shirt. “Who would never hurt me with a gun?”, (y/n) mimics his thick voice. He seems to get annoyed at that and takes her hand away from where it was, which makes her smile victoriously.

Okay, so it’s not so bad having a criminal with a crush on her.

“Shut up”, he orders.

She simply shrugs and brings her face closer to his. Tony places a gentle kiss on her lips and excitement burns inside her as his palm goes straight to her ass, squeezing it. “Hold up, cowboy”, (y/n) mutters, although not really caring about his impatience. “Wanna explain to me what was that about last night?”

“Told you, you’re mine.” He reiterates casually, trying to pull her onto his lap and kiss her, but she doesn’t allow it. Tony frowns again, speaking with a heavy accent, “what is it now?”

“You almost killed the guy”, (y/n) points out. She didn’t want to make him feel remorseful or anything, she knew he just wouldn’t; it was all on her curiosity about the sick psychology in his head. She touches the collar of his shirt again and looks into his eyes, the most sincere she’s been so far, and practically begs, “what do you want from me, Tony?”

Something very similar to confusion runs through his brown orbs, but it’s only for a millisecond, as he looks at her sternly right after. His hands remain promptly by each side of his body, and it makes her a little bit relieved he’s respecting her wishes. It’s a start.

Of what exactly, (y/n)?

“I want you, baby”, he says. His voice doesn’t betray any kind of vulnerability, though his gaze conveys less solemnity than his words. She watches him in silence until her eyes inevitably water. Tony frowns and touches her face quickly, holding her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. “What is it?”

How can he not see? How does he have the courage to even ask what happened? Or are his actions merely impulsive and completely thoughtless, is that it? Does he not know that he was just hurting, hitting her? Does he not know that he was just insulting (y/n) and treating her like a goddamn worthless object? Because the same hands that slapped her cheek minutes ago are now hugging her and stroking her back, as if in an attempt to ease her loud sobs.

She hears his voice in her ear, soothing, kissing her neck lightly. Maybe it’s all a dream, a hallucination in her head as she’s unconscious with this man doing God-knows-what to her. But it is not. His touch is as real as it was the last time, his pleasure intertwining with hers in a magnificent, if improvised, dance. And it’s as real as the first time their lips met, in a sheer display of power and dominance on his part, but which now reminded her only of a caress exchanged between two lovers. A comfort.

“(y/n)...”, his deep voice calls again, however her eyes are glazed over the shattered window in front of her. He lifts her face to look at him and there’s a kind of desperation in his expression, even if it’s held back by pride greater than his own ego, if that’s possible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” She hears herself speak, sort of in reflex, since it was true. She knew deep down he didn’t mean to hurt her. Maybe at first, yes, but then... Following that afternoon, a new chapter of this crazy story began to unfold. And they are entering one more after last night.

“It’s true”, he reenforces, and (y/n) really wishes she had the strength to tell him that it’s okay, she understood, but the truth is that she was tired. Sold out. It had been so long since she had slept or eaten anything and she felt her limbs giving up on supporting her body at any moment. “(y/n)”, Tony insists, yet his voice is already a low sound that becomes more and more distant in her mind.

Soon she doesn’t feel anything anymore.

♡♡♡

The first time (y/n) opens her eyes, everything is blurry. On the second attempt, she notices a figure sitting on the chair beside her bed and a dim light coming from the window. On the third blink, she realized she had probably passed out—for how long was her first question, as the sun outside seemed to point at one or two in the afternoon.

Tony was silently watching her as she positioned herself and felt her head almost explode into a thousand pieces. Her throat was dry, an unparalleled taste of shit in her mouth reminding her she hadn’t even brushed her teeth due to everything that had happened that day since she woke up. A sigh escaped her lips and (y/n) closed her eyes again, giving up on her efforts to sit up against the headboard. She felt so weak. Her fingers were trembling slightly and she was freezing to death, even with the sun at its peak and all the covers over her on the bed. She felt dizziness enveloping her body and thought she was going to faint again, but a large, rough, careful hand touched her arm.

Tony looked hesitant, worried, recluse even. His eyes didn’t leave hers for a second and she felt slightly invaded, undressed as his irises watched over her without blinking. She stared at his palm on her forarm and tried to calm down, although her heart hammered inside her chest. “You didn’t eat anything today, did you?”, he asks, but it’s a rhetorical question.

Tony then leaves her alone, not waiting for an answer, and returns with a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. (y/n) stares at the image in front of her and feels like chukling, but she contains herself. Instead, she sits up with some difficulty as he hands her the meal, returning to his rightful place on the pink chair. She takes a couple of bites and a huge relief rushes through her body as the food reaches her stomach. It had been almost a day since she had anything to eat. She didn’t even know how she didn’t vomit her ass off with all the alcohol she had last night.

The girl sipped the juice as she paid more attention to her surroundings. Tony took care of her while she was unconscious and even cooked. He, the hitman who scared even the most dangerous gangsters in Miami, cooked her a stroganoff and made her an orange juice. It sounded like a scene from a sugary romance movie.

“It’s just a hangover”, she finally speaks up, her throat still a little dry.

“It’s not”, Tony turns around and sits leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at her intently. She gazes at her plate and continues to eat in silence, while he continues, “I’m real sorry, (y/n).” If she hadn’t been so tired, she would have spit out her juice in surprise. (y/n) glanced at him completely horrified, as if he had confessed to an atrocity. Tony stays with the same solemn expression, a little less proud now.

“For what?”, a shiver runs down her legs. She didn’t want to be insistent, but curiosity was killing her inside.

Tony, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered by the question. “For hitting you. And for doing all of that last night.”

“You shouldn’t apologize to me for what you did”, she mutters bitterly.

Tony only shrugs. “I didn’t mean to hit you.” He repeats, and she closes her eyes when all that tangle of feelings hits her chest once more. He reaches over and takes her hand, giving her a pleading look. “I swear I ain’t ever laying a finger on you again, baby. You gotta believe me.”

Her eyes water involuntarily and she holds his hand back firmly, looking at him with a half-broken smile, trying in vain to give him some comfort. “I know”, she begins, voice cracking at the end. “I know, okay? You were angry. I understand.”

Tony scowls and shakes his head. “No. (y/n), that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t...”

“I know. It was wrong, Tony, I know, but you didn’t think straight. And neither did I, actually. It happened, there’s no reason to dwell on it. Everything is fine, really.” She looks into his eyes once more and smiles when he nods after a while, still a little hesitant. The girl brings his hand to her lips and kisses it slowly.

He smiles weakly. “You scared the fuck out of me, you know”, he mumbles, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. “I thought I did something to make you pass out. The fear, I don’t know...”

“That wasn’t it. I’m not afraid of you, Tony”, she assured him, since it wasn’t a total lie. When he was just him, without that domineering, abusive criminal side, she wasn’t afraid of Tony. No longer. (y/n) sighs and finishes her meal, setting her plate on the table beside her, feeling considerably better. “Come here”, she extends her arms to him and Tony goes without blinking, hiding his face in her neck and lying with her on the bed.

She didn’t know exactly what that meant. Having sex with a murderer who only mistreated her already wasn’t so understandable, but having some kind of relationship with him? It sounded pathetic in her mind. It’s not like he would even want anything to do with her besides sex, but she couldn’t believe that as the seconds went by and he kissed her neck so softly, apologizing endlessly for his transgressions, mumbling that he would never hurt her again, that she’d never need to be afraid of him again...

Her head was going to explode.

(y/n) looked down to meet his gaze and stroked his hair, smiling like a lovestruck idiot. She just couldn’t believe this was happening—and somehow she did. Because of course she wouldn’t resist for long. Even when she was shaking like a leaf, still she couldn’t fight his caresses, imagine it now that Tony seems so willing to make up for all his mistakes?

“Antonio...”, he mutters, barely audible, making her frown. He gives her a small smile and kisses her, mumbling against her lips, “my name.”

“Really?”, (y/n) asks in disbelief, since now she was probably the only person in town who got that information, but Tony seemed more than comfortable sharing it with her.

He’s still looking at her with the same little smile on his face. “Really. Why?” He lifts his body to rest on one arm, staring at the girl with some amusement.

She grins and kisses him again, leaving several pecks on his stubble. “For nothing. It’s just a really nice name.”

Her eyebrows dance and he laughs, making her insides melt at the sound of his laughter. It was the first time she heard it and she didn’t want to hear any other sound for the rest of her life. It was such a full 180 from the big, bad Scarface.

(y/n) knew “I want you” was very far from “I love you”, but that knowledge didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat whenever she remembered those words. Besides, even if the latter was the case, it was just never going to be that simple with Tony. She looked at his sparkling brown eyes and let out a deep, dreamy sigh. She was down hard for that dangerous, dangerous man, yet there was nothing but softness inside of her as he held her into his arms. What he did away from her could be as ugly as it came to be, and it still would never compare to how warm she was in his presence—be it for the anger, for the lust or for the comfort he made her feel. So, it was fine. She could handle it.

She’s always been a bit of a troubleshooter, anyways.

#scarface #tony montana #scarface x reader #tony montana x reader #tony montana imagine #al pacino #al pacino x reader

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