My Heart Is Genuinely Beating So Hard Right Now!!! I Think I Might Die From Happiness!!!

Chris Dating a Muslim

Chris Evans x Reader

AN: As always, I like to add a disclaimer that I, indeed, am an ignorant American and do not mean to insult anyone or perpetuate stereotypes. I simply try to be inclusive and educate myself while doing so. Deepest apologies if I have offended anyone, though this time I've gotten research directly from a source thank you so much, anon.

Requested: Yes, but it has been a hot minute

For starters, Chris would be so respectful.

If you were Hijabi, he'd never once even think of seeing you without your hijab before being married and if anyone on the streets or in town even looked at you funny for it he'd absolutely shut it tf down

Giving them dirty looks and staring holes into them as they snickered at you from afar.

maybe even a harsh, "What're you fucking looking at"

He doesnt want to be rude, but the ignorance levels in America for anything and everything they don't understand is enough to send him over the edge and piss him off.

like come on, your looking at heads of lettuce and some rando is pointing and staring bc he can't see your hair-- go to hell

also, never ever pressuring you to do anything you are not ready/willing to do before marriage, he understands and respects you totally

though as soon as you're married, gloves are coming off. He'd be super sweet and gentle for a while, worshipping your body and letting you know how much he's been wanting to do this and slowly warm you up to him just totally taking over in bed

he'd try his damnedest to differentiate between halal and haram, but at first he gets them confused so bad that it's comical

He'd point to some sausage and look at you with furrowed brows as he slowly debated which term to try, "Hal-" he'd say slowly, gauging your reaction before shaking his head and trying again, "haram."

You'd give him a nod and a giggle, as he spoke to himself, "Right. Haram, bad. haram, bad..."

Oh oh oh, okay so as we know he loves his beer. However, I think this would bring him to feel weird about his intake, maybe even getting him to cut it out completely.

You'd talked before about how you don't drink alcohol but that does not mean he had to stop, but he didn't like drinking it in front of you on top of him saying how he needed to stop anyway, so badaboom, beer is gone.

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

I want a BUCKY BARNES TOO !!!

Lost and then Found pt. II

Imagine being taken by HYDRA. After years with them, they set you loose on someone you haven’t seen in a while. Unfortunately for HYDRA, you weren’t as susceptible to their mind experiments like they thought. Now away from their influence, your only worry is making sure you’re prepared for your baby to enter the world.

Words: 11.3K Author’s Note: I won’t say I don’t like this because there are some parts in here that I absolutely adore. However, it is rushed and it feels forced to me, but I needed to get this out so here it is. Also, I’ve never experienced childbirth so please ignore my mediocre take on it. Haha.

Keep reading

Double Trouble

Pairing: Oscar Isaac x Reader x Pedro Pascal

Fandoms: Oscar Isaac, Pedro Pascal

Summary: You’re on your period, and your boys wake you up for some fun. The three of you end up having more fun than even they intended.

Warnings: Smut, graphic depictions of period sex, double penetration, a non-Spanish speaker trying her best with google translate

Keep reading

Innocence taken (1/2)

Info: Thomas Shelby has been the sole carer for his baby sister since he returned from the war, meaning that he has always been overly protective of her. At age 16, she tries to be more independent without the help of her brothers but when she gets attacked one night, she ends up pregnant and when her brother finds out, he doesn't realize that it wasn't by choice, and regrets it when Polly tells him the bad news.

Season: 1

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x sister reader, Shelby clan x sister reader

warnings: Mentions of rape

Part 2

The Garrison was practically empty as it neared closing time. Tommy Shelbys youngest sister y/n, laughed as she talked to Grace, cleaning up the counter. Grace placed some empty glasses on top of the bar counter as she cleaned up some of the tables that were empty. The two looked up when they heard the back room opening, seeing Tommy coming through. He nods at Grace before turning to his sister as she moved from behind the counter.

"Y/n, let's go home." Tommy stated, heading to front door as he lit a cigarette he had placed in his mouth. "I'm helping Grace close up tonight." Y/n stated, not looking at her brother as she wiped down a table. "No your not." Tommy stated, turning to look at his sister. " Yes I am." Y/n stated, looking up at her brother with an annoyed look. "Y/n Shelby......." "I'm not a kid Tommy, I'm capable of walking home on my own." Y/n stated, moving towards her brother in intimidation "Your under my control until your eighteen y/n so I suggest you come with me or I swear I will fucking drag you home." Tommy threatened, moving closer to y/n as she took a step back "Finns eleven and you let him walk around on his own. What's so different for me?" Y/n asked, crossing her arms. Tommy looks at Grace who was stood behind the counter watching the Shelby siblings argue. "Listen y/n, your a girl, who has little to no idea on how to protect herself. I just want you to be safe." Tommy sighed, stubbing his cigarette in a an ash tray before placing his hands on his sisters upper arms. "Fuck that Thomas, I'm well capable of looking after myself." Y/n spoke confidently, shaking her head in disagreement. "Mr. Shelby if I could, I think y/n is capable of walking home on her own, she's took care of drunk men in here on the daily. On her own may I add." Grace piped up from where she stood, causing Tommy to turn his gaze to the Irish woman with a glare. "Tommy please, trust me." Y/n pleaded, placing a hand on his arm as he turned his gaze back to his sister "Of course I trust you sweetheart, it's others I don't." He tried to explain, placing a hand on her cheek gently "I promise to be careful." She smiled softly, causing Tommy to sigh and shake his head "I want you back before midnight, any later and I won't let you do it again." Tommy stated reluctantly causing y/n to smile widely. "Thanks Tommy." Y/n smiled, hugging him quickly before leaving to the back room. "She's a good person." Grace stated, looking at Tommy as he stood still for a moment. "It's those around us who aren't" Tommy stated, taking out a cigarette once again. "She has you wrapped around her little finger." Grace spoke daringly, watching as Thomas glanced at her "Ah." Thomas nodded, opening the door. "Goodnight Mr. Shelby." Grace called back before silence consumed the pub floor.

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"Goodnight Grace." Y/n called out as she and Grace parted ways after locking up for the night. "Night y/n, be safe walking home." Grace nodded to the young girl before leaving y/ns sight.

Y/n sighed and gave a yawn as she started walking towards her home from childhood. The streets were relatively quiet since majority of it's residents gone home for the night. Taking a turn y/n slowed down when she heard something. Looking behind her, she sees nothing so decides to keep going when suddenly, she's grabbed from the side. She tries to scream but a hand is placed over her mouth as she's pulled further into an alley way. Looking up at her attacker, her eyes widens when she sees the eyes of the drunk man who had grabbed her.

"Hey pretty girl, let's have some fun." He said before pushing her into the wall, forcing himself onto her as she tries to fight him.

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Tears in her eyes, y/n didn't say anything as the man fixed himself up and left her in the dark. Sniffing slightly, she placed a hand over her mouth to silence the sobs that left her body as she realized what happened.

Gaining composure, she slowly walked him, a look of terror as she kept looking around her. Her hair and clothes were all over the place as she held her shoulders, trying to keep the sleeve of her dress which ripped up for modesty.

Turning the corner to her childhood home, she groaned as she seen a glow of light in the sitting room when she opened the door. She froze when she seen it was Tommy, who had stayed awake to make sure she got home safe. Turning towards the stairs, she cringes as she hears her brother calling out to her, but ignores it as she heads to her room, closing the door.

"Y/n?" Tommy called out, moving out to the hall in confusion when she doesn't answer him. "Y/n" He tried again, moving to the bottom of the stairs and making his way up the stairs.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Tommy knocks on his sisters door before opening it when he doesn't hear anything. Sighing in relief, he seen her lying on her bed with her back towards the door. Satisfied that she was home he nodded his head before leaving, closing the door behind him not knowing y/n was still awake with tears falling down her cheeks as she cried softly.

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Two weeks after the incident, y/n was still struggling with that night. Every little noise she heard caused her to jump and feel uneasy. She avoided walking in the dark as much as possible, going as far as taking the early shifts in the Garrison instead of the late ones. She avoided close contact with her brothers as much of possible, not evening sneaking into Tommy's room as she always did from a young age since the war, a tradition which eased both her and her brother that they were home and safe, instead opting to stick around Polly and Ada when she was home.

Arthur and Tommy sat at the kitchen table when she made her way done the stairs, yawning as she reached the bottom stairs. She froze when she seen the two boys sitting at the table before looking at Polly as she walked into the kitchen from the living room where Finn was.

"Morning love." Polly smiled at her as she turned off the stove which held the breakfast for the morning. "Morning Pol." She smiled softly, hiding the nausea which started to come up at the smell of the bacon. "Want some breakfast?" Her aunt asked as she plated the breakfast. "Not hungry." Y/n replied, eyeing the plates Pol placed in front of Tommy and Arthur. "Y/n sit done and eat some breakfast love, we haven't seen much of you lately." Tommy tried, moving the chair beside him out before patting it for her to sit. "I have morning shifts in the Garrison so I better get going." Y/n stated as she grabbed her coat from the hanger. "Take some toast at least." Polly chimed, grabbing a piece of toast from Tommy's plate and throwing it in the girls direction.

Y/n smiled weakly and grabbed the piece of toast that was left on the table before nodding and leaving quickly. Tommy watched with squinted eyes as his youngest sister left the house before moving towards the window, watching her cross the road and head the direction of the Garrison.

"Tommy something ain't right with her." Arthur stated, turning his attention to Tommy as he looked out the window. "Pol has she said anything to you?" Tommy asked as she moved away from the window and took a puff from his cigarette. "She's probably just not feeling well, you know how she gets when she's close to her time of the month." Polly stated, sitting at the table and grabbing a cigarette from the open packet on the table. "No it's not that, she's never been one to be away from one of us, she craves some form of affection from us whenever were close by." Tommy explained, breathing out smoke with a shake of his head, "Now she tries to avoid us like were the fucking plaque." He continued, leaning on the back of a chair. "I'll talk to her" Polly stated with a nod, knowing that even though he would never say, it was hurting Tommy that his sister didn't want to be near him.

Tommy and y/n had always been close, both before and after the war. When the Shelby boys had told their family that they would be leaving to fight in the war, y/n, at the young age of 12 had burst into tears and clung onto her second oldest brother, refusing to let go causing Polly and Ada to forcibly pull her off him so Tommy could leave. Tommy was heart broken seeing his sister like that and when he had returned he decided to become the carer of his younger sister. The two always done things together so to have y/n not wanting to be near him or talk to him pained him. She was his light, the main reason for getting up everyday.

"Come on Arthur, let's get John before we head to work." Tommy spoke, stubbing his cigarette butt and moving away from the table while he rolled his shoulders. "Let me know how y/n is Pol." He finished behind his shoulder before leaving the house, heading towards his car.

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Y/n sighed as she headed home from the garrison. Entering the house she rubbed her eyes in tiredness before heading towards the kitchen where Finn was sitting at the table. She smiled at her younger brother and ruffled his hair affectional when she passed him.

"Hey Finn." She smiled softly at him as she sat across from him. "Hey y/n." The boy smiled back as Polly came in. Y/n looked up to greet her aunt only to see a hard look on her face. "Finn, go into the living room, I need to talk to your sister." She stated, pointing to the door. Finn looked between his aunt and sister who nodded at him to do as he's told. "And no eave dropping." Polly shouted at him as he closed the door.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked in confusion as Polly sat in front of her. "I heard something, and I want to hear it from you, no lies, just the truth." Polly stated as she put her hands together in front of her. "About what?" Y/n asked in clear confusion. "Where were you today?" Polly asked, noticing as y/ns breathing hitched. "At work." "Not all day you weren't. Ada was at the garrison and said you left early, which isn't like you. So, where were you?" "Pol, please." Y/n pleaded softly. "Y/n where the hell were you?" Polly asked, her voice raising slightly. "The doctors okay." Y/n snapped, throwing her arms out in front of her. "I went to the doctors." She finished quietly as she looked down. "Why?" "I don't see how that is any of your concern...." "Y/n Shelby, your 16 years old, you don't go to something like the doctors unless me or Tommy know, so why were you at the doctors." Polly asked in a stern voice. "I was late. I kept getting sick, I didn't know what to say so I went on my own." Y/n replied in weak voice, causing her aunts face to soften. "Jesus Crist y/n, your not pregnant are you." Polly asked in shock, being proved right when y/n started crying. "I don't know what to do, I didn't want it." She stated, shaking her head rapidly. "You mean your were....." Polly asked, not able to finish the sentence. "I couldn't stop it Pol, I tried but he was too strong, I couldn't." Y/n explained as sobs escaped her lips. "Oh y/n, sweetheart." Polly rushed out of her seat and pulled y/n into a hug, petting her hair as she shook with her tears. "I couldn't stop him Pol, I tried, I really tried." Y/n stated, pulling away slightly. "Hey hey, none of this is your fault, okay, what that bastard did to you was not your fault so don't you dare blame yourself okay." Polly shushed the young girl, rubbing her arms when they pulled apart. Y/n sniffed and wiped her eyes . I don't know what to do Pol, I don't think I can be a mother." Y/n spoke with a shaky voice "You don't have to be, I know someone who can help you alright. This can all go away." Polly soothed her youngest niece, tucking some hair behind y/ns ears. "Do I have to tell Tommy?" y/n whimpered slightly "No, no one will know. It will be like it never happened." "But it did, it's stuck in my head like a record on replay." "It will get better y/n, time will heal." Polly stated, not knowing that the youngest of the Shelby's had heard everything.

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Tommy sat in the back room of the garrison, smoking a cigarette as he waited for Grace to bring him the drink he ordered. He looked up to the door when he heard the sound of frantic feet before the door slammed open, the youngest Shelby coming into view.

"Finn, what is it?" Tommy asked, watching as his youngest brother fidgeted in his position. "It's y/n." The younger boy spoke uneasy. "What about her? Finn, what's wrong with our sister?" Tommy asked, placing a hand on Finn's shoulder to get him to look at him. "She's, she's pregnant Tommy." Finn relayed, not remembering the vital information of how it happened. "What the fuck did you just say?" Tommy asked, enraged about the new found information. "Tommy your drink." Grace called out. "Don't fucking need it." Tommy cursed abruptly at the bar maid before storming out of the bar, the locals watching him leave before looking at Finn who just ran out to follow his second oldest brother.

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Polly looked up from her position on the couch as she heard the door slam open. She placed a finger to her lips when she seen it was Tommy before caressing y/n's hair gently as she lay with her head in her aunts lap. Tommy sighed and moved in front of the two women.

"Y/n wake up, now." Tommy spoke as he shook his sister harshly. "Tommy for fuck sake leave her alone." Polly told him as y/n opened her eyes with tiredness. "Stay out of this Pol, y/n my office now." Tommy pointed to the women as he spoke to them. "Jesus Christ Tommy can you just calm down and leave her be. What's this about?" Polly asked, holding y/n as she steadied her niece to a seating position, still half asleep. Never you mind what this is about Pol, this is between me and y/n." Tommy stated, grabbing y/ns elbow and dragging her to his office.

"Tommy, your hurting me." Y/n winched as she frantically tried to get him to let go of her. "Sit down." He stated, ignoring her as she pushed her into his office and closing the door behind them before moving to his seat. "What's going on?" Y/n asked, looking at her brother in nervousness. "I heard something which I didn't like the sound of, and I'm hoping you can confirm that what I heard was a big misunderstanding." Tommy spoke as he lit a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. "Well, what did you hear?" She asked shyly, moving uncomfortably in her seat. "One of my sisters are pregnant, and I want to find out who the fucking guy was." He stated, leaning on his desk as he sat up. y/n looked up at him in fear. "Well y/n, who was it?" "Tom..." "Fucking answer me y/n, who was he?" Tom shouted causing y/n to flinch involuntarily "It's not what you think?" Y/n tried to explain. "Just tell me who it was y/n?" "I don't know." She spoke, looking down in shame. "You don't know. You fucking sleeping around y/n huh. You a fucking whore now eh?" Tommy screamed at his sister. "No it's not like that." Y/n cried, looking up at her brother as he stood up and threw glass to the wall ,causing her to flinch. "No? Cause the way I see it I have a 16 year old sister who's a fucking whore, and letting men take at advantage of her but didn't think of the possible outcome and is now fucking pregnant." "Tommy please...." Y/n begged, not able to look at her brother in shame. "Just get the fuck out of my sight y/n, I don't want to see you right now." Tommy stated, opening the door and grabbing y/n by the shoulder, pushing her out before slamming the door in her face.

Y/n stood at the door even after the door was slammed in her face before breaking down in tears. She leaned against the door and covered her face as she realized that her brother had called her a whore and really believed that she would just sleep around.

"Y/n?" Polly asked cautisly, seeing her youngest niece in tears at her bothers office door. "Can we go tomorrow Pol? I just want this nightmare to be over." Y/n pleaded as she looked up to her aunt, her eyes full of tears. "Yeah, we can go tomorrow." Polly smiled softly at the young girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm gently "Come on, let's make you a nice warm bath and then straight to bed, we have a busy day tomorrow." "What's tomorrow?" Ada asked, coming into the hall, looking in confusion when she seen her sisters tears. "Come help me with your sister Ada." Polly spoke as she helped y/n up the stairs "She needs you right now." Was all she said before leaving into the bathroom to start the bath.

Born In Flames || Chapter One

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Some mafia business talk but that’s about it for now

Word Count: 2,646

Authors Note: Finally decided to start on this bad boy! And yes, Duff’s is a real rock bar in Brooklyn! I did some research on places and now I really want to visit it! Also the title comes from one of my favorite bands, In This Moment! Enjoy! If you would like to be added to the tag list, send me a message/ask. I prefer you not to write it in the comments on this post. Thank you.

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We need to talk, come to the office tonight at 5.

You stared at the text message sent from your father, scoffing at the idea of him needing to talk to you. It had been months since you saw him face to face, and that was only because you went to your aunt’s funeral. The two of you spoke minimally, not seeing a reason to give updates on life.

Your father, Michael, had spent his life growing up in the mafia world. His father before him ran Brooklyn and handed it off to his son when his body started to slow down. You were born into the life, but there was a difference. You didn’t like it. Every time you wanted to go out, you had to have an escort. One of his men would follow you around, whether it was the mall or just sitting outside in the car at a friend's home. It was a pain in your ass but you learned how to hide from them. Escape through windows, duck through a group of people, shut off your phone so the tracker they had in it stopped working. You became your fathers biggest problem for a while.

When your mother died, it devastated you. You were only 19 and she was the one person in the world who would let you rant about your father. You couldn’t exactly tell your friends what Michael did for a living. Your mother tried to talk some sense into him but it never worked. You left home after her funeral and didn’t look back. Michael would try to message you from time to time, wanting to form some sort of relationship. You didn’t care though. He took enough of your life away growing up and now you finally had freedom.

You lived in an apartment in lower Brooklyn, just a two bedroom place that overlooked a park. You made amazing money at your job, working as a bartender at a rock bar named Duff’s. Music, beer, and metalheads willing to throw bills your way for another shot. How could you want anything else? You had been there for about eight years now and it kept the lights on at home.

You have 30 minutes to talk to me. I’m not going to be late for my shift because of you.

You sent the text back and rolled over in bed, curling up around one of your pillows. Duff’s was only open from 6pm to 4am so you were certainly a night owl. Why did he want to talk anyways? Had he not gotten the hint that you wanted to avoid him for the rest of your life? The only thing that kept you connected to your old life was your name, that was it. Checking the time on your phone, it was only noon. Grumbling, you knew sleep wouldn’t come back now that you were thinking about what Michael needed to see you for. Pushing the covers back, you decided to go about your day as usual. Shower, breakfast on the fire escape as you watched the people in the park, and a quick little conversation with your neighbor.

Miss Liz was a little old lady who seemed to come from her hippie days. She told you all about Woodstock and her crazy stories of the antics she got into. If you didn’t know it, you would have thought she came straight out of Dazed And Confused. There were days she would set a Tupperware container of goodies out for you if she wasn’t going to be home to talk with you. In return, you got her the best weed and left it in the container by her windowsill.

Things had been going great. The only thing you could really complain about were the neighbors to the other side, who seemed to be having nightly arguments. Little did the wife know, the husband was cheating on her during the day. Sometimes you wanted to intervene, but you decided it wasn’t your place.

You cleaned up the apartment, making sure the dishes were done and the guest room you had turned into a little hobby room was organized. A day bed sat inside while your computer setup was on the other side, along with a shelf unit with art supplies. You had a tendency to move back and forth between it all, depending on your mood.

By four pm, you decided to get ready for work. It took about twenty minutes to get to your fathers office and then from his office to your job, about fifteen. You didn’t want to change clothes and you didn’t honestly care what Michael would say about your attire. Growing up, he always wanted you to be a part of his business, but you couldn’t find it in you to be one of his minions.

Putting your hair up in a curled ponytail, you slid on a cropped tee with Duff’s written across the front. You decided on jean shorts with black fishnets since it was on the warmer side today and pairing it with your favorite boots. It fit the aesthetic of the bar you worked at which often had metal bands playing and visiting. Grabbing your bag and making sure you had everything, you sighed and tried to remain calm on the drive to the office you grew up around.

Pulling up outside, you gazed up at the building. A bubble of anxiety started in your chest and it grew when you stepped out and walked in. You flipped off the front desk as they asked for your name and you walked to the elevators, pressing the button to go up. It took a moment while you avoided the security guard, but all you said was that your father needed to speak with you. That seemed to shut him up. You got into the elevator and went up to the top floor where his office always sat. You got odd looks from people as you walked through, keeping your head high and your walking pace fast. Checking your phone, you saw it was 5:01. Perfect.

You didn’t care to knock as you swung the door open. Your father sat at his desk, in the middle of a conversation with a man who sat in a chair on the opposite side. The man had his back to you as Michael stood and gave you a glare.

“I see you still don’t knock. What are you wearing?” He asked, crossing his arms over his grey suit.

“I have to work. Now what did you want besides critiquing my clothing?” You raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips.

“Right. Work. Must be some job…” he mumbled with an eye roll. “Seems I have an enemy who knows just where that bar is. Duff’s, right?” He asked, though he didn’t give you a moment to respond as he pulled out surveillance photos and laid them out on his desk. “I was sent these this morning. Someone has been watching you and I feel like they’re going to try to use you as a way to get me to give in on this deal,” he stood back.

You frowned and walked over, ignoring the man sitting in the seat beside you as you leaned over the desk and looked at the photos. They had all been taken over the last week. Going to work, leaving work, your car, even your morning routine of talking to Miss Liz on the fire escape. You leaned up and looked over at Michael.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t spend a day in your world for almost a decade and now I’m the one being watched? Great, Mike, just fucking great. So let me guess, you made a bad deal again and I have to go into hiding again. The only difference is that mom isn’t here to actually give a shit about making sure I’m happy through it all!” You yelled, not caring who heard you outside of the office. “I should have known something was up when you wanted me to come here. You screwed up my childhood and now you’re trying to screw up the freedom I made for myself.”

“Enough, Y/N!” Michael spat, raising his voice as you took a step back. “What I do with my business is none of your concern and no, I’m not putting you into hiding. Meet Bucky,” he said, motioning to the man sitting in the chair. You looked down and met his eyes for a brief second before looking back at your dad. “He’s going to be your bodyguard until this blows over.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That’s cute. A bodyguard, really? What, he stays with me at work and sits outside my apartment? Hope you like the fire escape buddy,” you said sarcastically.

“Actually, no. Bucky will be moving in with you. I believe your apartment has two bedrooms, yes? And you live alone?” He asked, looking over a paper that you assumed had everything about your apartment building. You knew he had his ways, you just hated that he did it. Using them for his enemies was one thing. On you? That pissed you off.

“So he’s gonna live with me? How is that fair? And how long do you think this will be before it blows over? I remember being stuck at the lake house for seven months before I was able to see my friends again and I was twelve. I’m not gonna quit my job because you suck at being a mafia boss,” you crossed your arms. If Michael could blow steam from his ears, he would.

“You can whine all you want. Wherever you go, he goes. Work, home, the store, anywhere. Don’t expect this to be fixed anytime soon because I have been dealing with this guy for years and he is one of the most ruthless in the business. I trust Bucky to watch over you. He’s been on my team for a long time now and he will make sure you stay safe,” Michael explained, taking a seat in his large brown leather chair.

You stared at you father for a few moments, wanting to sock him straight in the nose for swooping in and fucking up your life again. But you knew he probably had another plan if you didn’t take the first. Perhaps posting other guards up around your job and work, having someone secretly following you around. He wasn’t above doing any of that.

“Fix your fucking mess so I can get back to never having to see your face again,” you said, turning and walking towards the door. As you pulled the handle, you glanced back to see Bucky still seated. “Let’s go, guard dog,” you spat before walking out.

Michael sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy.”

“I can handle a little whining. I’ll update you at the end of every day,” Bucky nodded and stood, collecting his duffel bag that had his personal belongings that he would be taking to your place.

Michael gave a slight wave towards the door, knowing you were halfway to the elevator by now. Bucky walked out and shut the door behind him, putting on an emotionless expression as he hurried his steps to catch up with you.

The two of you rode down in silence, and it continued on the way to the car. Once inside, you noticed the bag he tossed in the back seat and rolled your eyes.

“Do not touch my shit in the spare room. I’ll clear out space in the closet but no touching my art stuff or the computer. I’m assuming he told you I work nights? Hope you enjoy metal music and loud people,” you said as you pulled out of the parking spot and drove off.

Bucky gave a slight nod to acknowledge what you said, but he didn’t feel the need to say anything. He was only meant to watch over you, not make friends. You couldn’t take his silence so you turned the radio up, fighting against the traffic to make it to the bar. You were opening up tonight and you weren’t sure how your boss would take to having a guy sitting there, watching you the whole time. But Duff was a cool guy, so you knew he would probably just offer to get Bucky drunk.

Pulling up in the back, you sifted through your keys as Bucky looked at the building. How could you give up the life of being a mafia princess for something like this? He wasn’t sure he would be able to ever understand it. Stepping out, he followed you inside after you unlocked the door.

Leading him into the main part, you pointed to a table in the back. “Better post up there for the night,” you sighed before starting the opening motions. Lights, glasses, music, checking stock, wiping everything down, filling the ice bin, getting the register ready.

Bucky watched you, his arms crossed as he leaned back in the chair. You were a spitfire, someone who probably could take care of herself in a fight. He heard the stories Michael told him about you and how you were as a child. Leaving the mafia business was bound to happen. But unlike those other guards you grew up with, Bucky wasn’t going to easily let you slip through his fingers.

Work had gone pretty simple that night, the usuals coming in and requesting songs as well as shots to get fucked up. Since it was the middle of the week, it wasn’t as crowded as the weekends. Bucky kept an eye on you, to the point of a few patrons mentioning that a “creepy man in a suit staring at you”. You brushed it off and said it was an old friend waiting for you to get off work. They didn’t mention it again after you offered them a drink.

It was hard to work with eyes on you. It was one thing when someone was trying to wave you down from the end of the bar, but something entirely different when some guy your father paid just stared. If it was any other situation, you would have found him quite handsome. The cropped hair, blue eyes, strong jaw, beefy build, it looked good. Or maybe you had been touch deprived for too long. Dating was never your thing and one night stands seemed boring. You tried it a couple times but the men didn’t even know where to find your clit, let alone how to make you cum. Your vibrator was your best friend and now it seemed like you may have to use it in secret. The thought made you roll your eyes.

By the end of the shift, your feet ached and your back was screaming. One of the other bartenders called in sick so you worked double time to get the drinks out. You had worked the last five days in a row and thankfully tomorrow was your day off, though it was silly to think you could do anything now without the guard dog on your ass. You shoved the tips in your bag and clicked off all the lights after locking the front door, ready to get into bed.

“Let’s go,” you said to Bucky, the first words you had spoken to him throughout the whole shift.

Bucky stood and followed you out, noticing the slight limp now that the adrenaline of the shift was gone. “Want me to drive?” He asked as you two made it to the car.

“Nope, don’t want anything from you,” you muttered, sliding into the driver's seat.

Bucky gritted his teeth and got in.

Babysitting you was going to be harder than he thought.

~~~

Tag list: @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie

Born In Flames || Chapter Six

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Blood, broken nose, kidnapping, guns

Word Count: 3,011

Authors Note: Three chapters so close together? Whaaaat? Have fun, babes. If you want to be included in the tag list, send a message or ask otherwise it will be ignored.

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You knew what sitting in the hospital alone meant.

It meant you were vulnerable.

It meant Pierce’s men could find and take you.

But you couldn’t just leave Bucky to wake up alone.

The bullet thankfully didn’t cause any organ failure, but he did have surgery to get the piece of metal out from his chest. All while you sat in the waiting room, curled up in a chair and hyper aware of your surroundings. For the past week, you didn’t have to watch for yourself. Bucky had made sure to do it all and now you were realizing just how much you had become dependent on him.

It was about an hour into waiting when you saw Michael appear with one of his other men. The two of you didn’t speak, just gave nods and sat in silence.

A couple hours later, a woman came out to talk to you about the surgery and how it went well, but he wouldn’t be able to do any strenuous activity for a while. You asked to see him, stopping Michael from being the first one to go in. Bucky didn’t need to deal with work right now, he needed a friend.

A friend who was almost killed protecting you.

Quietly you stepped inside to see Bucky’s sleeping frame in the bed, little beeps coming from the monitor. It pained you to see him like this, but it was a risk that came with being in the mafia. The last time you had been in a hospital, it was to watch your mother on her final days.

If only you had known then.

Pulling a chair up to the bed, you sat down and reached out to take Bucky’s flesh hand. He was still, probably hopped up on pain meds. You didn’t mind, you were just glad he was alive.

Hearing a knock, you assumed it was a nurse and called for them to come in. It was the man who came with Michael.

“Boss went home. I’ll be sitting out here. He paid them off so you can stay past visiting hours,” he spoke. Glen, if you remembered correctly.

You nodded and quietly thanked him before the door closed again.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whispered, resting your head on the bed as you held his hand.

No television, no music, just the sounds of the monitors and activity on the other side of the door.

You ended up falling asleep like that, fingers laced with his. What did wake you was soft grunting from the man in front of you. Leaning up, you caressed his arm and sighed.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” you sighed. You couldn’t imagine how much pain he was in.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s eyes slowly started to open, wincing at the bright light overhead before his eyes adjusted.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you stood, hip leaning against the bed as you looked down at him.

“What…happened…” he mumbled.

Letting go of his hand, you grabbed the little styrofoam cup filled with water and put the straw to his lips as you answered.

“More shooting. A bullet got lodged in your chest but they got it out. It broke a rib but that’s about the extent of it,” you said, pulling the cup away after Bucky got a good sip.

“How did we end up here?” He asked. His voice was hoarse but just slightly better. His chest ached like no pain he ever had before.

You set the cup down and bit your lip. “I uh…drove us away. Called Michael and met up with him. Not sure if they got the guys that were shooting at us. I was more worried about you,” you admitted.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to shift in the bed but a grumble of pain left his lips.

“No, no, stop it. Don’t move,” you frowned.

Bucky huffed and laid back, taking a moment before speaking again. “You drove us away? But I was driving…”

“I may have driven from the passenger seat. Or well, the console really. Had to keep pressure on your wound, kick your big legs out of the way so I could reach the pedals, and steered. It looks like being a getaway driver is a skill I never knew I had,” you shrugged.

Bucky reached out slightly and brushed his fingers over yours that sat on the bed. “Are we sure you need protection anymore?” He gave a hint of a tired smile.

“Probably not. But…I do like the company,” you tilted your head, glancing down at your hand with his. “I’m sorry you got shot because of me.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “I didn’t. I got shot doing my job. It just so happened that my job is you.”

You sighed and pulled your hand away, taking a seat on the chair. Right. A job. That’s what you were.

So why did it hurt so much to hear? Why did you want more?

Bucky could see the disappointment in your eyes and he closed his for a moment. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on getting better, okay?” You said quietly, glancing over to him.

Both of you were silent for a few moments before Bucky spoke up again. “You know, I like the company too. It’s not everyday I can show this thing to someone and not have them be afraid of it,” Bucky said as his metal arm lifted, the gold shining in the overhead light.

“It’s not scary though. It’s just an arm and I don’t really plan on being on the opposite end of it when it comes to killing,” you shrugged.

Bucky reached his flesh hand out, realizing he missed your touch. Giving in, you rested your hand in his. You hated how much you liked it, but then again so did he.

“You’re more than just a job. It’s not everyday I can take someone to that diner. And I don’t let just anyone hide against me after nightmares. I don’t know, I just…” he took a couple of breaths, the pain in his chest radiating through him. “I’ve been on bodyguard jobs before but this is entirely different. You’re different. You don’t let anyone tell you what you want and you stick up for yourself. Most people wouldn’t even go so far as to raise their voice to Michael and you went in there and screamed. Others would have too much fear but not you. You know, I think I owe you for saving my life,” he watched your eyes as he spoke.

You met his eyes and squeezed his hand. “Bucky…I don’t know what this means. I don’t…I don’t do this type of thing.” Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion and you continued. “This,” holding up your hand in his. “Going to breakfast and needing someone to hold me during those nightmares. I don’t know how to feel because…truth be told I’ve started to like you. And honestly, I was scared when you were shot. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to have to find another guard dog or move your stuff out of my little office-“

“You call that an office?” Bucky slightly chuckled, trying not to agitate his wound.

You rolled your eyes and glared for a moment. “You know what I mean. I just…I don’t want to lose you to more gunshots. And I know it’s inevitable because that’s what this business is. That’s what the point of it is. Killing, money, fights. I want to leave it all, leave this state and go far, far away…but I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted.

Bucky listened, surprised at your change in mood. When he first met you, you were ready to kick him out of the door and to sleep in the hallway of the apartment building. Now, you were confessing feelings? Tugging on your hand to silently tell you to move closer, you stood and leaned against the bed.

“I don’t want to lose you either, angel,” Bucky spoke. That was a first. The little nickname. Reaching up with his metal hand, he took your chin and pulled you down into a gentle yet long kiss. You froze when his lips pressed against yours, but soon you melted into it. You didn’t want to pull away but the knock and gentle opening of the door made you. It was a nurse coming in to check on him, surprised that he was awake so soon. She asked him the usual questions about how he felt, completely ignoring the kiss you two had just shared. All while his hand stayed clasped around yours.

You yawned just as she made her way out after jotting down a couple things on his chart, closing the door behind her.

“You need to get home and sleep,” Bucky sighed.

“No,” you shook your head. “They said I could stay as long as I want. And I don’t want to go back there.”

Bucky eyed you for a moment before trying to shift again.

“Buck, I told you-“

“Here,” Bucky patted the bed beside him. It was his left side, where the wires wouldn’t get caught around you from the monitor.

You tilted your head before slowly moving around to the other side. Being as gentle as ever, you crawled beside him. Adjusting the blanket over both of you, you rested your head against his shoulder. Surprisingly the metal arm wasn’t uncomfortable as he used what little strength he had to pull you close. Pressing a kiss to your hair, your hand rested on his bare stomach and you sighed.

This wasn’t how you expected anything to go, but even now you felt more protected than you ever had.

You fell asleep against him fairly quickly, not even waking when the nurses came in to check on Bucky. They did suggest that you move, but Bucky warned them not to wake you. They weren’t about to try fighting him on it.

A few hours into your rest, Bucky had dozed off as well with his head leaning against yours. The door slowly clicked open and in walked not a nurse, not a doctor, not even Michael.

Alexander Pierce stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets as the bodyguard from outside of Buckys’s door stood on the side of the bed. Pierce kicked the end of the bed, rattling both you and Bucky awake.

Slowly your eyes opened, yawning until you froze at the sight of the men. Bucky looked around and his own eyes grew wide.

“Pierce.”

“Barnes.”

Both of the men stared at each other for a moment longer before Alexander turned his attention to you. “Y/N, long time, no see. Looks like we have some catching up to do. Get up.”

“You won’t touch her-“ Bucky started to say but a gun was pushed against his temple.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You were lucky to get away with just a few scrapes. Don’t test me. You, get up. You’re coming with us,” Alexander stated once more.

You looked at Bucky with fear but you knew the only option was to go or die. “Just…don’t hurt him,” you said as you got up, looking at Glen. So there was another rat. You momentarily wondered how many were in Michael’s business but you didn’t have time to think about it.

“Y/N, don’t,” Bucky whispered as you got off the bed.

“It’s okay,” you nodded, though you looked anything but.

“How sweet. Now what you’re going to do is walk out with us and act as if nothing is wrong. You try to run, you’ll get shot. You try to get help, shot. Even look at someone, shot. Keep your head down and make it out alive. And then maybe we’ll keep your boyfriend alive too,” Pierce said. You didn’t bother correcting him, too scared to say anything more. He gave Glen a nod and the man hit Bucky over the head a couple of times with the butt of the gun, knocking him out.

You whimpered slightly, a hand covering your mouth. Pierce pushed you towards the door and now you knew you had to play it cool. Swallowing hard, you walked between both men all while trying to find a way out of this. Bucky couldn’t call for help yet. The nurses didn’t know anything about the mafia business, only that they were paid to keep their mouths shut about who was in the room.

Glen paid close attention to you as you just stared down at the floor in front of you. The one time you wished Michael was around, but when were you ever that lucky? The men led you outside to a black Rolls Royce, pushing you into the back. A driver took off the second the door was closed. Your hands were bound behind your back.

This was how you were going to die.

“Are you going to kill me like you did mom?” You asked, teetering on terror and anger.

Pierce chuckled and crossed his arms. “So you figured it out, huh? I was wondering if you would ever know. And I’m not quite sure how I’m going to kill you yet. May have my men cut off parts of you and send them back to Michael. After all, he can put your back together that way. Or maybe I’ll make sure he never finds you.”

“So you are going to kill me. Why? What did I ever do to you?” You glared.

“Your whore of a mother left me for Michael of all people. You know, we’re still legally married. I never signed the divorce papers she sent me. But I feel as though you deserve the same treatment. Slow, painful death. You were never really my daughter, not after you kept calling Michael ‘dad’. Do you know how much that hurts? I could have given you the best life! But instead I’m left with nothing and now I’ll make sure Michael has nothing left either,” Pierce spoke as the car turned. Where were they taking you?

“You’re pathetic,” you said, spitting right in his face.

Pierce wiped his face before leaning his arm up and elbowing you straight in the face. A sick crunch came from your nose, making you scream in pain. Glen grabbed a bandana and wrapped it around your mouth to keep you quiet.

“You got blood on my Armani,” Pierce grumbled, looking at the sleeve. “You’ll never see anyone ever again. I can promise that.”

You whimpered against the cloth in your mouth, blood slipping down your skin. Tears formed in your eyes as you silently pleaded to whatever gods or even to the universe that they got you out of this.

After an hour and a half of driving, the car pulled up to a building. It looked like a cabin in the middle of the woods. No immediate traffic, no neighbors for at least a couple of miles. Glen dragged you out of the car and pushed you forward as you followed Pierce inside. It looked like a little two bedroom place, as if a hunting cabin used during those few months. Or a safehouse. Probably a safehouse.

“I used to love coming here with my grandfather as a child. It was beautiful during the summers. I was hoping to pass it along to my children, but it seems like that won’t be an option. Now, I suggest you get comfortable. And don’t think about escaping. Every window, every door, they’re all sealed shut. Only way in and out is that door,” Pierce pointed to the one you three just walked through. “And you won’t be able to get within two feet of it.”

Just then, Glen leaned down and strapped an ankle monitor to your leg. “Try to leave and it sounds off. Try to take it off and it sounds off.”

You muffled words against the bandana, and Pierce gave Glen a nod as he stood. Taking the bandana away, you frowned. “Why don’t you just kill me now and get it over with?”

“Because I want to see how much you mean to Michael. I’m sure he will do anything to keep you alive, he just doesn’t know that you won’t be at the end of it all,” Pierce said before backhanding you, sending you stumbling. Glen pulled out a phone just as you looked back, blood still caked on your face from your broken nose. “Perfect. Matthew, I’ll send more men within a couple hours,” he said as he passed by you.

So Glen wasn’t even really a Glen at all.

Nodding, Glen pushed you to the couch. He sent the photo he took to Pierce and followed him out of the door for a moment.

The two spoke in hushed tones as you gently felt your nose. You knew you needed to put it back into place. You had done it once before in high school when your friend fell down the stairs, but could you do it to yourself? You took a few deep breaths and winced before cracking it back into place with a yelp. Glen, Matthew, whatever his name was, looked in to see you cradling your face.

“Make sure she doesn’t leave or else I’ll have you buried out back here as well,” Pierce said, not realizing you managed to hear that little bit.

He buried bodies around here? Great, you were surrounded by corpses. Pierce left and the asshole walked back in, closing and locking the door.

All while you were trying to figure out what to do next, the nurses alerted Michael about Bucky’s knocked out condition. Quickly he rushed to the hospital and found both Glen and you missing. Bucky had woken up just moments before, telling him everything that happened with Pierce.

Bucky felt disgusted with himself all while Michael felt the same. They didn’t keep you safe.

Now they just had to find you.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kaaabiii @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @valsworldofcreativity @yaszx @21st-century-daydreamer @doll1917 @luxeavenger @hallecarey1 @booktease21 @supernatural-love14 @bookstan0618

Okey so basically you know how I am a Muslim ? Well I live in France and I hate it ! And it was my dream since I was 15 to get out of here well in August I am officially moving to Montréal to study !!!!! I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY U CANNOT IMAGINE

Okey so I know I was supposed to come back after Ramadan 🙃🥺but I just realized my biggest dream and I needed to take time to actually process the big changes that are gonna happen in my life

And so I am happy to announce that I’m officially back and I will be binge reading all of your fics because I fucking missed you

Oh, oh, oh!!! I would love to hear about your dream?!?!?! I am so excited for you and I hope it is everything you want it to be ♥️

I missed you sweetie but I'm super happy you took the time to think about your future!

.

If the Punisher is brought into the MCU and he’s not played by Jon Bernthal, then I don’t want it.

Ok ok so.

Spencer x male reader where the reader has been working at the BAU for at least a year, maybe a little while longer. But! He has 2 full sleeve tattoos, and none of the team knows about it. Because he is always wearing suits or shirts that cover them well. (Also he has other tattoos but the focus of this idea was the sleeves.) And the reader is pretty buff in my mind but doesn’t have to be.

One night after a case they go to their local bar(O’Keefs? I could be so wrong). And the reader has gone home and is wearing a t-shirt under a jacket so when he gets to the table where everyone is the team is very 😱😮. And Penelope makes a comment about how attractive the reader is(flirts the way that she flirts with Derek) but later(or then, either) Spencer talks to reader and thinks that he is v-attractive with tattoos, not that he wasn’t before, cue rambling Spencer.

Last minute thought! This could also work with Aaron, so whatever you are feeling.

I just made the bar O'Keefe's because I didn't know either loll Also, sorry it's short, I didn't really know what to write 😅 Edited by @mystic-writes

Gif by @reidgifs

You walk into the bar and sigh, already feeling sweaty and gross. You knew this would happen, you just hoped for a miracle. But it's always hot on O'Keefe's, and even if it wasn't as humid out today as it has been, you still probably would be in the same dilemma as you are in now.

You walk over to the table filled with your co-workers, and you give a tight smile and wave, walking over as you take your jacket off, revealing a very tight white t-shirt.

"Hey guys," you say, sitting down, putting your jacket over the back of your chair.

They all stare at you, open mouthed.

"What?" you ask, trying to play it off, but you are incredibly nervous.

"You didn't tell me you had TATS!" Garcia exclaims, and a couple people glare at her, but you just feel yourself blushing.

"Uh, yeah…" you trail off, rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

"How did we not know this?" Morgan asks.

"He's always wearing long sleeves. Even when it's fuckin' hot outside," Emily says.

You shrug. "I didn't really want to show them off in the field I guess."

"What about at work? You could have shown them there?" Rossi asks.

You shake your head. "Where Strauss could see? She would have a conniption!"

Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss all laugh.

"How much have you spent on your tattoos?" Hotch asks, and you look over at him. He's eyeing your tattoos almost enviously.

You smirk. "I have an artist I go back to every time, and he gives me discounts. I can give you guys his number if you want? Just say you're a friend of [Y/N]."

Everyone clambors for the number except Hotch and Spencer, but you see Hotch inputting it into his phone when the others aren't looking.

Eventually, they all move away, and you're left with Spencer at the table, nursing a beer.

Spencer leans over and says, "Uh, ahem. So… I-I like your tattoos."

You feel yourself begin to blush again. "Really? I would have thought…"

"Thought what?" Spencer asks after you trail off.

You sigh and mutter, "I thought you wouldn't like them. That you'd think I was ruining my body with my tattoos."

Spencer's eyes go wide and he says, "What? No! I-I really like them. They're very beautiful."

He reaches a hand out as if to touch, but pulls away. You hold your arm out for him, and he looks up at you, eyes shining. You nod, and he reaches out, tracing your tattoos underneath his fingertips.

"Go out with me."

Your eyes widen as you blurt this put, and you go to open your mouth to say something, anything, but Spencer cuts you off.

"Yes."

You grin, and grab his hand.