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ama0310 · 1 year ago

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The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finnick Odair, right?”

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.”

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning.

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?”

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.”

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her.

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss, I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.”

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?”

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened.

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?”

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her.

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.”

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.”

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.”

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago.

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were. She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features.

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1.

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?”

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?”

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.”

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.”

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?”

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.”

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.”

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo.

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth.

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable “With secrets”

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile.

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.”

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?”

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.”

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl.

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

#president snow #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #the hunger games #capitol #coriolanus snow #finnick odair imagine

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 8 months ago

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Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots.

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs.

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you.

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!”

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!”

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss.

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?”

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.”

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons.

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you.

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?”

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?”

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.”

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks.

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.”

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers.

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says.

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again.

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys.

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history.

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass.

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.”

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?”

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains.

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.”

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink.

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.”

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles. “I see not with you,” he replies.

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.”

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.”

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots.

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.”

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.”

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.”

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.”

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message:

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.”

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #cowboy gojo #cowboy geto #satosugu #satoru gojo x black!reader #suguru geto x black!reader #cowboy!au #cowboy!geto #cowboy!gojo #poly smut #poly love #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn romance

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barefoothighlander · 2 years ago

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call of duty masterlist

-my requests are open if you have any asks!

-this blog is 18+, mdni, if i notice you’re an underage or ageless blog i will block you

-all posts will have individual warnings, smut indicated with a *

-taglist form

simon ‘ghost’ riley

absolution (18+) masterlist

summary: you're a sniper and hostage negotiations specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. one night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

spillways (18+) masterlist

summary: you joined the 141 a year ago, your file is completely redacted and no one knows anything about you, other than your code name, ‘phoenix’. you keep to yourself but have caught the eye of ghost, who seems intrigued by your presence and is determined to find out who you are behind the mask you put up.

mary on a cross (18+) masterlist

summary: you've recently moved to manchester, while looking for jobs you come across a run-down pub looking for bartenders. upon meeting its owner simon, you find out there's more to him than meets the eye. mercenary/vigilante au

the vow (18+) masterlist

summary: you’re betrothed to the future king of Guilder and a fearsome knight is assigned to protect you. medieval au

mini series

never going back again (18+) masterlist

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

cards on the table (18+) + soap

summary: ghost and soap place a bet on who can sleep with you first

septem peccata mortalia (18+) masterlist

summary: a collection of oneshots based on the seven deadly sins

pick and go (18+) masterlist

summary: you work as an athletic trainer for the manchester rugby team and accidentally sleep with one of their players rugby au

call me little sunshine (18+) masterlist

summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood. dark themes

one shots

two birds

everlong

fear of the dark*

something sweet

cherry*

hysteria*

sweet creature

snake mountain blues* (cowboy au)

requests

epiphany

the very first night*

no more tears

forever

in the night

delicate

duality part 2 part 3*

sick day part 2

reaper

threesome (+ könig)*

monster!ghost (+ könig)

angel on my shoulder

mask kink

faked o*

protective!ghost*

jealous!ghost*

sub!ghost*

readers crush on ghost

ghost & cats (gn!reader)

headcanons

ghost x sunshine wife!reader hc

ghosts corruption kink*

ghosts office*

lieutenant ghost*

ghosts breeding kink*

ghosts tongue piercing*

jealous!ghost*

ghost x touched starved so

141 oneshots & headcanons

141 x fem!reader*

141 and calling them daddy

141 x adhd!reader

price x recruit!reader*

under prices desk*

price x adhd!reader

prices superiority kink*

price x noisy!wife*

gaz x sunshine wife!reader hc

homecoming (könig x wife!reader)*

sharp shooter (könig x fem!reader)*

ser schön (könig x gn!reader)*

könig x sunshine wife!reader hc

graves x enemy!reader*

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critical-birb · 22 days ago

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Even MORE Age of Calamity things I find funny:

-The Goron/Rito/Gerudo/Zora and Hylian armies all being identical clones for graphical reasons.

-Master Koga having a stress bar that fills up when he gets hit, and if it reaches full he just lays on the ground and kicks and cries like a toddler. The only two ways to prevent this from happening are eating a banana or SHOOTING A DEADLY LAZER FROM YOUR FACE.

-When Koga uses the stasis rune on the sheika slate, he accidently freezes himself instead of the enemy and the Yiga clan beat the shit out of him so he'll go flying into the enemy at high speeds when he's unfrozen.

-The SHEER amount of times Revali says the words "Finally, it is time to show everyone our true power" in cutscenes. Like. My guy. Its been like seven times now. Still waiting.

-The fucking mission where you're in the middle of a war and have to defete the malice hinnox, guardian, talus, as well as the ice/fire/electric moblins - only for Zelda's cutscene being like "...No!!!!! The BLOOD MOON!!!!! THEY'RE BACK!" and for you to immediatly have to fight them all over again akskdjfjfjf. As hilarious as it is frustrating.

-all the characters complimenting one another when they win. Very wholesome. Also them asking for help when they're in trouble. Except Revali who is frequently like "I'm a busy bird - but I supose I can help you if I must" and "I didn't need your help but I supose it's fine you were here."

-Yunobos weapon being a rock roast. Riju's weapon being a hair tie?? What even are the weapons in this game seriously.

-The batshit wild combo moves. Revali's fire tornado, Mipha's mega orb of water drowning bokoblins left right and center and Sidon's mega shark, Literally everything Urbosa does. Then the goofy ones like Koga being picked up by Yiga dudes and carried around and Riju summoning her soldiers to smack people for her.

-Goddess mode Zelda. Babe just floating around glowing like an angel while absolutely obliterating enemies with vibes alone.

-King Rhoams special move being.....changing clothes to look like a wood cutter. Apparently he liked to disguise himself as a mysterious old man even before he died. This also does absolutely nothing in terms of fighting advantages. He literally just changes clothes.

#legend of zelda #age of calamity

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Bad Day at Black Rock | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: panic attack/PTSD, recovering from a sexual assault (HEED THESE WARNINGS ESPECIALLY FOR THIS CHAPTER), canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 6673

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s a demon, and you didn’t gank her?!”

Sam had just finished telling you and Dean about this Ruby girl he’d met.

“No, (Y/N), I mean, she seemed pretty helpful on the Seven Deadlies case.”

“Wait, she’s the blonde chick?!” you realized. “Why the fuck would a demon help me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “That’s what I’m trying to understand, too. And if she helped us then, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have at least listened to what she had to say.”

“Because ‘demon,’ that's why,” Dean snapped angrily. “I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!”

“No one was chatting, Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?”

“Because she said she might be able to help us out!”

“With what, though, Sam,” you chimed in. “You’ve never said how she’s supposed to be able to help us. Or with what.”

“She told me she could help Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean seemed to not understand.

“With the crossroads deal, I’m assuming,” you told him.

Sam nodded.

The older brother looked at Sam incredulously. “What is wrong with you, huh? She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is; it's me.” Dean paused for a second. “What else did she say?”

Sam was quiet again.

You and Dean leaned in expectantly. “Dude?” the older brother questioned.

“Nothing. Nothing, Okay?!” Sam snapped. “Look, I'm not an idiot, guys. I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy. We don't know where they are; we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now, yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it.”

“You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed. “Yes I'm fine. Why are you always asking me that?”

You looked between the two brothers when a phone began ringing. You checked your pockets; no buzzing. Sam and Dean’s phones weren’t ringing either.

“Check the glove box, it's Dad's,” Dean suddenly realized.

“Dad’s?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call.”

‘Smart boy,’ you thought.

Sam opened the glove box and found the ringing phone. “Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Casey… No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me—” Sam gestured to you for a pen, which you quickly handed to him— “do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, okay. Go ahead. Right, thanks a lot.” He then hung up and turned to Dean. “Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Outside of Buffalo?”

The older brother shook his head. “No way.”

“Yeah. And someone just broke into it.”

***

“No demons allowed,” Sam noted upon entering his father’s storage container. A large Devil’s Trap was etched into the ground, and two sets of bloody footprints traveled right through it.

“Check this out,” Dean said, stooping to hold up a tripwire. It was attached to a shotgun hidden in a large animal skull.

“Whoever broke in here got tagged,” Sam said.

“I got two sets of boot treads here,” you announced, “looks like it was a two-man job. And Buckshot Boy looks like he kept walking.” You nodded toward the bloody footprint trail leading into the container.

“So, what's the deal?” Sam wondered aloud. “Dad would do work here or something?”

“Living the high life, as usual,” Dean quipped.

The three of you crept around John’s storage locker, and the two brothers chatted about how much of a mystery their father still was to them. You took in the varying types of clutter. To your surprise, the room was filled with old memorabilia; photo albums, a graduation cap and gown you assumed was Sam’s, and a few boxes whose contents were written on the outside of them in a woman’s handwriting you assumed belonged to Mary.

You smiled at a trophy on a shelf nearby. “Check it out,” you said, picking it up and dusting it off. “Sam Winchester, 1995,” you read aloud, “Soccer Division Championship.”

Sam grinned and came over to you. “No way! I can't believe he kept this.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled lopsidedly, “it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy.” He wandered over to another table with a shotgun laid on it. “Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade.” The older brother laughed and pumped the dusty shotgun.

“You made that?” you questioned.

“Not bad, eh?” he grinned excitedly.

“No, not at all,” you giggled. “Damn, dude.” You took the gun from him and inspected it, impressed with Dean’s craftsmanship. He smiled proudly at you.

“Guys, over here,” Sam said. You followed his voice over to a door to a back room. The chain on the door had been cut, and you cautiously made your way inside.

You waved your flashlight around the room to find varying weapons and lockboxes that no doubt held nasty supernatural objects.

“Holy crap. Look at this,” Dean called, “he had land mines. Which they didn't take. Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?”

You took in the lockboxes on the shelf on the far wall. “This is binding magic,” you pointed out. “Curse boxes.”

“Curse boxes?” Dean questioned. “They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the Pandora deal?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object.”

“Well, Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, y'know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up,” Dean added.

“Must be his sulfur-sludge dump,” you joked. You noticed a rectangular-shaped hole in the dust that had settled over the shelf. “Well, they found what they were looking for.”

“Great,” Sam groaned.

“Well, maybe they didn't open it,” Dean suggested optimistically.

“Cute thought, but I’m sure they did,” you replied flippantly. You looked around the exterior of the storage unit for anything that could be of use to you; footprints, tire tracks, and… aha! A security camera.

“That’s helpful,” you noted, pointing up at it.

The boys helped you fish the SD card out of the security camera, and you hooked it up to your computer.

“There, license plate,” you noted. “And now…” you pulled up an alternate tab and copied the license plate number into it. Immediately, pages began scrolling of places the license plate had been seen at. Most recently, an apartment not too far from you.

“Ta-da,” you announced childishly, and the brothers looked at you in shock.

“Jesus, (Y/N), how’d you get access to all this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, y’know,” you smirked, trailing off.

Sam looked at you expectantly.

“Same way any hackers do,” you shrugged. “Had this guy on the hook for a bit when I was, maybe, twenty. Found out he was an FBI agent in the cyber unit— not the brightest of the bunch— and I phished his computer. Of course, as soon as I did, the computer broke and shut down. Told him I was good with computers and could fix it for him, and then, I cut and run. Fixed the laptop up and had access to everything he had access to. Exported it to my laptop, ditched his somewhere in Arizona, and here we are.”

“That is…” Dean trailed off, “incredibly hot.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile.

“Get a room,” Sam mumbled, moving over to the Impala.

***

You and the Winchesters crept into the apartment belonging to the drivers of the stolen Connecticut vehicle, guns drawn. You could hear two men chattering about their poker game, and then you finally burst into the room on Dean’s nod.

“Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!” he commanded.

“He said don’t fucking move!” you ordered, pinning the bandaged, redheaded man to his seat with your gun.

“What is this?” the other man questioned.

“Stop!” Sam demanded.

“Alright, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–”

Sam cut Dean off. “Oh, they did.”

“You opened it?!” Dean grunted. He shoved the dark-haired man against the wall.

“Are you guys cops?!” the man pinned wondered.

“What was in the box?” Dean questioned angrily.

You noticed a rabbit’s foot on the edge of the table. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought.

“Oh, was that it, huh?” Dean laughed coldly. “It was, wasn't it? What is that thing?”

The man used Dean’s distraction to knock the gun out of his hand. When it fell to the floor, it fired, and you had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit in the face by the bullet.

The bullet ricocheted off the radiator and hit Sam’s gun, and he dropped it. The same bullet somehow ricocheted and hit a lamp, breaking it. You dove across the floor, trying to grab Sam’s gun, and the redheaded man pushed Sam down on top of you.

“The fuck, Sam?!”

“Sorry!”

You scrambled toward the redhead, and he backhanded you, somehow knocking you off balance and sending you to the floor. You normally wouldn’t have been so thrown off by such a simple move, but that rabbit’s foot was definitely working its magic.

“Dean, I got it!” Sam announced. You turned around to see him holding the rabbit’s foot.

“Fuck, Sam, no!” you cried upon seeing him holding the cursed object.

The dark-haired man moved forward holding Dean’s favored gun and cocked it in his face. The man pulled the trigger in Sam’s face, but the gun jammed.

‘Thank god.’

A quick scuffle ensued in which the two men opposing you had a bookshelf fall on them and a carpet got wrapped around their ankles and tripped them. Both men knocked themselves out, and Dean laughed triumphantly.

“That was a lucky break!”

“No, not lucky!” you shrieked. “Sam, that’s a rabbit’s foot!”

“Uh, yeah?” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you panicked.

“No, what are you—”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you said, storming out of the apartment and back to the Impala.

“Whoa, whoa, why? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, (Y/N),” Dean countered, catching up to you.

“Because that’s a rabbit’s foot, Dean! A cursed object! Its literal function is to bring bad luck,” you explained.

“How?” Sam asked.

“Once you touch it, you’re marked. Luck’s gonna be on your side.”

“Better buy some lottery tickets then,” Dean chuckled excitedly.

You glared at him. “But if you lose it, you’re fucked. It’ll keep bringing you bad luck till it eventually kills you.”

“Well, I just won’t lose it, then,” Sam tried.

“Everybody loses it, Sam! That’s the whole point!”

The two boys looked slightly shaken; Sam more so than Dean. Dean was laughing all the way to the bank on this one, and he dragged you and Sam to a gas station to get lottery scratch-off tickets. Then, he drove you to a restaurant chain location called Biggerson’s for some dinner.

You sat on the phone with Bobby, the two of you angrily muttering about the insanity of the situation to each other.

“Gotta say, kid,” Bobby started, “was hoping the next time I heard from ya, it’d be on happier terms than this.”

“Trust me, me too,” you sighed. “Do you know of anything that can stop this?”

“I’ll dig around—”

Bobby’s voice in your ear was cut off by Dean triumphantly exclaiming, “twelve-hundred dollars! You just won twelve-hundred dollars!”

You grimaced and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m guessing Sam’s luck’s still good,” Bobby drawled.

“For now, but I don’t know for how much longer.” You got out of the car, suddenly feeling suffocated in the Impala. You paced around, as did Sam, and you watched as he walked over to something glistening under a newspaper on the ground.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Lemme look through my library and make some calls,” Bobby said. “Call me if anything else goes to shit.”

You laughed, and Sam stood up holding a golden watch. He turned to Dean who stood next to you and mouthed something like, “Awesome,” to his brother.

“Will do,” you told the older man on the phone. “Hurry, Bobby.” You hung up as Dean calculated the winnings from the scratch-off tickets he made Sam fill out.

“Oh, man!” Dean grinned. “We’re up fifteen grand!”

You and Sam half-smiled, both feeling unsettled still.

Dean continued to laugh as he walked into the restaurant with you hot on his heels.

“In case you forgot, Dean, we’re still technically fugitives,” you hissed. “If Sam’s luck goes to hell, we could be royally fucked.”

“Don't worry,” Dean said easily. “Bobby 'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. Sam can be Rain Man.”

“Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam whispered. He turned to the man behind the host stand. “Hi, uh, table for three, please.”

The man’s face broke out into a grin, and he hollered, “Congratulations!” An alarm began to sound through the restaurant.

“It's exciting, I know,” Dean quipped.

“You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!” the man announced.

The staff surrounding you began singing and taking photographs while they shoved a giant check into your hands. Balloons fell from the ceiling, and you and Sam would’ve rathered been anywhere else. Dean was ecstatic, though, which you were happy to see. You’d suffer tremendous embarrassment fifty times over just to see him smile. That thought scared you a little bit; how you'd do anything for him. You had a tendency to be an extremist.

You were escorted to your table, and a gorgeous waitress in what was clearly a black bob wig approached your table.

Her coy smile was alluring, but something about her wasn’t sitting right with you. Still, nothing seemed off through the rest of the meal. Sam clacked away on his laptop rattling off bits of lore he was reading on rabbit’s foot Hoodoo magic while you and Dean shared a bowl of ice cream.

“I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's,” Dean commented.

The waitress came back over to your table with a pot of coffee and grinned at Sam. “Can I freshen you up?”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

The waitress poured, still smiling, and spilled some in her flirtatious stupor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Let me mop up here. Sorry about that.” She hurriedly cleaned her mess and left the table, appearing to flirt with Sam over her shoulder even as she left.

“Dude. If you were ever gonna get lucky…” Dean trailed off.

Sam smirked. “Shut up.”

You smacked Dean’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Sam went to pick up his coffee, but he knocked the cup over and spilled it all over himself. Before you could process what was going on, he jumped out of his seat and into a waiter with a full tray. Things went flying through the air as Sam rushed profuse apologies.

“Sam, check your pockets,” you said evenly.

He did, and his hands came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

You and the brothers threw a wad of cash on the table and raced into the parking lot after the waitress. You noticed the black bob wig ditched on the ground a few feet from the door. “I knew it was a wig!”

“What?” Sam asked, turning around to you. He immediately tripped and fell flat on his face.

“Wow! You suck!” Dean laughed, turning back to a groaning Sam.

“Ow,” the younger brother whined while you helped him up. His knees were bloody and raw through his ripped jeans.

“So what, now your luck turns bad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, Dean, I believe I’ve said that,” you remarked, and he glared at you.

“Well, how bad does it get, genius?”

“Really bad. C’mon,” you urged.

“Where we goin’?” Sam asked.

“Back to the two jackwads that got us into this mess,” you said, hopping in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa, who said you could drive?” Dean questioned.

“Me. Don’t be a child,” you said.

***

You broke into the apartment once again to find the brunet man sadly downing a bottle of tequila.

“Oh, man. What do you want?” the man asked.

“Heard about your friend. That's bad luck,” Dean tsked, referring to the death of the redheaded thief.

“Piss off,” the man spat.

“We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman,” Dean continued.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because she just stole it back from us.”

The man laughed.

Sam stepped forward. “Listen man, this is seri—” and then he fell to the floor mid-sentence, pulling a CD player and a shelf down on top of him.

You turned back to help the younger brother up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, smiling awkwardly in thanks for your help.

“I want you to tell us her name,” the older Winchester continued to the man.

“Fuck you,” was the only response he got.

“It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner,” you tried, coming out from behind the couch.

“What?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinkin’ it. I thought you’d be smarter than that,” you challenged. That seemed to get under the man’s skin, so you continued. “That series of unfortunate events that had to happen to kill your partner— like, had you not seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it— that was the rabbit’s foot. If you don’t help us stop this thing, those deaths are on you, my friend.”

The man in front of you looked worried.

“And I gotta tell you, it doesn’t seem you’re cut out for the whole killin’ thing. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you?” you continued to press.

The man shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

***

You left the apartment repeating the woman’s last name over and over in your head. The man told you “Lugosi” was the only name he and his partner were given when they were hired.

You took out your phone and called Bobby.

“Hey, (Y/N), glad you called,” you heard the man say.

“Hey, we got a situation here—”

“I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick,” Bobby continued.

“That’s awesome, thank you, but uh…” you trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase your next words. You decided not to sugarcoat it in the end. “Sam lost the foot.”

“He what?!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. You turned back around to see Sam and Dean trying to use a broken storm grate to get gum off the bottom of Sam’s shoe. You shook your head at their faces when they noticed you; seeming like two little kids caught with their hands in the candy bowl. You returned your focus to your phone call. “Listen, you know anybody by the name ‘Lugosi’? Maybe mid 20’s, super hot, my height—”

“Aw, crap. It’s probably Bela,” Bobby said.

“ Bela Lugosi? That’s cute, but never heard of her,” you replied.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name,” the older man continued. “Crossed paths with her once or twice.”

“How the hell would she know John had the rabbit’s foot? She a hunter?” you questioned.

“Pretty fuckin’ far from a Hunter, but she knows her way around the territory. She's been out of the country,” Bobby explained. “Last I heard, she was in the Middle East someplace.”

“Well, she’s back!” you mock-cheered, exasperated.

“Which means seriously bad luck for you,” the older man added.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” you quipped.

“Well, kid, if it is Bela, at least I might know some folks who know where to find her,” he finished.

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

“Just… look out for those two idjits.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

You sighed and turned back around to see Dean reaching through the storm drain and Sam looking dejected.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I lost my shoe,” the brunet replied sadly.

Your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, and Sam’s head hung low. Dean seemed annoyed and huffed, standing up from the floor.

“C’mon,” the older brother asserted.

***

Bobby did actually have a pretty good lead on Bela; she apparently lived in Queens about two hours away.

“So what are we doing here?” Sam questioned, referencing the motel you’d just gotten a room at.

“You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed,” Dean stated. “And (Y/N), you’re staying with him.”

“What?! Why?” you protested.

“Because Sam actually listens to you when you tell him not to do something. And you’re way more responsible than me,” Dean shrugged simply.

“Fair point,” you sighed. “Knowing you, you’ll touch the stupid rabbit’s foot, though.”

“Pfft, c’mon, it’s me we’re talking about—”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you dryly stated.

Dean glared at you playfully as he walked Sam into a motel room. You followed close behind and peeked out the door to make sure you weren’t followed.

“What am I even supposed to do, Dean?” Sam whined.

“Nothing! Nothing. Come here. I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here—” the older brother pulled a chair into the middle of the room— “and don't move, okay? Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose.” Dean turned to you. “If I’m not back by midnight, take off.”

“What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?” you snickered.

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“Since when?”

“(Y/N)—”

“Okay, okay, fine, I heard you.”

Dean smirked down at you and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said.

You watched him leave, a bit of your heart tugging at being anywhere without him. Your feelings for him were certainly growing stronger, and it frightened you how constantly you needed to be near him.

You turned back to see Sam wrinkle his nose a few times before finally risking a scratch at it.

“Hey! None of that,” you said.

Sam’s sad eyes turned to yours. “This fuckin’ sucks, man,” he sighed.

“I know it does. Kinda the whole point of the rabbit’s foot curse,” you commented.

He ignored your smart remark.

“Found anything on how to break Dean’s deal?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. Did find out something interesting, though.”

“What?’ you asked.

“All my mom’s old contacts? All her old friends, the nurse who delivered me— they’re all dead,” he explained.

“What?!” you shrieked. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?!”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Sam said. “Didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean; he’d go berserk.”

“You know I have to tell him, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, no! Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. You know he’d flip. And, uh, probably more because of the way I got that information than the information itself.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ruby told me.”

“Oh, god.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back.

“C’mon, (Y/N), I mean, I called, and it all checks out. It’s got something to do with me and the demon; I know you recognize that pattern,” Sam tried.

“I do, but I don’t like being constantly stuck in the middle of you and Dean,” you said. “I’m supposed to be Switzerland, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean Switzerland didn’t have information on the two sides, she just didn’t pick one,” he shrugged.

“Sam,” you warned, “You know how I feel about keeping things from Dean.”

“I know, I know, but you wouldn’t necessarily be keeping it from him, you’d be…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase his next words, “fulfilling a promise to me.”

“But I didn’t promise anything,” you argued.

“Please promise me you won’t tell Dean. Not till I’m ready,” Sam begged.

“Sam!”

“(Y/N/N), c’mon. Please, man. Please.”

You stared at Sam for a prolonged moment; you stared intensely and Sam looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes from his chair. You sighed and dropped your head forward. “Fine. But you are gonna promise me that you’ll tell Dean eventually. That’s my one condition.”

Sam nodded. “Deal.”

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam’s chair. “You Winchesters and your secrets.”

“Oh, like you don’t have any,” Sam deadpanned.

You looked up at the television and saw the reflection of your guard uniform and scratched-up face staring back at you. You took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Touché.” You paused for a moment. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do when—” you cut yourself off, tears beginning to well in your throat. You took a deep breath to push them down. “When Dean’s gone?”

Sam shook his head. “(Y/N), no. He’s not gonna—”

“Sam,” you said. “We are trying everything we can. We’re two months into this thing and no closer to saving him than we were on day one. I stopped looking. Not ‘cause I don’t care anymore, but because I’m not gonna send you to Hell just so Dean can live. I mean, Bobby’s been lookin’, too! And he hasn’t found a damn thing. So I just think we have to be real with ourselves.”

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose him,” you said, putting your hand on Sam’s knee to make him look at you and beginning to cry, too. “I don’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But… I’m scared, man. When I lost my family…” you closed your eyes at the memory of some of the awful things you’d done and would never forgive yourself for, “I don’t wanna do that again. And… And I just think that if we kept huntin’ together, we could keep tabs on each other. Make sure the other doesn’t go rogue, y’know?”

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him like that,” Sam spat, disappointed.

“I’m not!” you argued. “But I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, dammit! Dean would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself!”

“Look, we’ve got ten months left. We’ll find something,” Sam continued.

“I hope you’re right, man. I really do,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for the next few hours.

During that time, you took out your journal and wrote. You didn’t usually keep journals when you were done with them as your duffel bag would be filled to the brim with them by now, but you were definitely going to keep this one; especially after Dean was gone.

It was somewhat poetic that the first day you met the boys was the first time you’d written in this particular journal. Its pages were filled with your, at first, disdainful musings about the older Winchester brother and slowly but surely became your attempts at discerning your feelings for him.

You liked to buy quite thick and large journals to have enough room for your drawings and to be able to continue writing in them for months and occasionally years. This was the longest you’d been able to stretch one, though, and you were a little over three-fourths through writing in it.

“I can’t help but wonder what comes next after all this,” you wrote, the pen gliding easily against the page in time with your racing thoughts. “I’ve always been awful about ‘futurecasting’ as Dad called it, but it’s even worse now. Every second I’m with Dean, I can’t help but think about how this is all gonna be over in less than a year. And it’s awful. I wanna be present with him. I just can’t. I don’t want there to be an end to us. I don’t even know if we are anything! He can’t even tell me he loves me.

“And I get it to some extent. ‘I love you’s are hard for him. Fine. I just wish he’d figure out some way to communicate with me that isn’t sex. I mean, the sex is great, but. I don’t know. And just after everything that happened, I’m not feeling great about having sex anyway. And I know it’s upsetting him, even if he won’t say anything; he’d never pressure me, and I know that. And I’m getting better about sex and related things. But it just sucks.

“And I don’t wanna bring any of this up with him and start fights because, as I’m painfully aware, that deadline is getting closer and closer every day. I just want him to be happy with me while he still can be.”

You dropped your pen when the air conditioning unit next to you began to smoke.

“Oh come on, I- I didn't- I wasn't—” Sam whined.

“Just stay put,” you said. You jerked back in surprise when the unit suddenly caught fire. You grabbed the comforter from the bed next to you and began to put the fire out with it. Thankfully, the fire stopped.

“I’m gonna see if I can get someone to fix that for us before your luck kills us both with carbon monoxide poisoning,” you said, starting toward the door.

Suddenly, the door to the motel room burst open. However, it wasn’t Dean who opened it. It was two men. You drew your gun and cocked it, trained on the two men. “Get the fuck out,” you ordered.

“I don’t think so,” said the older-looking man. He almost reminded you of Willem Dafoe, and you mentally pegged that as his name. The other man with a bizarre-looking mustache charged you, and you fired. Somehow, the bullet missed its target despite him being in such close range.

“What the hell, Sam?!” you exclaimed. “Your luck’s rubbin’ off on me!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

The man charging you tried to restrain you in a headlock, but you kicked him squarely between the legs. You jutted your elbow back into his nose simultaneously, and the man dropped you.

Unfortunately for you, though, Sam had been trying to help you by taking on Willem Dafoe. You turned around to see Sam unable to land a punch on the other man’s face. You tried to help him, but Sam ended up punching you across the face, and you were knocked out cold.

***

When you woke up, your arms were bound behind your back, and your legs were taped together as well. The men had laid you on your stomach, and you immediately began to struggle and panic, feeling your current position was too similar to the one you’d been in with the guard.

“Dean! Help me!” you wailed without thinking. Your body was in autopilot as you struggled, and you couldn’t even focus on the men in the room.

“Quit whinin’,” the man with the mustache told you.

You could barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. “Dean!”

“I said shut up!” the man in front of you roared, slapping you across the face.

You couldn’t, though, continuing to flail like a fish out of water.

“Creedy,” the other man said, turning away from Sam and to his accomplice, “shut her up, please.”

“With pleasure.” The man took a rag out of his shirt and shoved it in your mouth, your muffled cries coming out around it.

You vaguely heard Willem Dafoe beating the crap out of Sam while he talked about his mission from “god” to kill Sam. Then, the man drew his gun. His partner was unsettled, too, as you strained harder to get out of your binds.

Suddenly, your saving grace appeared in the doorway. “Dean!” you cried through the gag in your mouth.

Willem Dafoe turned around and aimed the gun point-blank at Sam’s forehead.

“Nope. No destiny,” Dean said coolly referring to the man’s earlier comment about god and destiny leading them to Sam. “Just a rabbit's foot.”

“Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall,” the man replied, his tone ice cold.

Dean waved his Taurus around. “Oh, this thing?”

“Yeah, that thing,” look-alike-Dafoe responded.

“Okay.” Dean put his gun down on the nightstand beside him, looking smug. “But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” Dean smoothly picked up a pen off the nightstand beside the gun.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“It’s my lucky day,” Dean grinned. He tossed the pen toward Willem Dafoe, and it lodged in the barrel of the gun. ““Oh my God, did you see that shot?!”

Forgetting all about your current situation, you started yelling through the gag, “You fucking touched it? You fucking idiot!” But all that came out was a muffled garbling of words.

The man named Creedy lunged at Dean, but missed his punch completely. The man ended up running straight into the wall, and Dafoe was busying himself trying to dislodge the pen from the barrel of his gun.

“I'm amazing,” Dean said smugly. He picked up the television remote and threw it hard at Dafoe. It hit the man square between the eyes, knocking him out cold.

“I’m Batman,” you heard Dean suavely state, but you were too busy returning your focus to getting your binds undone. Now that the immediate danger was over, your body went back into panic mode. You yelped when you suddenly felt a hand on your back and fought even harder.

“Hey, hey!” Dean coaxed. “It’s just me.” He saw you weren’t listening, and he immediately set to work cutting the duct tape binding your legs and wrists. Your hands shakily yanked out the rag in your mouth. Only then did you realize Dean was the one in front of you, and you leapt into his arms.

He caught you easily, one hand around the underside of your back and the other around the topside your legs. You curled up into him and buried your face in his neck.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried, but your shaking wouldn’t stop. You could feel your sobs slowly subside, but it took quite a while of Dean holding you for you to regain your composure. He pressed kisses into the side of your hair while he held you and tried to soothe you by telling you you were safe.

You finally uncurled your legs from around Dean and let him put you down.

Sam came up behind you to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded as you sniffled.

“What happened?” Sam asked in that very unique-to-him soft voice.

“I dunno,” you lied.

Dean gave you a look that let you know he’d be asking more questions later.

“C’mon, we gotta get the hell outta here,” you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel the boys giving you questioning looks as you gathered up yours and the boys’ things and stalked out to the car.

*** “Alright,” Sam began, sprinkling cayenne pepper into the embers of a small fire you and the Winchesters had started in the middle of a cemetery. “Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.”

“One second…” Dean said absentmindedly, scratching off the last of his lottery tickets.

“Dean—” Sam complained.

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I’m bringing home the bacon,” Dean quipped. He stashed the cards in his jacket that he’d slung over a gravestone. “Alright, say goodbye, wascally wabbit.” He dangled the rabbit’s foot over the top of the fire.

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping out your gun at the sound of a twig cracking. You aimed it at the sound, and Bela emerged from the darkness with hers drawn as well.

“I think you'll find that belongs to me,” she said firmly. “Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.”

“Oh, hell no,” you said, cocking your gun.

Bela cut her eyes at you, shooting Sam in the shoulder.

You exclaimed, “What the—!” and Dean cursed, “Son of a—” as Sam collapsed to the ground.

“Back off, tiger,” Bela told you. “Back off! You make one more move, and I’ll pull the trigger. You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. But your brother? Him, I can’t miss.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the older brother roared. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax. It's a shoulder hit; I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.”

“Alright!” Dean mollified. “Alright. Take it easy.” He moved to drop the rabbit’s foot, but instead, he threw it at Bela. “Think fast,” he smirked.

Bela caught the foot and immediately realized what she’d done. “Damn!”

“Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” Dean smiled in satisfaction.

Bela sighed, aggravated. She dropped her arm and uncocked her gun, but you kept yours aimed at her as she moved over to the fire.

“Would you stop pointing that at me?” her smooth voice came without looking at you.

“Sorry, love. Don’t trust you,” you smiled in fake-politeness.

She rolled her eyes and moved back to the fire. She dropped the foot into the fire. “Thanks very much,” Bela continued. “I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.”

“Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean turned to his brother.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Bela’s gaze hardened. “Hmm. Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.” She turned around and moved toward the gravestone where Dean’s jacket laid. You knew exactly what she was doing.

“Have a nice night, girls,” Bela smirked.

You glared at her. “Uh, uh! Turn around!” you ordered.

“What?” she sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Gimme the tickets,” you commanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

“Yeah, you do. You can’t con me, angel.”

She grumbled angrily but took the stolen tickets out of her pocket and threw them to the ground.

“Thanks a million,” you called after her.

“You’re fuckin’ awesome, woman,” Dean admired, you assumed in reference to the tickets you noticed Bela stole. He came over to you and kissed you boldly. You giggled against his lips, and he held your waist firmly.

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey! Bleeding out, here!”

You broke away from Dean. “Oh, sorry!” you grimaced, moving to head back to the Impala. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”

When you ensured the rabbit’s foot was burnt to a crisp, you and the Winchesters moved to the car.

“You good?” Dean asked his brother.

“I’ll live,” he responded.

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. And we're up forty-six thousand.” Dean threw his arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, waving the tickets around in the air.

“Maybe we should hit Vegas, see how good our luck still is,” you suggested, smiling lopsidedly.

“I like the way you think,” Dean nodded. “Whaddaya say, Sammy?”

“I think you guys are gonna end up blowing all our money on slot machines,” the younger brother dryly commented.

“Ye of little faith,” you said. “If not Vegas, we can at least get ourselves a nicer motel room. Maybe we can graduate to hotels!”

“Ooh, yeah. One of those hotels with a jacuzzi tub.”

“Hell yeah—”

“Guys,” Sam groaned. “Still bleeding out, here.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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writteninlunarlight-years · 4 months ago

Note

Hiya! Could you do a one-shot of Alastor x fem! reader who is like Art the clown (from the terrifier movies, all hallows eve and the ninth circle)?

Perhaps they met when Alastor first got to hell and reader wanted to kill him at first but due to his old fashioned ways (the courting and such) along with him being quite sadistic when it comes to killing, she became more curious about him and it led to a relationship?

How would their relationship be? Would it become more of a one sided thing? Would she try to harm him after he comes back from his seven year absence? I’d love to see your interpretation on this!

~ 🕷️

Terrify Me~

(Anon, I promise I did not forget you! I have never seen these movies and call myself a horror fanatic! So I watched them all as I had the time to try and be better at this writing! I hope you enjoy and stay hydrated!) TW: Torture, Death, assault, Suggestive, Sad, Comfort

Hell was far more entertaining than back up on the earth, though yes, it sucked dying to those damn cops. This was where it was at. You had free reign to torture and torment those around you; the good deal was that people didn’t die permanently as long as you used the right tools. This led to such an easy time finding prey to stalk. It also allowed you to develop incredible powers as people begged and pleaded with you for deals on being free from torment.

You were a terrifying creature, a black-and-white marionette doll with no voice box. Your movements and attention to detail got you through your life in hell. You were sadistic and cruel to whoever became your prey for the time you spent stalking them, hunting them, and slowly driving your enemy mad. You were so good at the job that people recognized you as an Overlord before even discussing it with you. Of course, who would dare get in your line of sight less you make them the next target?

You didn’t care about hell’s silly hierarchy or games; you only cared about getting your fill. Your mind was on the prize of listening to beautiful screams and cries. Like a masterful puppet pulling strings, your looks did not portray your abilities all that well. You may have looked like the prey, but you were the top predator. You were deadly, mind, body, and soul.

Years had passed of your reign as the queen of torture till a new man arrived on the scene. Alastor, the radio demon, died not too long after your rise to fame and began to make waves in the underworld as he broadcasted screams of the damned and tortured. His show quickly became one of your favorites, and you would play it as you killed and murdered innocent demonic souls, hoping to make a deal with you for safety.

Eventually, though, your love and passion for the radio demon's show turned to disgust and hate as he began to take your place in the world of torturing the damned. You had found a new prey to stalk, and it was someone who was equally matched.

Your stalk began small, with just hushed whispers and knowledge of the man you wished to end. You found photos and some video of him, but it was grainy and distorted. He was a handsome man. He would be so beautiful strung up. As you thought of many ways to torture and abuse him, the next phase of your plan was in order.

Though you were an ‘overlord,’ you never attended meetings. However, you did start when it came to hunting Alastor. Watching his every move and emotion, you saw he was good at mimicking and faking just like you. Yet you had to say you were just that much better at it. When you two first officially met, you could visibly see the disdain on his face when you couldn’t speak. Like many powerful beings, Alastor puts weight on words, something you have no control over, always giving you the upper hand.

You found every excuse to be around and speak to the man. Eager to move on to stage three of your plan to capture and torment this soul. Actively seeking Alastor out, you began to carry a notepad to speak with him. Small conversations that would sometimes run long. You enjoyed his voice, at least. You thought it would sound lovely, screaming in pain and agony.

Though you had these sick, twisted thoughts about Alastor, you couldn’t help but be curious about the other feelings he elicited. You wanted to hear him sing, watch him smile, and enjoy his murder. His many good qualities interested you even more. You even sought medical help in the man before you as you didn’t understand these stirrings you had around him and him alone.

As the final plan commenced where you would capture and torture him, you were caught off guard by a single black rose being placed before you. Looking at it and holding it gently, you felt your undead heart flutter. This situation happened many times over and over.

You would go to kill or capture Alastor, and right there, every time you would execute your plan, he would have a trinket or doo dad for you to keep as your own. He began to touch you gently, shoulders, face, sides. Things started to shift in you; you were being courted, and it wasn’t until you experienced this love that you realized it happened: Alastor had you under his spell.

Your plans of killing Alastor were long gone; now, you just wanted to have the joy of torturing others together. Come a year of your stupid game; you were now officially Alastor's partner in crime. It was charming how he always let you get the first stab and helped you stalk and scare others. He even taught you how to cook and kill the dead sinners. Things were well between you two, so well that domestic life began to become a norm for two sadistic sinners. Yet it all changed one day suddenly. You had been out on a kill someone you and Alastor had stalked for months. However, when you returned covered in blood and a dead body in tow, Alastor was nowhere to be found. You waited a year in that small home you two made, and he never appeared.

After seven long years, you returned to the top of the food chain; you were vicious and cold-hearted. Bloodthirsty. You allowed yourself to be blindsided by a man who couldn’t even say goodbye. Anger consumed you as the years passed, and you became known as the terrifier. You were deadly on a much larger scale than your first time on the scene. You were always longing for Alastor just to come back home. You were longing openly to all that you would kill him and make him pay.

While on the town killing, you heard a familiar buzz. Your blood ran cold as the familiar sound flooded your senses. Running to the old home, you two shared the life long forgotten: you hoped so badly to see him standing there as he once did. Would you kill him? Let him live? Fall into his arms again?

As you entered the house, he wasn’t there. It was still empty, still intact, the same as you left it six years ago. Sighing, you left and walked to the nearest brothel to kill some easy dirtbags. That's when you saw the shadow. Was this a game? Some sick, twisted game to make you think Alastor had come back for you.

Following the shadow, you grew more rabid and curious. Eventually, you found yourself atop a hill where the Hazbin Hotel sat. Walking in, it was silent; it was late at night, and you assumed everyone was asleep. Stepping further into the forbidden territory, you looked around cautiously. It was homey and bright, too bright for your liking, yet some of the decor looked like what you saw in your old home with Alastor.

You felt the presence before you heard it, and suddenly, a bright smile overtook your face. He was here; he was back. Seeing before you Alastor, the radio demon, your lost love, you took a step towards him, afraid it was fake. You don’t know what emotion overtook you the most. You wanted to tear him apart, yet seeing him there, everything felt so surreal. His smile, for once, was authentic, and as he opened his arms out for you and you rushed in, you heard the faintest, “Oh, how you still terrify me…”

#x reader #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you fluff #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon

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traveler-at-heart · 11 months ago

Text

Finding Home - Part 3

Summary: This is a series imagining what it was life for Natasha after joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

Warnings: Violence, injuries.

Part 1, Part 2

There were only five people in the room.

“Jericho missiles” Fury says as soon as the door is shut. Clint looks at you, alarmed.

“What are those?” Natasha says and Maria turns to the screen.

“Developed by Tony Stark. Selects a target, at a certain height it splits into 16 smaller missiles to have a cleaner impact. The shockwave is also more devastating”

There’s footage of tests conducted in military facilities playing on the screen.

“Obadiah Stane sold five of these to the Ten Rings. Stark was able to destroy them all. Or so he thought” Fury pushes three identical folders in the direction of Clint, Natasha and you.

“There are still two” Clint confirms after skimming through the file.

“At an abandoned factory, close to the Canadian border” Natasha reads out loud, going through all the information at record speed.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how heavily guarded are these bad boys?” you ask Fury.

“They have grenades up their asses”

“So, like a seven”

“Not funny, Agent” he warns, but you turn to Natasha, who let out a small chuckle.

“She thinks it is”

“It will get old really fast. Trust me” the man says and she rolls her eyes. “You leave tomorrow, before the Ten Rings decide it’s time to light up the sky in an American city”

“Let’s go over strategy today. Natasha’s suit and weapons should be ready” Maria proposes.

“I’m looking at the Widow Bites” you interrupt.

“Farley said that if you messed with his tech again he’d quit” Fury reminds you.

“Good riddance. He’s an idiot and she’s not going on a mission with faulty equipment”

“Fine. Hill” Fury nods in confirmation and they leave the room.

“What was that?” Natasha turns to you, but you shrug your shoulders, projecting the map of the factory and reading the file.

“Oh, now you’re modest about it?” Clint teases. “Y/N here is an MIT graduate. Mechanical Engineering, top of the class”

“It was a small class”

“If she wasn’t an agent she’d be running the design department. Made my arrows ten times lighter and faster. Deadly too”

“That’s enough. I just want to make sure Nat has the best equipment” you wave dismissively, still looking at the map.

It’s an important mission, yes. But your priority is Natasha.

—

“Fucking Farley” you mutter for the tenth time, making Clint chuckle.

As suspected, the Widow Bites have a short range and the voltage isn’t enough to incapacitate enemies, so you’ll be fixing that as everyone else discusses the plan.

“Y/N is coming in first. Once she disables the security, Romanoff and I will go set the explosives for the missiles” Clint says, going over the map of the warehouse.

“I’m not leaving her alone” Natasha says and while you keep your eyes on the Widow bites, correcting the wiring, you smile.

“It’s fine, Nat. It’s my area of expertise. I’ll hack their systems, keep an eye out and will join you once the explosives are set” you look up, nodding her way. Maria walks in, looking over your shoulder. “Tell Fury he needs to kick fuckface Farley to the curve”

“Noted, Brains. Which one of you will be Brawn?” Maria turns, smiling teasingly at Natasha and Clint.

“I’m Beauty” Clint says, turning to Natasha. “Romanoff?”

“Sorry to break it to you, but Natasha is all three” you say, removing the magnifying glasses and stretching your back. “Is it dinner time yet?”

“Our order should be ready. I’ll pick it up” Natasha offers, taking the car keys.

“Don’t forget about the…”

“Extra rice, yes” she rolls her eyes and Clints follows right behind, ready to take a break.

Maria sits right next to you, and you don’t need to turn around to know she’s staring.

“Yes, Hill?”

“So when are you asking her out?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come on” she pushes your chair and you roll away, annoyed. “You compliment her, she knows about your special order, the pining and the heart eyes”

“I’m one of the few people who treat her like a human being. That’s all” you say, hoping it’s the end of the conversation. Maria throws you a paper ball, just like in your academy days and you snort. “Ass. Yes, I like her. But she’s barely had a life. I can’t ask her out and make it awkward. Natasha needs to live and experience things and once she knows what she wants… maybe I’ll do something about my feelings. Until then…” you point at your friend, and she nods, motioning as if her lips are sealed.

You just hope your feelings for Natasha won’t get in the way of this mission.

—

The air is colder than you anticipated.

“Good to go?” Clint says, looking over his shoulder. You try your comms and go over the equipment. Once you nod, he lowers the jet, counting down to prepare you for the fall.

“Be careful” Natasha says. It’s the first things she’s said to you since you left headquarters.

“Chinese for dinner?” you say with a smile, hoping that it will ease the tension. Natasha nods and you wave, jumping into the darkness.

The landing is a bit rougher than you would have wanted since the parachute was dragged around by the wind, but nothing is broken and you can disable the security alarm in the hatch.

From there, your next stop is to the control room. There’s only one man monitoring the cameras, and you knock him unconscious before he can reach for his gun.

“I’m in. You have twenty minutes” you announce.

“Got it”

Out of pure curiosity, you look over at the computer on the side, browsing through the files.

“Clint” you say as you stumble upon Stark’s designs.

“I’m kinda busy” he says, installing the explosives around the warehouse.

“They have intelligence on other Stark weaponry. Should I make a copy and then clean up their files?”

“Proceed. But be on the lookout, we’re almost done here”

“I can multitask” you say, pulling out a drive to copy all the files. The encryption will have to be done later, but for now, eliminating everything they have should be enough.

Either way, the entire building is blowing up in a few minutes.

An alarm blares across every hallway, and you look up, surprised.

“What the fuck, Y/N? We’re not done here” Barton barks, clearly in a hurry to finish the job now that you’ve been discovered.

“It wasn’t me” you say, frantically looking at the cameras. There’s a man with long hair that frames his face, covered up to his eyes with a dark mask. “We have company. I’m locking the doors on your side, exit through the vent”

“That means you won’t be able to get out” Natasha protests.

“I’ll find another way and meet you. You have to go. Our friend here seems to be… in a hurry”

Your blood runs cold when you see him punching his way through the guards. He is a super soldier, judging by his strenght and now you’re trapped with him on this side of the building.

“Fuckfuckfuck”

Pulling the drive to your pocket, you leave the room and go to the side farthest away from the man.

The thing is, he seems to be going through the walls instead of using doors, so the distance grows smaller with each of his steps.

“Natasha is gone” Clint informs you as you’re sneaking around. That makes you stop in your tracks.

“Bullshit”

She wouldn’t.

“The minute we were out she ran away in the opposite direction. I’m on the jet now. Give me your location”

“East side of the…”

The sound of metal and concrete cracking surprises you from behind, and you come face to face with the man.

He takes your gun and twists your arm, but you aim at one of the pipes in the ceiling to give you a few seconds to run. You can feel him going right behind you, dangerously close.

“The building is blowing up in five minutes, Y/N” Clint says.

“Thanks, I’m trying not to get killed by fucking Frankenstein” a heavy metal arm pulls you down, punching you two times until you’re gasping for air.

He then kicks you down a couple of stairs, and you hang on to the railing by an inch. Once he glances over to check if you’re still alive, you shoot at his eyes, protected by the mask.

Wrong move, as he’s not pleased in the slightest.

Dropping a few feet to the ground, you begin to run down the exit.

A few things happen at the same time.

You turn and see Natasha, breaking a door. You smile at her. Of course she wouldn’t leave. Her eyes widen, and when you turn around, the man is raising his gun.

Two shots and then you’re down, hot liquid spilling down your stomach and leg.

“Y/N” Natasha screams, throwing Widow Bites to the man. His arm is briefly paralized and Natasha takes advantage of the moment to help you up. You limp against her, feeling the building shake.

“Come on, Clint is waiting outside”

Luckily, the ceiling behind you begins to fall, putting some concrete between you and the man.

The next minutes are confusing, since you struggle to remain conscious.

“HQ, this is Barton. We have an agent down. We’ll be there soon” you hear Clint report. There’s a pressure in your abdomen but you can’t look down. “Natasha, I have to fly this thing, keep her awake”

“Y/N” the woman says, trying to stop the bleeding. “Look at me. You can’t fall asleep now”

“I’ll be fine. You were great today, Natasha. I knew you’d be a great agent. Would you tell my mom that I…?”

“Tell her yourself”

“Don’t be a сука” you mumble, your eyelids heavier.

“What is the one thing you always wanted to do?” she asks, desperate to keep you talking.

“I always wanted a cat. My sister’s allergic” you drag your words. But then, you turn to the redhead, smiling. “What about you?”

“A rollercoaster” Natasha says without hesitation. Your smile grows.

“We’ll go to Connie Island, it’s gonna be so much fun…”

“Y/N, stay with me, don’t close your eyes”

But you’re too tired to listen.

—

“Her family should be here any minute” Fury steps in, eyeing your bruised face. Three surgeries later and the doctors think you have a pretty good chance of recovering.

Natasha and Clint are sitting by your side, their eyes glued to the monitor that keeps beeping.

“The man… had any of you seen him before?”

“I thought he was a myth” Natasha says, the image of the metal arm and the symbol on it etched on her brain. “They call him the Winter Soldier”

“KGB?” Clint guesses.

“HYDRA”

“That’s ten times worse” Fury sighs, turning to the Russian. “We’ll need your help to figure out who he is. But for now… nice job”

“I should have done more” Natasha says when Fury leaves the room.

“She’s alive because of you” Clint protests. “But you should let me know, I thought you were running away. When you want to pull a rescue, at least tell me where to fly the jet”

“Ok” the redhead nods.

“Let’s get something to eat. You know Y/N wouldn’t want you to starve yourself”

—

When Natasha and Clint come back to your room, Maria is talking to an older woman. She has eyes like yours, and a smilar hair color, which makes Natasha think it’s your mother.

“You saved my daughter” she says as soon as Natasha walks in. Your mother hugs her tight, thanking her.

She has no idea that this is all new to Natasha, especially the hugging part.

“Let’s go over some forms” Maria rescues the redhead, walking the older woman to the door.

Her words echo and Natasha goes over them till she loses count.

She’s never saved a life before. She never had someone thanking her for keeping a loved one safe.

Maybe, there’s hope for her after all.

—

It’s been a few days and you have yet to open your eyes.

Natasha stays next to you, and reads out loud the way you did for her. Your mom is in the couch, knitting as she listens, keeping an eye on the girl.

Even if she’s not aware of Natasha’s circunstamces, she can tell there are strong feelings involved between you two.

“How long have you been at SHIELD?” the woman says, examining the green pattern on the scarf she’s knitting.

“Not long” Natasha tenses, hoping it won’t be necessary to bring up her past as a former assassin.

“Y/N’s father was in the CIA. Her sisters were more… I don’t know. They argued over clothes and wanted to wear makeup. Y/N would work on cars with her dad or build stuff”

“That sounds nice”

“It was, yes. Drives me crazy that she risks her life for a living. But it’s in her blood, I guess”

“She’s a great agent. And a wonderful person. You did a good job raising her”

“You’re too kind” the woman says, pulling the scarf and presenting it to the redhead. “Here. This color brings out your beautiful eyes”

Natasha is hesitant as she takes the green scarf, inspecting the fine knitting and feeling the softness of the fabric against her fingertips.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you”

“Thank you. For saving her. I’m happy to know my daughter has wonderful partners. I like you, Natasha”

“I’m glad to hear that, because I kinda gave her the secret pasta recipe” you say with a weak voice, making both women rush to your side.

“Oh, sweetheart” your mom says, running her hands through your hair.

“Sorry to make you come all the way here. I know you hate flying”

“No, don’t be silly. Plus, I’ve spent some time getting to know Natasha. You guys make a great couple”

“Ma!” you protest, the monitor beeping loudly as your mother teases you. “Would you be a dear and get the doctor? I really want to eat something that isn’t hospital food”

Your mother rolls her eyes, but leaves and you stare at Natasha.

“Thank you for saving me”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing. I’m alive because of you, Natasha Romanoff”

“I guess it’s our thing, isn’t it? Saving each other” she smiles, her hand inching towards yours.

“Yes. Yes it is”

—

The doctor promises you’ll be discharged in a few days, but there’s a long road ahead for your recovery. At least six months without missions.

Fury stops by, surprising you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, eyeing the box of chocolates that Maria brought you. “You mind?”

“Help yourself, boss” he picks a sweet and nods approvingly, clearly stalling. “Come on, you’re not one to sugarcoat things”

“The drive you took. It does have some very detailed information on Stark’s tech. I know we discussed an undercover mission a while back… but I decided to send Natasha instead”

“As what? I was supposed to be a new engineer on his team”

“Legal. Close to Pepper Potts. And hopefully, Agent Romanoff will charm Stark”

“Oh, Nick. Come on, not the playboy angle” you protest. There’s an unpleasant feeling at the pit of your stomach as you imagine Natasha dealing with Stark’s advances.

“It is what we have, Y/L/N. Take some time, recover and come back. I have a feeling we’ll need all the help we can get”

“Yes, Director Fury” you nod, as Natasha walks in. The man nods, and you can tell he trusts Natasha now. It’s a relief.

“How are you feeling?” Natasha says, pulling the usual chair next to your bed.

“Happy that I get to go home. soon Not so excited over my mom running around my place cleaning and complaining”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay but…”

“You have missions. I heard you’re booked and busy, Agent Romanoff”

“Well, yes” she smiles, blushing lightly.

“Is that what you want? Because that’s all that matters to me”

“I want to do good. Clean my ledger”

“You’ll do great. I know it” you reach for her hand, smiling.

“I could… put it off. For a few months. It won’t be a big deal”

But you can see how eager she is. To prove herself she’s so much more than the Red Room. That she’s not just the Black Widow.

She’s Natasha Romanoff.

“I’m not going anywhere, Nat. You’ll always have me. Ok?”

“Ok” she nods, looking away, but keeping her hand in yours.

Deep down, you knew this was only the start of your journey together.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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anarchy-and-piglins · 2 months ago

Note

Care for an AU idea?

Missing Hearts AU, with dark SBI and fantasy/sci-fi setting. (Dark themes, death, mind control, magic, coercion, graphic descriptions. Really I'm just throwing all possible warnings in there just in case.)

Technoblade is a soldier---one of many---who is completely loyal to the Federation's cause. He has no choice.

The Federation, once a loose association of various planets, now a military complex held together by fear mongering and nepotism, has been at war with the Empire long enough to completely restructure the government, long enough that Technoblade cannot recall a time without war or find its start, and long enough to develop some less than savory tactics.

Heartless, they are called, by civilians, by the enemy, and by the heartless themselves. Completely loyal, ruthless, deadly, precise, nearly impossible for an enemy to kill and stronger than any mundane soldier. The Heartless are feared across the Federation and Empire alike. The only group who doesn't use the name are the officials, the Oligarchy at the head of the Federation and their commanders. After all, they know full well where the soldiers hearts are. They're the ones who keep them, after all. Weaving spell after spell to keep the hearts beating, to stifle unwanted generosity, to take their fear, to bind their loyalty, to keep them strong. To kill when a soldier gets out of hand.

Technoblade only saw it once. For the most part, the heartless are kept in check by their fear and the magic beating their hearts. There's no real chance for rebellion, loyalty tied so tightly to their being that it's nearly suffocating. There is failure, though. Any heartless deemed a regular enough failure, a waste of resources, is immediately terminated.

They'd just gotten off a mission. Botched, sure, but they'd pulled off most of it and gotten out almost unscathed. Injuries hurt, despite the healing coursing through their veins, and they could damage a mission. The only thing they wouldn't do was make a heartless die.

They were in the shuttle heading back when the man responsible for the main failure collapsed, clutching his chest. Technoblade, only sixteen, watched in horror as the man choked, the rest of the ship going on like nothing was wrong. The man died, terminated for failure, one too many as he'd find out. Technoblade hadn't had his heart in years, but he almost thought he could feel it seizing in his chest, the gaping void turning hungry and tearing him to nothing. The same blank in the man's eyes.

He went to bed haunted. He woke up to the same apathy as ever, emotions gone now the Federation had given their warning. The memory remained.

(Technoblade himself had his heart removed when he was seven, when he started showing potential for the army. Strength, speed, an interest in strategy. He doesn't remember much of the process. Just the screams, and an angry tearing feeling grown muted with age. He doesn't even remember what it was like to have a heart. He lost his family in the same moment, shut into private training and missions not long after.)

It was after another mission that things changed. The operation had been a large one, with multiple units working in tandem to do... something. The higher ups didn't give much information as to the what or why of a situation unless directly relevant to the soldiers role in the mission. It's only afterward that Technoblade finds it was a raid. Countless empire citizens are taken, one of which is claimed to be the emperor's youngest son. A blond kid joins Technoblade's squad, spitting and angry and with his heart newly gone. He's from the Empire, though no one goes directly out and says it. He's trained, they say. But wrong, differently from Federation tactics, and it's obvious.

Technoblade is assigned to watch him, this kid who yells and jokes and still puts too much emphasis on names when no one there counts as a person, Tommy, his name is, as he insists, growing louder with each repetition until Technoblade caves. "Tommy, then."

Tommy isn't going to mention that using the name will lead his brother and father right to them. He's furious, stuck, and glad to see it all burn. Except, well. They don't get there right away. And as he learns more about the gaping wound in his chest (not as bad as the rest, though he doesn't know that, not as smothered in magic and death), he realizes how little freedom they have, how little personality they're allowed, how little emotion. But Technoblade is funny. In a dry, sarcastic way, like he's afraid if he sounds too real then they're going to off him. And as scary as Technoblade is, he never hurts Tommy. And Tommy isn't silly enough to believe that's because he can't. He doesn't. He's only scary when either Tommy or the mission is at risk. Technoblade cares, and Tommy, still full of rage, is going to steal him. He's going to give him a family. He's going to make sure that every bit of his humor and genius and kindness belongs to the empire, to them, to his family. Technoblade is theirs, and he doesn't even know who he's got.

The Emperor, as it turns out, is not happy with the alleged capture of his youngest, an age still technically older than Technoblade, though perhaps not in looks or maturity. The Empire doesn't have heartless, but they do have their own magic, and it's rumored to include immortality.

They strike hard and fast, capturing or killing a many forces as they can as they push towards the Federation's center, their heart. The Federation is in shambles, scrambling to adjust to the change in tactics resulting from a move they thought would lead to surrender. Or negotiations, at the very least. No. The Empire is out to kill, heedless of their own losses in the rampage to get their prince back. Someone is leaking information (the Empire doesn't have heartless, had no information on the nature of their existence, but Tommy has intimate experience with what it's like to be one, knows their triggers and controls and where the hearts are kept).

Tommy is pulled off of Technoblade's force and vanishes. Technoblade himself is called back to the capital, still with aching wounds from battle after battle as the Empire mounts their assault.

Everything is fine. Everything is within their calculations, the heartless can't die, they can't die, he can't die, all they need to do is stop this- and his men start falling. The facility is a maze, a labyrinth, meant to be entirely secure. The heartless have never known where their hearts are kept within the compound, secrets and lies another barrier to their escape, but they found it and Technoblade gets the call to head to the secret room at the center of the building. The hearts can carry information, the magic a link between the heart's enchanter and the weapon they control.

Maybe there's a fleeting thought that he can take his heart, grab it and go, escape the chaos and save his men. Or maybe he feels nothing at all, winding through halls of fallen heartless.

The doors open whooshing back to reveal the emperor and his eldest son. Smashed containers line the walls, broken hearts left to bleed.

And Technoblade feels a throb of fear. Distant, echoing out from the hearts place in the Emperor's hands. "Hello Technoblade." The Emperor smiles, and Technoblade is frozen in place. The empire didn't know about the hearts, once, but they learn fast and the stiffness of his limbs is more than fear. He tries to speak, but even words die in his throat. "We've been waiting for you."

The heart is tossed from one tyrant to the next, and Technoblade tries to breathe as the Emperor takes him by the arm. He's still smiling as he leads Technoblade out, through desolate halls filled with corpses of his men, all while false affection pumps through his veins at the direction of the hands that hold his heart.

"All for your own good," they say. "Not all the heartless were slain," they explain, talking about rehabilitation, good lives waiting for the heartless soldiers. "We'll give you everything," they promise him, draping him in medals, offering food and riches and blankets and clothing the likes of which he's never seen. "You're one of us," they swear, as another prince to the empire is crowned.

But they never give his heart back, not like they do Tommy who is whole the instant all of him is found. They never let him hold it, rarely let him see it, keep it as a prize. Never let him wander, or flee the prison of gold. And maybe it's because they worry he won't stay without the hands on his heart, feeding him devotion, binding him carefully with loyalty and fear. Maybe they worry who he would be without their touch, with emotions completely his own again. Technoblade wonders too. He'll never know.

Technoblade is a prince---one of few---who is completely devoted to the Empire.

He has no choice.

Congrats on getting the Lenn treatment because I kinda took this ask hostage for a month like I do with their AUs lol. Just a testament to me enjoying them, thank you for the tasty treat Anon.

#dark sbi #thoughts #asks

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book--brackets · 4 months ago

Text

The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine (2001)

Twelve-year-old Addie admires her older sister Meryl, who aspires to rid the kingdom of Bamarre of gryphons, specters, and ogres. Addie, on the other hand, is fearful even of spiders and depends on Meryl for courage and protection. Waving her sword Bloodbiter, the older girl declaims in the garden from the heroic epic of Drualt to a thrilled audience of Addie, their governess, and the young sorcerer Rhys.

But when Meryl falls ill with the dreaded Gray Death, Addie must gather her courage and set off alone on a quest to find the cure and save her beloved sister. Addie takes the seven-league boots and magic spyglass left to her by her mother and the enchanted tablecloth and cloak given to her by Rhys - along with a shy declaration of his love. She prevails in encounters with tricky specters (spiders too) and outwits a wickedly personable dragon in adventures touched with romance and a bittersweet ending.

Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams (1988-1992)

A war fueled by the powers of dark sorcery is about to engulf the peaceful land of Osten Ard—for Prester John, the High King, lies dying. And with his death, the Storm King, the undead ruler of the elf-like Sithi, seizes the chance to regain his lost realm through a pact with the newly ascended king. Knowing the consequences of this bargain, the king’s younger brother joins with a small, scattered group of scholars, the League of the Scroll, to confront the true danger threatening Osten Ard.

Simon, a kitchen boy from the royal castle unknowingly apprenticed to a member of this League, will be sent on a quest that offers the only hope of salvation, a deadly riddle concerning long-lost swords of power. Compelled by fate and perilous magics, he must leave the only home he’s ever known and face enemies more terrifying than Osten Ard has ever seen, even as the land itself begins to die.

Starbound by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner (2013-2015)

It's a night like any other on board the Icarus. Then, catastrophe strikes: the massive luxury spaceliner is yanked out of hyperspace and plummets into the nearest planet. Lilac LaRoux and Tarver Merendsen survive. And they seem to be alone.

Lilac is the daughter of the richest man in the universe. Tarver comes from nothing, a young war hero who learned long ago that girls like Lilac are more trouble than they're worth. But with only each other to rely on, Lilac and Tarver must work together, making a tortuous journey across the eerie, deserted terrain to seek help.

Then, against all odds, Lilac and Tarver find a strange blessing in the tragedy that has thrown them into each other's arms. Without the hope of a future together in their own world, they begin to wonder-would they be better off staying here forever?

Everything changes when they uncover the truth behind the chilling whispers that haunt their every step. Lilac and Tarver may find a way off this planet. But they won't be the same people who landed on it.

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy (2004-2024)

Meet the great Skulduggery Pleasant: wise-cracking detective, powerful magician, master of dirty tricks and burglary (in the name of the greater good, of course). Oh yeah. And dead.

Then there's his sidekick, Stephanie. She's… well, she's a twelve-year-old girl. With a pair like this on the case, evil had better watch out…

Stephanie's uncle Gordon is a writer of horror fiction. But when he dies and leaves her his estate, Stephanie learns that while he may have written horror, it certainly wasn't fiction. Pursued by evil forces intent on recovering a mysterious key, Stephanie finds help from an unusual source – the wisecracking skeleton of a dead wizard.

When all hell breaks loose, it's lucky for Skulduggery that he's already dead. Though he's about to discover that being a skeleton doesn't stop you from being tortured, if the torturer is determined enough. And if there's anything Skulduggery hates, it's torture… Will evil win the day? Will Stephanie and Skulduggery stop bickering long enough to stop it? One thing's for sure: evil won't know what's hit it.

Fairest by Gail Carson Levine (2006)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to be pretty . . .

Aza's singing is the fairest in all the land, and the most unusual. She can throw her voice so it seems to come from anywhere. But singing is only one of the two qualities prized in the Kingdom of Ayortha. Aza doesn't possess the other: beauty. Not even close. She's hidden in the shadows in her parents' inn, but when she becomes lady-in-waiting to the new queen, she has to step into the light--especially when the queen demands a dangerous favor. A magic mirror, a charming prince, a jealous queen, palace intrigue, and an injured king twine into a maze that Aza must penetrate to save herself and her beloved kingdom.

Trickster's Duology by Tamora Pierce (2003-2004)

Alianne is the teenage daughter of the famed Alanna, the first lady knight in Tortall. Young Aly follows in the quieter footsteps of her father, however, delighting in the art of spying. When she is captured and sold as a slave to an exiled royal family in the faraway Copper Islands, it is this skill that makes a difference in a world filled with political intrigue, murderous conspiracy, and warring gods. This is the first of two books featuring Alianne.

Monstress by Marjorie M. Liu (2015-present)

Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers.

Lockwood & Co by Jonathan Stroud (2013-2017)

When the dead come back to haunt the living, Lockwood & Co. step in . . .

For more than fifty years, the country has been affected by a horrifying epidemic of ghosts. A number of Psychic Investigations Agencies have sprung up to destroy the dangerous apparitions.

Lucy Carlyle, a talented young agent, arrives in London hoping for a notable career. Instead she finds herself joining the smallest, most ramshackle agency in the city, run by the charismatic Anthony Lockwood. When one of their cases goes horribly wrong, Lockwood & Co. have one last chance of redemption. Unfortunately this involves spending the night in one of the most haunted houses in England, and trying to escape alive.

Protector of the Small by Tamora Pierce (1999-2002)

Keladry of Mindelan is the first girl who dares to take advantage of a new rule in Tortall—one that allows females to train for knighthood. After years in the Yamani Islands, she knows that women can be warriors, and now that she’s returned home, Kel is determined to achieve her goal. She believes she is ready for the traditional hazing and grueling schedule of a page. But standing in Kel’s way is Lord Wyldon. The training master is dead set against girls becoming knights. He says she must pass a one-year trial that no male page has ever had to endure. It’s just one more way to separate Kel from her fellow trainees. But she is not to be underestimated. She will fight to succeed, even when the test is unfair.

Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes (2012-2018)

Princess Cleo of Mytica confronts violence for the first time in her life when a shocking murder sets her kingdom on a path to collapse. Once a privileged royal, Cleo must now summon the strength to survive in this new world and fight for her rightful place as Queen.

The King of Limeros's son, Magnus, must plan each footstep with shrewd, sharp guile if he is to earn his powerful father's trust, while his sister, Lucia, discovers a terrifying secret about her heritage that will change everything.

Rebellious Jonas lashes out against the forces of oppression that have kept his country cruelly impoverished--and finds himself the leader of a people's revolution centuries in the making.

Witches, if found, are put to death, and Watchers, immortal beings who take the shape of hawks to visit the human world, have been almost entirely forgotten. A vicious power struggle quickly escalates to war, and these four young people collide against each other and the rise of elementia, the magic that can topple kingdoms and crown a ruler in the same day.

#best fantasy book #poll #the two princesses of bamarre #memory sorrow and thorn #starbound #skulduggery pleasant #fairest #trickster's duology #monstress #lockwood & co #protector of the small #falling kingdoms

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pjmmania · 1 month ago

Text

To Be a Viper - Prologue

Content Warnings: mentions of death, illegal/forced drug use

—————

The twenty-seven-year-old brunette adorned his torso with a grey jacket to match his classic-cut pants. Beneath the jacket was a simple white button-up, with a few buttons left undone near the collar. Everything was freshly pressed and smoothed to perfection, courtesy of the maid.

Standing in front of a full-body mirror, he leaned down and toyed with his hair a bit. He wanted it parted in the middle and mostly out of his face. Past experiences informed him that this was the best way to arrange it when he wanted to attract the opposite sex, and tonight was an important catch.

Suddenly, the young man heard the doorknob twist. It made him stand up straighter, as he knew it was probably his boss. He was one of the few who had a copy of the key to this hotel suite.

Correct in his assumption, his eyes fell upon the man's reflection in the mirror as he entered.

The boss, who also served as an older brother figure to him, was clad in much more casual clothing. He wasn't the one going out on this little mission. It was a solo job.

Crossing his arms over his simple black t-shirt, the boss smirked and cocked a brow, "Ah, you went with the Celine."

The younger went back to fixing his hair in the mirror, "So I did."

"I would have gone with the Louis Vuitton," The boss shrugged, "With the pinstripes. I love a good pinstripe."

Eyes were rolled, but he knew it was a jest, "You asked that I pull out all the stops. Trust me, I've never missed with this one. Women love it.”

The boss hummed and took a seat in the plush brown armchair in the corner of the room. Not quite as comfortable as the ones he owned back home, but this grand hotel had managed to find furniture that compared somewhat. Somewhat.

"You are due to leave soon so I won’t take up much of your time. I came to remind you to be quick," The boss said, "And careful."

He chuckled lowly, "Quick and careful are not words I’d use to describe the average rendezvous between a woman and myself.”

The boss became irate. The situation was extremely delicate, "I'm fucking serious, Taehyung."

"And I'm fucking joking, Jimin," The younger turned around once more to look at his eyes and reassure him, "I'm not an idiot. I know the objective."

"Not the time for joking," Jimin scowled with a tight jaw and intense eyes, "You need to bring her back unharmed, understand me?”

"I won’t harm a hair on her head, hyung," Taehyung put his hands up in defense, "Jesus Christ."

The boss sighed and leaned forward in the chair, resting his arms on his quadriceps, "Well excuse me for feeling slightly uncomfortable with sending one of my assassins to go kidnap this one. I swear to God, the only reason I'm sending you is-"

"Because I'm the only face here that our enemies wouldn't recognize, I know. You've made that abundantly clear every time we've talked about this job," Taehyung muttered, "You need to just fucking relax, huh? I got this.”

Jimin didn’t appreciate the cockiness and nonchalance in his subordinate. He knew how Taehyung could be with women. And while he needed him to go out and do the job, the thought of him seducing this particular target left a sour taste. He got up out of the chair and walked up to the suited, arrogant man.

Taehyung took in the leader’s face. His eyes could tear through metal, callous and deadly. Jimin got close to his face, staring him down and speaking lowly, “I have no doubt that you ‘got this’ Taehyung. But let me make another thing abundantly clear to you. This job isn’t a chance for you to get your dick wet. So go, flirt all you want and make her want to leave with you. But if you make your flirtations physical, there will be hell to pay."

Taehyung was silent. This exercise of power wasn’t necessarily new, but the motivation behind it was. He and the others had never seen their leader become so fiercely protective over someone who wasn’t his own. Someone who was, at this point in time, a stranger to them.

The younger knew better than to push back any further. Finally, he dropped the tone, “I understand.”

Jimin nodded once, his searing eye contact unyielding, “Good. Now put on some cologne and head out. Jungkook is waiting for you with the car.”

Taehyung sighed and proceeded to follow instructions.

The boss remained glued to the same spot, hands in his pockets. Watching his junior finish up, he subconsciously bit the inside of his cheek, unsettled in his gut.

Over the many years he’d spent in the business, he’d grown numb to it all. The blood, the theft, the torture, the kidnapping. It was all just part of this enormous task that had fallen into his lap years ago. Tonight, however, caused a stir within him. The nonchalance had been drained from his demeanor, replaced by a deep concern.

Before he noticed, Taehyung was at the door of the hotel suite, ready to leave, “Alright, I’m set. Anything else?”

Jimin’s gaze turned the opposite direction, towards the window at the other end of the room. Seoul was on the other side of that glass, aglow in the night. Busy, bustling, alive. The streets filling with people who had clocked out of work a few hours ago, now ready to let everything fall away at some bar or nightclub.

“Jimin?”

The older of the two didn’t move. His mind pondered various responses to Taehyung’s question. As much as he wanted to reiterate his order to be careful, there was no need to go down that road again. He knew all he needed to know.

“No,” Jimin said, “That is all. I’ll meet you back here in the morning.”

The door shut, and the job commenced.

The boss let out a breath he didn’t realize he was withholding, posture falling slightly.

This is really happening, he thought.

What he wanted least in the world was coming to pass - seeing you again.

He tried so hard for so long to avoid this. Bringing you into this mess was to inflict a permanent wound on you that would never heal. Old memories of you flashed in his mind. Some almost brought a smile to his face, only to be tainted by the fact that he was about to erase that version of you forever.

He remembered the day he said goodbye to you unknowingly for the last time. Had he known, he would have held you tighter, longer. He would have told you how much your friendship meant to him. How bright you made his days.

- Eleven years ago -

The cold steel of the locker created goosebumps on his arm as he leaned against it. The final bell of the day had rung and the hallway was flooded with students, some brushing against his other arm by accident in the swarm to exit the building.

Seventeen-year-old Jimin let out a sigh, pushing a few pieces of hair out of his face when he saw this one clique of girls pass by. He knew a few of them crushed on him and, though he'd never admit it, he enjoyed doing small things like that to work them up. One of them was named Hana. She was the one he had his sights on. An adolescent male like him couldn't help it.

Then you appeared and Jimin picked his backpack up from the floor, slinging it over his right shoulder. He also moved himself away from your locker so that you could access it.

"Hey you." You sighed as you used your typical greeting.

"Hey you. What took you so long?" He chided you, "Usually you're the one waiting for me."

You put your bag down with a huff, "Sorry. I had a question for Mrs. Choi after class and apparently so did many others."

Jimin, as per routine, took the opportunity to make fun of you, "Fucking dork, having questions about art history of all things."

You took it on the chin and returned the fire with a smirk, "You're one to talk. You stay after calculus all the time."

You dialed the correct series of numbers to unlock your locker and opened it.

"Advanced calculus." The ham corrected you.

Your eyes rolled as you retrieved your things from your locker and stuffed them into your backpack, "Whatever. The point is, we're both dorks. Just for different things."

Oh how he relished getting under your skin like that. He loved how your face looked when you became flustered. You might have been able to put on a grin, but your eyebrows would remain the tiniest bit serious. Having been your close companion since he was seven and you six, Jimin was an expert on your every expression.

"Hurry up, will you?" He continued pushing your buttons, "I'd like to get home."

You let out an audible sigh this time - another point for Jimin in the game of vexing you, "Then why don't you just leave without me and I'll walk?"

He laughed, "Because your parents would revoke my invitation to dinner with you guys on Sunday night."

You chuckled as you zipped up your backpack, "You know they would never. You're like a son to them. You and your brother. They wouldn't have you guys alone in that giant house while your parents are away for the weekend."

The two of you finally began your walk out of the building and into the parking lot. His car was always tucked away at the back of the lot.

Though your friendship was strong enough for both of you to feel relaxed with silent air between you, there was something you had been meaning to bring up. It was your turn to tease him.

"So," You said with a hint of mischief, "I heard Hana is having a party tomorrow night."

You watched his face change. His lips pursed as he tried not to smile. However, this attempt to appear unbothered was futile.

Your arms brushed together as you nudged him, "You going?"

Jimin shrugged and kept his focus on the way ahead, "I may drop by if I hear it's a good time."

You laughed, "Just go. You know she's only having it because she wants you to fuck her again."

His face went slightly red, causing him to dip his head down and chuckle. Then he lifted his gaze to meet your teasing eyes, "I am not used to you talking like this, Y/N. So vulgar these days. The fuck happened to you?"

"Sorry," You giggled, "No need to be too concerned, though. Despite the words I say, you know I have no actual experience in that department."

You came upon his car at last. Jimin unlocked it, causing the lights to flash twice. As he threw his backpack into the back seat, he said, "Well when you do, feel free to not tell me every detail."

"You're avoiding the topic at hand," You said as you got situated in the passenger seat, "You're going to the party, right?"

"Yes," Jimin let out an exasperated laugh, "Jesus Christ, Y/N. I'm going. Happy?"

You made a face and played with the strap adjusters on your bag, which was resting on your lap, "I mean I'm grossed out at the thought of you and her...doing stuff."

Jimin closed his door and turned on the engine, "You mean me fucking her?"

"Ew, Jiminie!"

"Hey, I'm just using the same term you did."

"Lesson learned.” You huffed.

Jimin smiled. There was that flustered face of yours again. He found it cute and naive as you tried to speak the language of your peers. It just didn't come naturally to you.

He pulled out of the parking lot and began the drive to your house, which was conveniently on the same street as his. You both lived in a beautiful, gated community, home to the most illustrious families in Seoul. You moved in when you were just a small child. Jimin and his brother were the only other kids around, so naturally your families became close. You'd grown up together, gone to the same private schools, and hung out in the same social circles. To an outside eye, you appeared inseparable.

Did it deter some prospects away from both of you when it came to matters of the heart? Undeniably, yes. But it wasn't enough to force you to give up on your friendship. After all, girls seemed to be all over Jimin despite his closeness to you.

The car ride was filled with more banter, some gossip, and discussion of weekend plans. He was hanging out with his guy friends that night and going to Hana's party the next.

As always, the time passed quickly and he was pulling up your driveway before you realized.

You got out of the car, throwing your backpack over one shoulder, "Alright, I'll see you Sunday, I assume."

"Wait, you're not going to Hana's tomorrow?"

You smirked, "I'd rather not witness your flirtations."

"Oh come on," He tilted his head and grinned cheekily, "Her house is enormous. You wouldn't have to see me at all. It will be fun."

You considered it and decided maybe it could be fun. If it was bound to turn into a big party, then all of your other friends would be there too.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I guess I’ll go. We are Ubering, though. I’m not being your designated driver this time.”

You had turned sixteen a few months back and your parents were beginning to trust you with drinking with friends. They weren’t thrilled, as you were technically still underage, but they knew the culture and accepted it in certain circumstances. As long as you abided by your curfew and didn’t get into trouble, it was fine.

Jimin smiled at you with both eyes and lips, "I knew you'd come around. See you tomorrow."

"Bye Jiminie." You closed the passenger door and waved.

Then he reversed the vehicle out of your long black driveway. By the time he drove away in the direction of his own home, you had already turned your back to him.

__________

That was it, the last time he saw you. It was an unceremonious end to a treasured, deep friendship. The following day, the Park Family moved away. Over the following weeks, both of your lives turned upside down, but in very different ways.

That kind of light had evaded his life since you parted over a decade prior. Sure, he had made deep bonds with the men who worked for him. They were his brothers - he would and had killed for them. Still, nothing compared to the companionship he had with you. It was so innocent and sweet, a reminder that he used to exist in the world unplagued by this madness.

Jimin turned around to face the mirror. The man who reflected back was radically different from the boy who grew up with that sweet, vivacious girl. His face was sharper and his eyes darker, carrying a sinister look about them that struck fear into those who dared to cross him. His hair was an ashy blonde color, a consequence of having to change his appearance from time to time. In this business, that was par for the course.

Taehyung's suite included a kitchenette. Jimin went over to the little bar area and swooped up a fifth of whiskey. He gulped twice before twisting the cap back on and setting it down. He would return to his own suite and wait for the notification of your arrival.

"Why are we doing shots of whiskey?" you whined, "I hate whiskey."

Your elder cousin, Aera, snickered as she practically forced the full shot glass into your hand, "Because we're fucking celebrating!"

Your other cousin and Aera's twin brother, Eoduun, joined in the silliness by raising his glass in the middle for a toast, "To our Y/N, who is finally back in Seoul after three long years abroad. Studying paintings and shit in Europe."

"Being an art curator." You corrected with a shake of your head, though you couldn't help but laugh.

Eoduun paid no mind and went on, "May this night remind her of all the good things about Seoul and convince her to move back."

You put your hand over your eyes and kept shaking your head as the three of you clinked your small glasses together. When it came time to down the dark liquor, you braced yourself and made it quick.

You winced when it passed your tongue, "Damn that's awful. If anything, don't you think soju would be more appropriate after not being in Seoul for so long?"

Aera played with your hair a bit, "Look around you, Y/N. This is the nicest, most exclusive nightclub in the city. No one wants soju here. They come here for something different than the everyday."

Observing your surroundings, you saw that she was right. No one had bottles of soju at their tables. It was all expensive champagne and top-shelf liquors. People were loud and dressed to the nines, some sitting at quilted red velvet booths and others standing at the various bars and pool tables. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone clad in non-designer clothing.

As for you, a black sleeveless mock-neck top underneath a beige Ralph Lauren blazer did the trick. You paired it with a black mini-skirt and the signature red-bottom pumps. A habit you picked up in Europe was dressing in the classics. Stick to that, and one can never appear out of style.

“Anyway,” Eoduun leaned forward across the table, his glossy black hair reflecting the blue and purple lighting above, “Are you here to stay?”

You pursed your lips together. It was endearing that they clearly wanted you to move back home - only it didn’t feel like home for you anymore. Not since you lost your parents. Their deaths left you feeling untethered to this city, regardless of the fact that your Uncle Yohan and cousins still resided within its bounds,

“I don’t know,” you fibbed, “Maybe. I do really enjoy Europe.”

Aera hummed, “The museums, the statues, the elegance, the old money.”

“Which is funny, because you come from some of the oldest money in this country.” Eoduun added.

Thankfully, the twins dropped the subject after that. It was obviously making you squirm, and tonight was about having fun.

The drinks began flowing steadier. You danced, laughed your heart out, and reminisced on old times. The latter occurred when you were sitting in your booth, significantly less sober than when you arrived.

The stillness of sitting down gave your mind the bandwidth to wander to all sorts of things about your past. A dangerous game for you, as it always led you to what you hated remembering the most - or rather, who.

The Park boy who disappeared abruptly all those years ago. The friend who was ripped out of your life without so much as a proper goodbye or warning. It left a scar deep inside you that you never wanted to graze. Yet every now and then, in drunken moments like these, his beaming face would flash across your mind. Maybe he and his family moved away, or maybe he was dead. You had no idea.

You learned over the years not to verbalize his memory. If you didn’t bring it up, it would fade away faster and the feeling inside you would pass.

It helped that Aera was a chatty individual, always having something else to talk about. With a slurred vocabulary, she began asking you about the lack of sunshine in London or something like that. It was unclear to you, because right at that moment, you caught the eye of some stranger standing at the bar.

Perfect timing, you thought. An even better distraction had come along to save you.

He was in a beautiful grey suit, peering at you with eyes unlike any you’d ever seen. His face was otherworldly, and when he smiled? Oh, that smug little grin was more attractive than you would have preferred to admit.

Your cousins noticed you staring.

“Y/N’s got a little heartthrob over there.” Eoduun remarked.

“Go talk to him!” Aera encouraged with an obnoxious giggle, “He’s hot!”

“No,” her brother protested, “This is a family outing.”

“Oh let her live!” She returned.

“Yeah, Eoduun,” you smirked back at him, “Let me live. Then maybe you can go strike up a conversation with that girl in the sequin dress you’ve been gawking at all night.”

“Not interested, actually,” he said in between sips of his scotch, “Something about the way she carries herself that I don’t like.”

“What high standards,” the other twin rolled her eyes and then turned her focus to you, “Go talk to him. Just text us if you plan on leaving with him.”

You smiled and gave her a familial kiss on her cheek as a means of thanking her.

That gorgeous man watched you rise from your seat and maintained his grin. You subtly adjusted your skirt as you approached him, hoping your gait didn’t appear too intoxicated and trying not to stumble in your heels.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked you. His elbow rested in the bar top, while his other hand was occupied with something on the rocks.

You played with your handbag a bit, “That’s funny. I saw you staring at me and came over to ask you the same thing.”

He chuckled, “Taehyung.”

“Y/N.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you in jest,“You haven’t answered my question, Y/N.”

You laughed and further closed the gap between the two of you, “You can get me a drink, as a matter of fact.”

“I’d be much obliged.” He nodded, setting his own drink down on the counter. He then shifted his body to make room for you to come stand next to him, “What will you have?”

You had been consuming mostly gin-based cocktails the whole night. You thought it better to stick with that and requested a dirty martini. Taehyung ordered it for you.

As the bartender began the creation of your next beverage, you continued to chat, “A nice suit, Taehyung. What is it, Celine?”

The handsome man raised his brows and chuckled, tilting his glass toward you, “Very good. You have an eye for fashion, clearly.”

You noticed his gaze scanning your own attire and detected a hint of lust behind it.

Taehyung remarked, “I’m afraid I can’t name the designer, but I do find it ravishing.”

You giggled as the bartender handed you the martini, “Ravishing? What an old-fashioned word.”

“You strike me as someone who likes the classics,” he shrugged, “Besides, I’m a gentleman, Y/N. I would never dream of offending a woman with lower terms…Unless she wanted me to.”

That did it. Your cheeks felt warm with infatuation. You tried to mask the smile that was begging to appear from your glossed lips. Still, you had to play the game if you wanted this to keep going.

Successfully you reeled in the giddiness and replaced it with a relaxed, confident smile. You simply clinked your glass with his as a reply. This caused your newfound companion to bite his bottom lip ever so slightly in a smirk.

The two of you continued to talk over the next hour. You learned he was raised in Geochang and had a job in some marketing firm in the city. When asked the same question, you told him that you were born and raised in Seoul, having recently returned from a stint abroad curating art. He seemed to find that fascinating and asked for more information about your favorite pieces and whatnot.

He would touch your hips occasionally, increasing your want. You wondered when he would lean in for the kiss or take you out onto the floor to dance. However, it was unbeknownst to you that he had been given strict orders not to cross that line.

His boss failed to mention that adhering to this guideline might be challenging. He said nothing about you having a wit or your seduction tactics. This job was proving to be a test of Taehyung's restraint.

Eventually, you saw Aera and Eoduun leave their booth and hit the dance floor, no longer paying mind to this interaction.

It was while you were looking away to locate them that Taehyung made the killing blow.

He propped his elbow up on the bar to appear casual to any wandering eyes. When the coast seemed to be clear, he lowered his hand as if to lay it on the surface of the counter. During this millisecond, he dropped the small substance into your drink.

You turned back to face him a few seconds later, none the wiser.

As you took another sip of your drink, the man texted on his phone briefly and discreetly. You enjoyed how suave he looked doing even the most basic things.

As the flirtations went on, Taehyung observed you doom yourself sip after sip. He knew that time was running out, so he leaned into you and said directly in your ear, "It's getting a little rowdy in here, huh?"

You put on a charming smile and leaned right back into him, touching his upper arm with your free hand, "I couldn't agree more."

You were so close that you could feel his exhale on your nose. He said lowly, "Would you like to go back to my place? I have some art you can critique."

You laughed, and then nodded, "I'd love to."

As he led you toward the exit of the club, you remembered to shoot Aera and Eoduun a text. Doing so proved a bit difficult - your vision was getting a little fuzzy. You chalked it up to having one too many drinks and nothing more.

Your escort noticed that you had looped your arm in his. You played it off as a cute little gesture, but the reality was that you needed the support to walk in a straight line. Taehyung knew the signs of the drug taking effect, and this was certainly one of them.

He sped things along, hoping to find his colleague waiting for them on the curb as planned.

By the time the two of you reached the doors, the black Range Rover with tinted windows was parked and ready to go.

"Here we are." The man in the grey suit grinned.

You were now in considerably worse shape and asked, "Did you...did you call us an Uber?"

"Of course I did," Taehyung played it cool and put his arm around you to offer more support without drawing too much attention, "Luckily he was in the area and could get here in a minute."

"Oh. That's convenient."

When he opened the door to the backseat, he made immediate eye contact with the driver, Jungkook. You were too busy stepping up into the vehicle to notice the two of them nodding at one another.

Your new acquaintance climbed in after you and shut the door.

The driver played the part well and asked, "How are you both doing tonight?"

You could see his round, curious eyes in the rearview mirror. While Taehyung shot him a glare, you replied, "Great, though a little drunk."

Jungkook chuckled as he put the car into gear. He got a kick out of playing with people like this, especially when his boss wasn’t around to chide him for it.

The Range Rover rolled back into the correct lane and began the short drive to Josun Palace, the most opulent hotel in the city.

In the backseat, you started to lean your head on Taehyung’s shoulder. You had slipped into the blackout territory.

The man sitting next to you told the driver, “Hurry up, will you? I think she needs to get to bed.”

Jungkook glanced back at you in the rearview mirror. He had to reach their destination with haste, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to walk yourself up to the suite and draw attention.

A couple minutes later, they arrived. Jungkook parked the car and together they whisked you out and hurried you inside. You were too far gone to even notice that you weren’t at Taehyung’s apartment, but at a hotel.

You were muttering things they couldn’t understand, vision extremely distorted. Your legs felt like they were barely attached to you. The only thing that really registered with your system was the change in lighting, from a night sky to artificial brightness.

The two men moved with urgency, yet hid it by acting all happy. They made it look as if the three of you were hammered, laughing and talking. This diminished any concerns others might have had for you. You were simply a group of intoxicated young people, not a kidnapping in-action.

The journey up to the top floors felt like ten hours to you. When the elevator let out onto the correct floor, you were in the final stages, ready to pass out at any moment.

The two abductors moved swiftly, Taehyung pulling out his room key.

Their boss was waiting for them inside, sitting in a lounge. The room was dimly lit, curtains shut.

Park Jimin had seen many disturbing things in this life. He’d seen bloodshed, gore, unimaginable horrors. Things that seemed impossible to make amends with and yet he had. The sight before him now, of you, eyes halfway closed being held up by his men, was another matter. It twisted his guts.

You looked so pathetic, so weak. Your body was almost entirely limp, head hanging low.

The boss’s jaw clenched as he swallowed, "Well done, both of you."

Taehyung scoffed, "I did most of the work."

Jimin glared at him, "Shut the fuck up and get her on the bed."

They followed his order, one scooping you up by the knees and the other by your shoulders. You were hoisted onto the bed, now fully unconscious.

The leader approached you with a caution that left his subordinates confused. He was slow and silent, observing your faltered body. His face showed resolve, but his body language showed regret. He wished for years that this would never have to happen, and it had come to pass.

Jungkook asked with hesitation, "Are we...Are we good?"

Jimin looked at them and nodded once, "Yes. However, I've decided to stay here with her. Tae, get your stuff. You may sleep in my suite instead."

Within a few minutes, the pair left. The boss pulled a chair up next to the bed and began his watch over you. The drug would likely induce some unfavorable side effects and he was best positioned to care for you if and when they appeared.

He turned off all other lights in the suite, save one lamp on the nightstand between you and him. It provided enough lighting for him to study your face. Your features were completely relaxed, some of your eye makeup smudged, lips slightly parted.

It was still close to unfathomable that he was really looking at you, after all the years. Jimin had taken you back into his life by force, and a few hours prior, it felt terrible. But now that you were here in his sights, there was a twinge of happiness in his hardened heart.

For the rest of the night, Jimin sat in that chair, occasionally dozing off and waking himself back to a state of alert. Waiting for you to wake up, and wondering what would happen when you did.

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fanficimagery · 2 years ago

Text

La Reina del Inframundo

When your neighbor goes missing, you call upon your seven deadly sins to help get him back.

Words: 8.6K Author's Note: SURPRISE! Finally have something to post, so here it is a day earlier than normal. This imagine is probably ridiculous, but you know what? Blame the Kingdom of the Wicked series. I wanted my own seven deadly sins lol even if they don't make much of an appearance in here. Sons of Anarchy AU. Title translation: The Queen of the Underworld.

When you were little, you were probably the most spoiled girl you'd ever known. Anything you needed or wanted was yours and you ended up quite ignorant of everything going on around you. You didn't know anything about the family business, only that your daddy was an important man and you had numerous uncles who looked after you. And then you became a teenager, and you understood that not only was your daddy important but he was also dangerous too. Your parents did everything to shield you from the life, but when you and your mother were kidnapped and she was killed, you wanted to know the ins and outs of everything.

Your uncles, only a couple by blood, made sure you knew how to take care of yourself. You learned to fight and how to handle weapons, and learned about other families that were nearly as important as yours. You learned who your allies were and who your enemies were, and far sooner than you had anticipated, you were upgraded from Princess to Queen.

Losing your father made you bitter and you held no remorse for sending your men after those who had a hand in his death. It was your turn to lead the family business as your father's only child, and your father's brothers happily let everyone think they were in charge while you watched everyone and everything from the shadows.

Everyone learned to fear your family name since you were quite bloodthirsty, but as the years slowly passed you learned to take it down a notch. Eventually, you grew tired of having no privacy and decided to move out on your own since no one outside of the men you grew up with knew you were the head of the family business.

You chose Charming since it was quite the picturesque little town, but those who served under you didn't like you being so far away. So, to keep them from dropping by or watching you from afar, you anonymously purchased a large plot of land and let them build another compound and warehouse nearby.

The construction of the compound and warehouse gave you more than enough time to find a suitable house for yourself, and have it remodeled and furnished before you moved in. There was lots of talk around Charming about who was disrupting their usual routine, but no one ever found out anything of importance.

When you finally move into your house, it takes some getting used to. There's no noise, and no men lurking around corners or men coming up to you every half hour to see if you need anything. It feels good to make your own food and have a peaceful meal, and to just laze around to watch some television, but you're still the woman behind the curtain, taking phone calls and attending meetings and making sure everything is on the up and up.

You've been in your new house for a couple of weeks now and there's not been a single problem. At least not until you're in the middle of your shower and your scalding hot water turns unbearably cold. With a shout, you hop on out to try and catch your breath. You give it a few seconds before testing the water with your hand and quickly yank back when it's still cold.

You test the hot water in the bathroom sink, but that too is cold. Pulling on a robe, you head to your kitchen and test the hot water there. Cold. All cold.

With a sigh, you head towards the laundry room where the water heater resides. There's a little blinking light at the bottom that should signify the water heater is working properly, but unfortunately it isn't blinking.

"Son of a-"

You've learned a lot of things, but lighting the pilot light was not one of them. So uncaring for the fact that you're merely in a robe with shampoo still in your hair, you slip your feet into a pair of house slippers and head outside. You look around your neighbors' driveways and find a motorcycle parked at the house next to yours.

Scurrying next door, you knock on the front door. It doesn't take long at all for the door to be opened and you give yourself a moment to take in the tall specimen standing in front of you. Wet hair hangs down past the man's shoulders, water droplets clinging to a full beard, and a towel is wrapped tightly around his waist. Water droplets glisten down a tattooed torso and you have to quickly shake your head clear when you realize you're ogling. "Uh, sorry." You glance up to meet his amused gaze. "I, uh, I live next door. I really hope it's not a bad time, besides the obvious nakedness going on, but I could really use your help if you're not in a time crunch."

He arches an eyebrow at you. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I was in the middle of my own shower when my water heater went out. I checked it and there are no leaks which leads me to believe the pilot light went out. I have no clue how to light it and I'm hoping you do."

"Sure. Let me just…" He trails off as he glances down his body. "Let me get dressed and I'll help you out."

You sag in relief. "Thank you so much."

"You can use my kitchen sink if you wanna rinse your hair. You know, just in case the problem is something else."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks. I would rather rinse with hot water than cold."

The man opens his door further and you step in. "I'm Opie."

"YN. Nice to finally meet one of my neighbors."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Everyone 'round here steers clear."

"Motorcycle that off putting?"

"That and the MC." Walking into the kitchen, he points to a kutte hanging off the back of a chair. Sons of Anarchy. And huh. You've heard of them- heard all about the power struggle within the club, but they stayed off your radar and you theirs.

"What a bunch of pussies," you mumble. But Opie still hears you and he grins some more.

"Sink is clean. There's even a hose you can use. I'll be right back."

"Mhm. Thanks again."

Opie turns to walk away, and you tilt your head to admire his back muscles and tattoos. You bite your bottom lip at what you see, but quickly turn to the kitchen sink less you're busted ogling him again.

Turning on the sink's hot water, you grab the little hose and test it out. When the water is hot, you bend over the sink and flip your hair into it.

It takes you longer than anticipated to rinse out the shampoo in your hair and when you do, you're quick to turn off the water and then wring out as much water from your hair as you can. Letting your hair hang in front of your shoulder and over your chest so the front of the robe soaks up any other water, you find paper towels close by and take one to clean up the sides of the sink and counter where water splashed.

"All good to go?" You startle at the words and whirl around, finding Opie leaning against the doorway as he grins at you. His hair has been pulled back into a knot and a black shirt hugs his torso sinfully tight.

You gulp. "Y-Yeah."

"After you then."

You stumble and mutter a quick, shut up, when he laughs at you. He follows you all the way to your house, shutting the front door behind him and then stepping into your laundry room. "This is it. There's a light that's supposed to be blinking-"

"Yeah. I know. I actually have this same water heater."

"Oh, thank god."

Opie squats down and you watch him hold a knob down while clicking another button. It clicks about fifteen times before the light blinks, and you exhale in relief. "That should do it. If it goes out again on its own, just go ahead and come get me. It'll probably need to be cleaned and I can help with that also."

"Thank you! I really didn't want to have to call my uncles. They didn't want me living on my own and they would have teased me mercilessly if I had to call them so soon."

"I bet." Opie looks you up and down in your robe and your shift nervously. "Well, I'll go ahead and get out of your hair so you can finish your shower or whatever. If you ever need help, you know where to find me now. As long as my bike is out front, I'm home."

You smile as you walk him towards the door. "Thank you so much, Opie. I definitely owe you one."

You watch him until he's halfway between your houses and then shut the door before hurrying back to your bathroom.

And hallelujah! You have hot water once again.

After your first meeting with Opie, you seem to see him all the time when you're out and about. You have a smile and wave for him every time you make eye contact, laughing when his club brothers eye you up and down or whistle appreciatively until Opie shoves them hard enough to shut them up.

The next time you have face to face time with him, however, is when you're on the side of the road trying to replace a flat tire.

"Come. On. You. Sonnuvabitch," you grunt as you try to twist the lug wrench to loosen a lug nut. You've managed to get one off, but the others are proving to be a bitch.

The sound of motorcycle engines approaching has you looking up and down the side of the stretch of road you're on, and you spot two individuals riding closer and closer. Only needing their muscle to loosen the lug nuts since you know how to do the rest, you stand up and wave them down. And when you see them slowing down, angling their bikes to you, you sigh in relief.

One of the men has a very familiar beard and you can't help but smile as they stop right behind your car. "Hey neighbor," you muse when they cut their engines.

Opie pulls off his riding glasses and helmet, settling everything on his handlebars. His friend does the same before they both stand, and Opie offers you a small smile. "What trouble are you in now?"

"I just need your muscles, I swear." You chuckle, nodding at his friend and his too charming grin he throws your way. "The last place I got my car a tune-up at, they tightened the lug nuts too tight. I just need someone to loosen them up really quick and then I can take care of the rest."

"No need to worry that pretty little head of yours, darlin'," Opie's friend says. "I'm sure my boy Ope can take care of it for you." He claps Opie on the shoulders, squeezing and nudging him forward.

Opie's eyes roll. "YN, this is Jax. Jax, this is my neighbor YN."

You and Jax exchange greetings as Opie gets to work on changing your tire for you.

"So, how's that water heater treating you?" Opie asks. "No more naked knocks on other people's doors?"

"Naked knocks?" Jax arches an eyebrow at you.

"First of all, shut up," you tell Jax. And then looking at Opie, you say, "It's working fine. Haven't had a problem since you helped me."

"Good. That's good."

"So where did you come from?" Jax asks.

"From Salinas."

"Yeah? Why Charming?"

You shrug. "When my mom passed, my dad and his brothers raised me. And then my dad passed, and my uncles took my wellbeing a little too seriously. I needed some space from them."

"Pretty sure they're expecting her to throw in the towel any moment now and go crawling back to them," Opie says.

"Exactly." You grin at the biker that's nearly finished with changing your tire for you. "They know I know how to take care of myself, but they're still hoping I fail and call them up. Can you imagine how put out they're going to be when they realize I have a perfectly friendly biker living next door who doesn't mind lending me a hand every once in a while?"

Opie laughs as he lowers your car from the small car jack. He then grabs up the flat tire and carries it to the trunk of your car while Jax grabs up the jack and the lug wrench. Once everything is put away, the men face you as Opie says, "You're all set. If you stop by Teller Automotive, we can get the tire fixed for you and put the spare back in the trunk."

You arch an eyebrow at him. "You work at an auto garage?"

"Try own it," Jax muses. "It's mine. The club runs it," he says while pointing to the President patch on his own kutte.

"Huh. Nice." Then glancing back at Opie, you say, "Well I guess I owe you. Again."

"I'm just racking up those favors, aren't I?"

"Yeah, yeah." You smile as you pull open the driver's side door. "Thank you. I'll, uh, I'll see you around."

The men make their way back to their bikes, but they wait until you drive off before taking their leave as well.

As music blares throughout your room, you mouth along to the lyrics as you ready yourself for a party with the Sons of Anarchy. You had taken your tire to Teller Automotive when you found the time and Opie fixed it up for you like he said he would. Then after putting it back on your car, he made sure your spare was okay before putting it away back in the trunk. Jax tried to refuse payment by saying you get a freebie for being new to Charming, but you weren't having it and bullied the man in his office to take your money.

Needless to say, the Sons were impressed with how you didn't back down.

Jax then extended an invite to their party, and you agreed since you didn't have any plans. Opie tried to tell you that you didn't have to attend because their type of parties usually got out of hand, but you assured him you could handle your own with an all-knowing grin. Jax whooped and Opie looked a little apprehensive but still told you what time to be there.

So here you are, in a backless black bandana tank top and a pair of faded skinny jeans with rips along your thighs and knees. Your makeup has already been applied and your hair straightened, and you readily slip your feet into a pair of chunky heeled Doc Martens. And instead of taking a purse or wallet, you decide to slip your ID and Driver's License into the back of your phone case before slipping it into one pocket while shoving several twenties in the other.

Then after making sure everything is turned off, with the exception of two small lamps in the living room, you lock up your house and head out for the night.

The drive to Teller Automotive isn't that far and you get there fairly quickly. The entire lot is enclosed with a tall chain link fence that has some form of material draped on the inside so you can't see through, so you're not sure where to park, but one of the Sons who's speaking with a woman outside the fence spots you and tells you where to go. After following his directions, you park and get out of your car. Then pocketing your keys, you turn around and take in your surroundings.

There are barrels of fire scattered around the lot, as well as numerous picnic tables and a single boxing ring that has two men going toe to toe inside of it as many spectators cheer on the violence. The auto garage portion of the building is shut down, but the club portion has its bay doors rolled up. As you make your way towards it, you can see a bar and numerous tables scattered about the room. There are a couple of couches and even a pool table, and many scantily clad women working the room.

Chuckling, you enter the club with all the confidence in the world. Immediately you can feel the stares on you- both lecherous and envious- and you make your way towards the bar.

Sitting on the stool across from the bartender, you smile at him. "Can I have a beer? Whatever you have is fine." As the bartender grabs you a beer, you pull a twenty from your pocket and hand it over.

"It's only six bucks."

"Then I'll grab another two throughout the night. Don't worry about any change."

The bartender nods and puts the money away under the counter, and you turn around on your stool. Crossing one knee over the other, you lean back against the bar while taking your first sip of your drink.

"Hey. When'd you get in?" Jax takes the stool next to you and you grin at him.

"Just now. Was taking in the scene before I went looking for familiar faces."

"Ope would have greeted 'ya, but he's currently trying to fend off a couple of sweetbutts."

"Sweetbutts?"

"Women who want to fuck a Son in hopes of him giving her his crow."

You frown. "How does one give someone a crow?"

Jax chuckles. "You know, it's kind of refreshing that you don't know anything about the MC life."

"Yeah, well…" You shrug, trailing off as you take another sip of your beer.

"It can be a good thing or a bad thing," he continues. "Good because we know you ain't looking at Ope just because of his kutte and bad because this life is tough. Especially for the women."

You flash him a grin. "Who said I was lookin' at Opie?"

"Please." Jax huffs. "I put on my best smile for you when he was changing your tire and you only had eyes for him."

"It's the height. And the muscle definition in his back." You sigh wistfully, sipping your beer. "God, his back."

Jax laughs as he grabs himself another beer and you gesture the bartender to give you another. "Well, Ope can use a saving grace whenever you're ready. Don't let anyone push you around."

"Trust me. I won't."

As Jax takes his leave, you meet every woman's glare that had been directed at you because he had chosen to spend a few minutes of his time on you. You give them the most deadpan stare ever until they look away and then smirk as you start in on your second beer. A couple men try their luck with you, but you're quick to reject them before they can get too comfortable. Your gaze occasionally falls back on Opie, and you make your move when you see him drain his beer and the so-called sweetbutts on either side of him lean further into his personal space.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a fresh beer from the bartender and start towards your neighbor. The gathered Sons seem to perk up, making the women on their laps pout, but you only have eyes for Opie.

Coming to a stop in front of him, you smirk as he looks up and the women vying for his attention glare at you. Holding out the new beer to him, you say, "Come on. Let's go get some fresh air."

His lips twitch as he accepts the beer and the woman on his left scoffs. "Excuse me!"

"You're excused."

Opie and his brothers all laugh and then the woman on his right gets bold. "Back off, bitch. Seniority rules here. If you're gonna be a regular, you start at the bottom of the totem pole. Now go clean the toilets or something."

Opie looks offended on your behalf, but you merely laugh as you step so you're directly standing in front of her. "Oh honey, I'm way too pretty to do the toilets. You, on the other hand…" She gasps and leans forward to stand, but you're quick to lift a foot and plant your boot in the middle of her chest. Her eyes widen as you shove her back into her seat and you lean forward as much as you can with your foot pressing against her. "Trust me, you don't wanna go down this road. You think I'm easy prey because this is my first time here but let me assure you that they will not find your body if you decide to piss me off."

"And that's our cue to go." Opie is quick to stand, gently grabbing you by the wrist to tug you away. His brothers all whoop and laugh as the one woman tries to console her friend who had balked at your words. You follow after him as he leads you outside, walking up to a picnic table that he ends up stepping up onto the bench to sit atop the table. You do the same and as you settle side by side, he asks, "So we wouldn't find her body, huh?"

You snort, covering your mouth where beer had dribbled out since he asked the question when you were mid-sip. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"I'll say." Opie takes a pull from his own beer bottle. "So how are you liking the party?"

You shrug. "It's decent." Then you point towards the boxing ring with the neck of your bottle. "You ever get in there?"

"If I ever have any aggression to work out, yeah."

"Most people fuck their aggression out; you fight it out." This time it's Opie's turn to snort his beer and you smirk. "So how are you liking tonight's party? Are the women always so…"

"Slutty?"

"I was gonna say bold."

Opie shakes his head as he chuckles. "Yeah. It's their life's mission to either get knocked up by someone in a kutte or get a crow or a ring."

"That's the second time I heard something about a crow. What is that?" You ask.

Opie looks at you, seeing that you're honestly curious. "In our MC, a crow is a big deal. Bigger than a ring."

"No shit?"

"It's basically the men branding their women as their property."

"Wow," you drawl, completely unimpressed. "The women around here really need to rethink their priorities."

Opie chuckles some more. "So, you're saying you wouldn't get a tattoo for your man?"

"I mean…" You trail off, shrugging. "It all depends on the situation."

"How?"

"Take me and you for example," you say and roll your eyes when Opie smirks. "If we started hooking up and a month or two from now you asked me to get a tattoo personalized for you, I'd say you were out of your damn mind. I'd have to be with someone for years before getting a tattoo dedicated to my partner."

"That's fair." He takes a moment to watch you, watching you take in your surroundings and be at ease in this new environment. "So how was your day?"

"So-so," you say, watching the men duke it out in the ring. "It was a bit of a bore if I'm being honest."

"No work?"

"I work from home." You turn to face him, grinning softly. "I, uh, I have a family-owned private security schtick going on. My uncles work from the office, but I take calls and answer emails at home."

"Does working from home turn a decent profit?"

"I'm living pretty comfortably, so I'd say it does."

Opie doesn't question your answer and then turns back to the fight himself.

For the rest of the night, the two of you keep one another company outside by the fire. You switch to water so you're able to drive home and you learn a little bit more about how the MC handles themselves and the people milling about their territory.

Over the next couple of weeks, you find Opie hanging out at your place more and more. After the faucet at your kitchen sink had deteriorated and leaked beneath the cabinets, Opie installed the new one for you after you bought everything you needed. You repaid him with dinner and a beer, and he just kept showing up after that. Sometimes with Jax or Juice or even Happy who reminded you of some of your uncles.

You've gotten to know each other really well that you have a date-slash-not date planned with him, so you're a little surprised when he doesn't show.

Or answer your call.

Or your text.

You keep listening for a motorcycle, but two days go by and nothing.

On the third day there's a pounding on your front door that immediately has you agitated. You march over to it, yank it open to give whoever it is a piece of your mind, only to gape as Jax marches in.

"Have you heard from Ope?"

"Well hello to you too," you deadpan as you swing the door shut. Sighing, you follow him to the living room where he's pacing.

"I'm being serious here, YN. Have you heard from Ope?"

His worry and tone give you pause, and then immediately sets you on edge. "No. We had plans two days ago, but he never showed up." You frown when you realize how exhausted Jax seems. "What's going on?"

Jax sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Nothing. Don't-"

"Don't tell me not to worry about it," you say. You step in front of him, arms crossed. "I was ready to bitch out Opie the next time I saw him, but then you marched in here all worried and now I'm worried. If he left town on his own, then fine. But if he was taken because of the club-"

"What the hell would you know about club life?" He scoffs.

"Don't get pissy with me, presidente." You snap back at him. "You'd be surprised at what I know."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." You lightly glare at him, but then the glare softens as you smirk at him. "Weren't you a little bit skeptical at how easily I made myself comfortable at your parties? How I didn't cower to your women or how I stood up to the men who tried their luck?"

Jax tenses. "Who are you?"

"A friend, I hope." Jax frowns and you sigh. "Look. I didn't come to Charming looking for trouble. I didn't plan on Opie being my neighbor or getting to know you guys. In fact, I just wanted to fly under the radar, but you guys… you guys threw a wrench into everything."

"Who do you work for?"

You scoff. "I don't work for anyone."

"What the hell is going on here, YN?" Jax wonders, getting annoyed. "I'm confused as shit right now and my brother is missing and-"

"Hey." You step right into his space, reaching up to lightly pat the side of his face as you stare up at him. "I can help you look for him, but you're gonna need to trust me. I know this is MC business, but if you want Opie found then you're gonna have to spill."

"This isn't going to bite me on the ass?"

"Nope. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll benefit from it. Now what do you say?" You hold a hand out to him. "If you say you trust me, you have to tell me exactly what's going on. The nitty gritty details won't ever be repeated from my lips."

Jax takes a moment to think about it before throwing caution to the wind and grasping your hand. "Fine. We have a deal."

"Good." Pulling out your phone with your other hand, you press on the name that's saved in your first favorite slot. It rings twice before the call is answered. "Gather my favorite sins and send them to my house. Discreetly. Someone important to me was taken and I am not happy."

You disconnect the call and Jax just stares at you. "Your favorite sins? What the fuck was that about?"

But you merely smile at him. "Congratulations, Mr. Teller. Sons of Anarchy are now under my protection so long as you don't do stupid shit."

"Your protection?"

"You'll see. Now talk. I need to figure out an abbreviated version to tell my sins when they get here."

Jax arches an eyebrow. "Your sins?"

"Yes. Now speak."

Jax huffs but takes a seat on the edge of your couch, spilling everything. You're familiar with turf wars and kidnappings and torture, and the more Jax speaks the more unsettled you are for Opie. The issue, however, is an old grievance another MC has with the Sons. They'd been spotted around town for the past week, keeping the Sons on their toes and making the Sons chase them out of town. But the Sons were split in all sorts of directions and Opie never came back.

Jax is in the middle of telling you possible locations of where Opie might be when the back door to your house opens. He pauses and immediately reaches for his gun, but you put a hand on his wrist and put a finger to your mouth to tell him to be quiet. "Let me do the talking. It'll be fine."

Jax hesitantly relaxes, but then he tenses right back up when man after man files into your living room. Each one is wearing dark jeans and a dark jacket with its hood pulled up, but when the hoods fall, he's treated to every man's face tattooed to look skeletal. "What the…"

Each man takes a stand around the room, only having eyes for you as they completely ignore Jax. "Listen up. Opie Winston is the man that was taken." You pull out your phone, pulling up a picture you snapped of him before holding your phone up- screen out- so your men can see. "He's my neighbor and has been nothing but kind to me. I've grown very fond of him."

One of your men (Pride) quietly huffs but you still hear him as he mutters, "Seems like our queen has found herself a king."

"¡Cállate!" You snap at him. "His club president has kindly offered up who took him and possible locations of where they might be keeping him, but they can't get close. I need you to find Opie and bring him back safely. Anyone involved in his kidnapping is to be brought in as well. I want them to see what happens when you take something or someone I deem important from me." After telling them what they need to know, your men all nod and you smirk before letting them go. "Now that you're caught up, you're dismissed. Happy hunting."

The men take their leave from the same door they walked in through and then you turn to Jax who has an eyebrow arched at you in amusement. "Queen, huh? And let me guess, those were the seven deadly sins?"

"Yes. Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth are my best crew. Now call off your boys and have them go back to the club. The last thing we need is them shooting at my sins."

"Fuck. You're right." Jax pulls out his own phone to call his boys off. You watch him as he sends out the text and then he stands as if ready to leave.

"Sorry if I overstepped by calling dibs on the men who took Opie."

"Don't be." He smirks at you now. "I'm kind of curious to see what you're capable of. And I totally called it. You have the hots for Opie. Happy's gonna be so disappointed."

You roll your eyes a little and you hand Jax your phone. "Put your number in. I'll call you when we have your boy back."

"Don't you mean our boy?"

"Shut up." You laugh and then reclaim your phone after he's done what you asked. "And just so you know, if there's more than one man they bring in, only one of them gets to walk so he's able to warn his club that Sons of Anarchy are now under my protection."

"You're that confident, huh?"

"You have no idea. Now get outta here, but don't tell your other boys about me."

"Why not?"

"Because I enjoy making an entrance."

Jax laughs as he walks out of your house. "If you manage to find Ope, you'll be my new favorite person."

"Yeah, yeah."

For the past day and a half, you've reclaimed your throne at the compound and established with your tios that you were coming out of the shadows. They didn't fight you on the decision and, in fact, they might have even encouraged you to see where things went with the missing Son since you needed someone by your side.

You've been in contact with Jax, keeping him updated, but you've yet to update him of the latest development.

Opie was found along with four bikers who'd been guarding him.

You're anxious to tell Jax, but you want to get Opie settled and cleaned up before calling in his brothers. So, to kill time, you go ahead and get dressed.

You strip down to your panties right there in your room, pulling on a blazer and buttoning it closed beneath your bust so your cleavage is on display. You even have to place some double-sided sticky tape so there are no nip slips while you put on a show. Then you find yourself a pair of leather pants that you manage to wiggle into and a pair of stilettos that make you feel powerful as you walk around in a room full of men.

You're adding a couple pieces of jewelry here and there when you get the text that Opie is there. You finish getting ready and then walk out to where you know they're holding him, and grin when you hear him cursing up a storm.

"Who the fuck even are you guys? If you really are my rescuers, why can't I leave?"

"That… would be because of me," you muse as you step into the room.

Opie's head whips in your direction and your smile drops when you see the black eye, the gash above his eyebrow and on the bridge of his nose, and the busted lip. Even his hands look like they have some damage, and his clothes are bloodied.

"YN?"

"In the flesh." You walk closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to him in case he balks from your touch, but he doesn't. You touch his hair, frowning to find crusted blood clumping the strands together. "And to think I thought you stood me up."

"Nope. I was just being held hostage. Still am."

You offer him a grin. "You're not a hostage here, Opie. I swear. Now come on." You offer him a hand. "Come with me so you can get cleaned up and changed. I'll call Jax and the others, and then I'll deal with those assholes who had you."

"You? You're gonna deal with them?"

"Yep. Got Jax's blessing and everything. Now let's go. I had to sneak into your house to grab you some clothes, so you might as well put them to use."

Opie laughs and then groans, clutching at his ribs. You rub his shoulder until the pain passes and when he stands you grab his hand. Mentally cheering when he doesn't pull away, you lead him back to your bedroom so he can use your private shower.

Opie looks around your room while you grab his bag from the closet and then show him to the bathroom. You try not to grin when you see him taking it all in and then leave him be. You pull out your phone to text Jax the directions to the compound and that they'd be let in upon arrival, and then settle in front of your vanity.

Whenever you've done business with those who opposed what you and your family have done or tried to claim your notoriety for themselves, you've always presented yourself a certain way. Your makeup was half and half, half normal and half skeletal, which is why your favorite sins have tattooed themselves that way. So as Opie showers, you get started on wiping off half your makeup before blending white and black face paint along your features.

It surprisingly doesn't take you long to get your makeup done, so you take a seat on the edge of your bed to wait for Opie to be done. A handful of minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Opie steps out. He freezes when he sees you and you smirk at him. "Come take a seat. We need to talk."

Rubbing the towel over his hair one last time, Opie tosses it back into your bathroom before padding barefoot towards you. As he sits, he asks, "Who are you?"

"I'm YN. You know that."

"You're clearly a very important person to have so many men working under you."

Grinning at him, you shrug. "I was my father's only heir. His business became my business."

"You said you worked in private security."

"Yeah. We do that too, but in the underground- in the underworld- we do so much more. They call me La Reina de Inframundo."

"Which means?"

"Queen of the Underworld."

Opie huffs and you hesitantly reach for his hand, clasping it between two of your own. "Why'd you go through so much trouble for me?"

"Because you were kind to me." He scoffs this time, and you angle your body towards him. "I'm serious. You had no idea about my reputation and treated me like any other woman that wasn't actively trying to get into your pants. You were kind and you became my friend, and I- I might have grown overly fond of you."

"Only might?" You roll your eyes with a slight huff and stand, but Opie is quick to catch you by the wrist and pull you in so you're standing between his parted knees. "Oh, I think you're pretty fond of me if you went through all this trouble."

"Fine. I like you, but I'm also aware about how the men of MC's work. And I just want to assure you right now, no matter what happens between you and me, I will have the Sons' back. I've never had a sibling, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want one if they're anything like Jax or Juice."

Opie grins at your joke. "Been keeping in contact with them?"

"Jax, yes. Juice just thought I needed to be checked up on for some reason. I guess he assumed I'd be a sobbing mess without you around or something."

"...thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Ope." You reach for his face, gently cradling it in the palms of your hands before smoothing his hair back as his arms wrap around the small of your back. "You'd have done the same for me if I'd gone missing."

His smile immediately vanishes as his gaze darkens and his arms squeeze you tighter which brings you closer to him. And honestly, you quite like the feeling of being in his arms. "They'd be dead if they'd taken you."

"Likewise." His brow furrows and you wrinkle your nose at him. "Look at you all adorable and clueless," you coo. You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. "Those men outside signed their own death certificates the moment they kidnapped you. They just don't know it yet."

"You're gonna kill them?"

"You'll see. Now put your shoes on. Your boys should be here by now and they're probably itching to pull a gun. Go keep them calm."

As Opie looks for socks and shoes, you walk over to your bedside table and pull open the drawer. Pulling out your gun, you make sure it's loaded before sliding into your waistband at the small of your back and then situating the back of your blazer over it. When you turn back around, Opie's staring at you with an arched eyebrow. You merely grin and shoo him out the door, telling him you'd be out there soon.

You give him a minute to find his way and then head out yourself, keeping to the shadows. Then when you get to the main room, you move to the darkest corner and watch everyone. The Sons of Anarchy stand off to one side as they look over Opie with your sins and tios on the other, and in the middle are the four bikers the sins had taken and bound to chairs.

"What the fuck is this?" One of the bound bikers scoffs. "Have the Sons turned into pussies that let a new crew handle their business?"

All the Sons, with the exception of Jax and Opie, bristle at the insult. Happy and Tig look like they're on a very short leash and would like nothing more than to tear apart the men limb by limb, but Jax keeps them in line.

"That's what I thought. Pussies."

Happy and Tig lunge, but Jax and Juice keep their brothers back. Opie mutters about it not being worth it and once it quiet, you take that as your cue.

Walking forward, you keep your head held high and let the click!, click!, click!, of your heels put the room on edge. The men part and it takes a moment for a majority of the Sons to recognize you. Jax gapes and then smirks, nudging Opie who shakes his head at his brother.

"What the fuck is this?" Tig asks.

"Our new ally," Jax muses.

Walking up to the bound four men, you arch an eyebrow at them. The mouthy one scoffs yet again as he takes you in. "You idiots made a mistake," you say. "You took someone I care about and I don't take that lightly." Reaching for the small of your back, you pull free your gun and grip it tight.

"Ha. I'm sure under that stupid makeup you're nothing but a pretty face, so why don't you strut that perky ass of yours back out of the room and let the grown men talk."

His companions all chuckle and you allow yourself to sarcastically laugh with them before aiming your gun and pulling the trigger. The laughing immediately ceases, and their expressions all morph into shock as their mouthy companion's head slumps backwards. You smirk. "Only one of you will walk out of here, so the more you mouth off the faster you will die."

The remaining three men struggle against their binds, and you giggle at their fear.

"Holy shit," Happy utters. Your gaze darts to him and you smirk as you watch him take in your tios and your sins. When his gaze darts back to you, he says, "La Reina del Inframundo."

You bend at the waist, arms sweeping out to the side as you mockingly bow. "At your service."

"What the fuck is that?" Tig asks, glancing between his brother and you. "Not all of us speak spanish, Hap."

"Queen of the Underworld," Jax answers. He saunters up to your side, nudging your elbow with his own. "Isn't that right?"

"Sí." Then losing your smile, you walk closer to the bound men, pacing back and forth in front of them. "So, this is what's going to happen. One of you is going back to your president and letting him know that the Sons are under La Reina's protection."

"Who is going back?" Another bound individual asks. He looks between his other bound brothers, throwing them under the bus. "I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know."

You slowly grin at him and then raise your gun, putting a bullet between his eyes. "No me gustan las ratas (I don't like rats)." One of the remaining two flinches and whimpers, and you put a bullet in his head too. The last remaining individual keeps his gaze straight ahead and though you see his bottom lip tremble, you let him live. "And it looks like we have a winner."

Your men and the Sons all chuckle.

"Untie him, Envy. Greed and Wrath, I need you two to drive him out to the middle of nowhere. Let him find his own way back home."

As the man is untied, he hesitantly stands while rubbing his wrist. "So, I'm free to go? Just like that?"

"Just a little like that." Before he can question you, you put a bullet in his right knee. He shouts in both pain and surprise, and you grin. "Now you're free to go."

Greed and Wrath stalk forward, grabbing the guy's arms and dragging him out of the room. You don't need to utter a word as other men under your rule step forward, untying the dead bodies and getting them out of there as well.

Looking towards the Sons, you gesture for them to follow. "I have a bar upstairs. It's about to smell like bleach down here, so unless you're into that…"

As you start walking, you grab Opie's hand and tug him after you. You hear Jax chuckle, but soon enough they all start to follow.

Upstairs sits one of your favorite rooms. A sleek mahogany bar runs the length of the side wall, the wall behind it lit up and showcasing every bottle of liquor in stock. There's a clear refrigerator that's stocked with several brands of beer and you even have a few on tap. There are a cluster of couches for those decompressing talks, as well as round tables and chairs for the rowdier gatherings. And for entertainment, there are two dart boards and a pool table.

"Pick your poison, boys. Pride will get you whatever you want so long as we have it."

As the Sons gladly make their way to the bar, Opie stays by your side. He tugs you closer, tucking you into his side and he presses his lips to your temple as your arm wraps around the small of his back. "What is it with naming your men after the seven deadly sins?"

"When I took over, I needed a crew of my very own who would be loyal to me and me only. All my men are obviously loyal, but some have a family of their own who will always be number one to them," you say as you glance up at him. "I get it, I do, but I wanted those who would put me first. My seven deadly sins do that."

As Opie stares down at you, you feel the tension between the two of you amping up. It's always been there, ever since the two of you started hanging out, but neither of you ever acted on it. But as his eyes dart to your lips and your hand finds its way under his shirt so you can stroke the skin of his hip, you know it's inevitable that this friendship is destined to be something more.

"I hate to be a cockblock," you hear Jax muse, "but how exactly is all this going to work out?" You and Opie both exhale in annoyance, glancing at his club president who's smirking between the two of you. "Not that I'm not grateful for the Queen's protection, but we can't be seen as pussies."

"And you won't be," you say. "The Sons of Anarchy will still operate as you have been. I don't care about your club business. But seeing as I've unfortunately grown fond of a few members, I will be on the sidelines waiting to put a bitch in a ditch should they cross a line."

"And what do you consider crossing a line?" Jax asks.

"Any unprovoked kidnappings and/or torture. If you're doing business and you piss someone off, that's on you. But if anyone comes around sniffing around Charming, pushing buttons to see what the response will be, I will set my sins loose."

Jax looks around at his men, gauging their reactions. No one seems to have a word to argue against you and he comes to a conclusion pretty fast. "I can work with that."

"That's what I like to hear." You slowly smile and then smother a laugh when Juice raises a hand. "Yes?"

"What exactly does the queen of the underworld do?"

"Now that's a secret, Mr. Ortiz." You wink at him. "All the prominent families of the underworld are interconnected in a way that I can't explain to you. As of right now, I keep the peace. Or force it if need be." As you smirk, you see Juice shrink down onto a bar stool. "I also make sure the most prominent families aren't murdering anyone without cause."

"When you first came into power, you were the most feared," Happy says. "Why?"

As you look at the man, your smirk slowly vanishes. "Some of the low-class families were looking to make a name for themselves. They waited until my father was at his most vulnerable and killed him in cold blood. They ripped my heart out that day. So, when I took my father's place, I hunted each and every one of them down, and did to them what they did to me."

"Which was?" Juice asks, hanging off your every word.

"I carved their hearts and delivered them to their head of house."

"Holy shit."

No one knows what to say to that, so Jax makes use of the pool table. They crowd around the pool table and dart boards, laughing and enjoying the beer you've offered them. Some of your men even come on up, grabbing themselves a beer and mingling with the Sons.

You feel yourself being led to one of the couches by Opie and then tugged down on his lap. Sitting sideways, you cross one knee over the other and wrap your arms loosely around his neck. "Well, aren't you being a little bold tonight."

Arms around your waist, Opie tugs you closer and lightly drags his nose along your jawline to your ear. "I just watched a beautiful woman avenge my kidnapping and beating." As he moves lower, you tilt your head to give him more access to your neck, shivering when his beard tickles the area. "I think it's time we stop tiptoeing around each other and just take what we want."

"Hmm. And what do you want, Ope?"

"You."

His teeth nip at your neck, and you quietly groan, moving to capture his lips with your own. Opie gives you a moment- a moment!- to control the kiss and then he's manhandling you on his lap so you're straddling him. As your hands delve into his hair to get a good grip on, his hands slide down your ass until he grasps the back of your thighs to hitch you right where he wants you.

The wolf whistles hardly faze you and you take your time enjoying what Opie's offering you.

It isn't until you hear the chanting of, "El rey, el rey, el rey (king, king, king)," that you pull yourself back from Opie's mouth and glance at your men who stop chanting and immediately explode into cheers and whistles.

"Uhh.. what's going on?"

You glance back at Opie, taking a moment to laugh at your skeleton makeup that's smeared onto half his face, before wiping it off and explaining, "They've been patiently waiting for their reina to find her rey. Outside this compound you might be a Son, but within this compound you're about to become King." Opie slightly gapes and you wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Congratulations, Mr. Winston. Life is about to become a lot more interesting."

#opie winston x reader #opie x reader #opie winston imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #opie winston fanfiction #sons of anarchy #opie winston #jax teller #happy lowman #juice ortiz

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blingblong55 · 2 years ago

Text

She's my Collar- Simon "Ghost" Riley nsfw

F!reader, nsfw, Stalker!Ghost, Military!reader

This is based on a request.

But first, let me give you a little back story:

You are a highly trained sniper, and expert in hostage situations. And for obvious reasons, you keep yourself off the radar when off duty. Your age is redacted mainly for your own privacy. The nickname came around your first deployment, and everything went south real quick. Your team for hours looked for your body. Soon they heard a bullet pass through them, your third kill, and from the stinking dirt you rose. (referenced Ghuleh/Zombie Queen-Ghost).

----

"Ghuleh!" your captain called out. You looked up. "sir?"

He showed you the file, a reassignment. "Good luck." your teammate spoke. You stood up and went into the office. "What's the occasion sir." your monotone voice vibrating on the walls. "A captain requested you, congrats Ghuleh, you have been reassigned to Task Force 141, give 'em hell." he placed the file on the desk and patted your shoulder as he exited the room.

On the other side of the world, Brazil. The team was in need of a sniper, and after much searching, Price found you.

----

Full name: r/l/n, r/n

Age: [REDACTED]

Alias: Ghuleh

Rank: Sergeant First Class (SFC), ACTIVE DUTY

Sgt. R/l/n, who was involved in Operation: SEVEN JAWS, was among the five only survivors from a team, of 17.

She is a highly trained soldier, by far one of the toughest I've worked with. No matter the time, day, week, she's there. She's fast, silent, no remorse. Loyal and highly deadly.

Combat ready.

Skills: Sniper, infantry, insertion specialists.

----

Price hands Ghost your file. He scans through some pages. "Don't think she's ready for us." he tosses your file on the table. Your file sits high on the pile of many other operators. "Laswell says she's more than good enough, other teams even the enemy have asked for her. She's been bribed before. Think we aren't the ready ones." He stands up and makes the call.

13 hours later, you arrived at the base, Price, Soap, and Gaz, waiting there as you got out of the helicopter. You walked to them, you sniper and bag in hand. A smile plastered on your face. "Sergeant." his hand reached out. "Captain." you shook his hand. For the next three hours, you started to talk to your new teammates. "Ghost is busy at the moment, but he will meet with you later. Now what's with the name?"

"Classified." You looked up, your hands cleaning the snipe. He chuckled.

And for two weeks, you only saw Ghost passing by, then after hours on the shooting range, he was there. "Nice shot." his remark made you turn. "You must be Ghost." You returned back to your position. "What gave me away." his voice hinting at a slight chuckle.

Headshot.

You left your gun and turned to him. "So what can you bring to us? Just snipe?" "No, but I'll definitely surprise you, sir."

"Mind sparing with me?" he broke the awkward silence that fell upon the room. "How 'bout a no for now. But whoever can give the poor wall the most headshots gets a sparring match after the mission?" You loved playing around with your old teammates. And knew that soap and Gaz were already welcoming of you. He took out a knife and threw it at the target, headshot. You wiped out a pistol from your belt, headshot.

"Why the nickname?" he asked, he pulled a gun from his boot, another headshot. "Why the mask?" you look away from the wall, headshot. "Shit face." he answered, this time he missed his shot. "tsk tsk. s'no good," you shook your head. "Rose from the death, allegedly," you added, another headshot.

And for about an hour, you and him asked and answered. For about an hour, this man was looking at you. Studying your face, trying to read any emotions. He liked the games you played. How you dodged certain questions by shooting at his target. When he ran out of bullets, there you stood, smiling, "Guess no sparring for you sir." You walked away, content with your actions.

----

Three weeks after that day at the shooting range, he followed you closely and noted any quirk of yours. When you and the team were training, Ghost would watch from afar. He had a notebook of all you liked and disliked, and when he passed through the small gym of the base, he'd write down the music you listed. (For personal reasons: you listened to the band Ghost. Ironic ik). At times he would try and sneak behind you, trying to see if you were texting someone. To his luck, you weren't.

After week four, he, although perceived as cold and heartless, had slowly fallen for you. It was obvious you tried to be on his good side. And it was clear you were in the team for a reason.

Mere infatuation, he would tell himself. But when you consumed his last thoughts before he slept, when he imagined times when he was inside of you, pleasuring you, making you his, it was more than infatuation. He wanted others to understand, you were his. His special soldier, only his.

"r/n, time to train." He approached you, taking your scent in. "Be my partner?" your voice rang through his ears. He looked down. "hm?" "You want to train with me sir?" your innocent eyes staring at his. He nodded and followed along.

He started to think of how you'd look. Completely naked, crying for mercy as he penetrated every inch of you. How your whimpers would fill the room around. How he would part your legs, eating you out, making you scream his name.

But soon that picture faded, and he felt his bulge growing tighter around his pants. You stood at the mat, waiting for him. "Scared you'll lose?" your smirk laying high on your lips.

God those lips, the same ones he imagined would eventually be wrapped around his throbbing cock. How you would be on your knees, taking all of him in that small mouth of yours.

"Got a death wish?"

"Maybe I do."

He soon took his gear off. His muscle shirt revealed the tattoos. "Need a picture?" his ego speaking before he could form any other word. "Perhaps I do." You tried to make him nervous, just so the match could end soon. It was something you tried with Gaz, which worked perfectly, he was so nervous around you, that he couldn't think straight.

"Ladies, when in doubt, use your femininity, men will go crazy, military men are dogs when it comes to us. They get nervous, so use that against them. R/n, you have a good shot at getting the enemy on his or her knees."

You struggled to keep him down. His body weight was more than yours, but you were much faster. Soon his body lay under yours. He tried to bring you down, or at least to flip you both. "So what did I win?" you joked. "Me." uttered. Thankfully no one was around, your eyes looking for some lie. "Pfft, good one sir." now it was you that was nervous.

You had found him attractive, but geez was that a comment. "M'serious." his voice softened. Your grip on him loosened. And that was your mistake. He flipped you both over, now he was on top, your bottom with your chest rising and falling rapidly. "What d'ya say? let's get out of here and go to yours?"

It was a dangerous play if he said his.

In his room, pictures of you sat on his bedside table. A sweatshirt you left on the bench hung on a rack. The notebook he dedicated to you lay on his bed. And the small shrine he had of you in his closet, exposed if you opened it.

"Wouldn't this be inappropriate?" you asked, he got up, extending his hand for you. "Just frowned upon," he answered. Your hand on his, he lifted you up with no hesitation. And you both made your way to your room.

----

He looked around. Taking the details in. But soon, small kisses on his neck made him lose all concentration. He lifted his mask, just enough for his lips to be exposed. He grabbed you by the neck and guided your lips to his. You smiled once your lips met. Melting under the kiss, he knew it was time to make all his dreams come true.

He travelled down to your neck, his hands meeting the ends of your shirt, he lifted it up, your arms raised and felt as the clothing left your skin. He laid you on your bed. His hands hungry, traveled around your now exposed skin. You tasted better than he imagined. Your soft moans leave your lips. With one hand on your back, he unclipped your bra and threw it across the room. Your nipple piercings looking back at him, he smirked.

Fuck, the things he was about to do to you. He kissed and softly bit your nipples. This made you moan even more. He flicked your now-hardened nipples with his tongue, his eyes never leaving your face. He loved to see your reaction.

You giggled. In a matter of seconds, his shirt came off, and he trailed down your pants, impatiently trying to take them off. "Take off yours, I'll do mine," you said, and he did as told. When you two stood there, somewhat naked, you laughed.

Sex can make humans crazy. You two back in bed, and he played with your throbbing cunt. "s'ready for me. Like a good whore." he said, your lips never leaving his. "S'mine."

Moans filled the room as he rubbed your now wet panties. He lifted your legs up, taking your panties off, he liked the view. Looked down and smiled. Desire mixed in between touch.

He got on his knees and he dragged you to the end of the bed. His hands parted your thighs. He was leaving wet kisses as he went closer and closer to your throbbing parts. "please" you moaned, wanting him to stop the teasing and just finger you. "please what love?" he eyes looking at yours, a smirk planted on his lips. "please, just fuck me" you let out as frustration left your voice. "Jus'because you asked kindly." he chuckled against your now sensitive skin.

His tongue pumped in and out of you. Your hands made their way to his head, and you pushed him more in. His fingers made their way in. He fingers you so much that you start squirting. He licked the liquid that was leaking. "Taste s'good" he complimented. "Fuck!" your hands burying more deeply on his mask-covered hair.

When he knew you were ready for him, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it under you, he rested your legs on his sides. His hands touch your face. His thumb made its way to your mouth, and he made you suck it. "Spit on it," he said as his palm opened. You obeyed, he rubbed his hand on his already hard cock. And when you least knew, he went inside you.

In response to him, you moaned loudly. He rapidly covered your mouth. "Don't want them to listen just yet," he said and he deeply thrusted inside you. Your walls gripping on him. He moaned and soon he got desperate for the speed. "Can I?" he asked,

"Can I fuck you harder now?"

"Yes, please."

You grabbed the nearest sheets and covered your mouth, your moans still loud although muffled. "Now they're ready," he said as he moved the sheet from your mouth, you gripped the sheets, feeling your climax come. And once it did you grew more sensitive, your legs started to shake, but the noise and cries of pleasure fed him more.

"Please sir, I can't...I-cant take it any longer." you cried, your back arching and your nails digging deep on his arms. He liked how you were slowly leaving your mark on him.

It drew him wild. "You can take one more can't you?"

And with tears slowly falling down, you nodded. "Good," he said. He was rougher, his fingers went back down. He loved how you came on him. His fingers rubbing your now dripping wet cunt. He licked his fingers, and he dove back in. Only to come back with more of you on him.

"Taste yourself, love," he ordered.

You opened your mouth and licked around his fingers, he moaned. "obedient little whore"

And as your tears made your mascara melt, he was more than full. This was the image he needed for today. You a wreck, wrapped around his massive cock. Your body is all marked by his hands.

He came, very deep inside you. He pulled himself out and gave you a deep passionate kiss. "You did so well." Now his voice was low. A smile from both of you grew bigger the more the kiss deepened.

"Can we go again?" your voice still filled with lust. "Maybe later, don't want the others to ask why you can't do drills tomorrow" he laughed a little.

He walked to your closet, grabbed the nearest towels and started to clean you and his mess that still dripped from between your thighs.

"Don't worry, I'm on the pill," you said panic settled in his eyes. "Wise choice." he soon finished cleaning, he even wiped the now dry dark tears from your face. He grabbed one of your water bottles and handed it to you, his hands covering you and him, who now lay on your bed. His arms around you, holding you close. You two passed the water to one another.

"Next time I won't be so kind."

"don't want you to be."

----

A/N: I had a lot of fun doing this one, took shorter than I expected. also tell me why as I was writing this and a old lady walked up behind me and legitimately said "she needs some piercings like yours." MA'AMMMM HOW TF DID YOU EVEN TELL I HAD SOME!!! so shoutout to someones nan , she deserves an award for the piercing part of this story.

<333 Thank you anon!

Tags: @lialacleaf

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

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