❝You're everything I didn't know I needed.❞
in which the big bad wolf falls for his prey
WARNINGS: violence, guns, explicit language and smut
[ONGOING]
lowercase intended for title
//
mafia!levi x reader au
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KYOTO, JAPAN. 5:30 PM [NAME]'S APARTMENT
eight ☽ mystery
Sitting opposite from a man you had not seen in a few months, a man who was your father, was definitely a surreal feeling. It was the same feeling you would get every time he made it out of his way to visit you. Sweaty hands, headaches, and the turbulent flow of the pulse in your ears-the internal scream and profanity. This time the feeling was more profound with a gun to your face.
"Tell me how you've been, [Name]."
"Can you tell me why you're pointing that thing..." You tilt your head slightly, "...at me?"
Your father leans backwards and props his feet up against your coffee table, almost knocking over one of the lit candles. The tiny flames flickered and danced, casting its shadow on your father's worn out face. He had gained more wrinkles since you last saw him, and obliviously more balls since he had intruded your home.
"Ah this?" He chuckles, incredulous. "It's just a precaution, sweetie."
"Precau-what? Why? You really think that me of all people would do anything that would-" You interrupt yourself in order to take a deep breath. "Why."
"Well, you are your mother's daughter." He shrugs, still maintaining the gun's aim.
As if you mock you, he looks into your eyes. "That bitch."
The feelings that began rushing through your entire being were unexplainable, but it is intense. If it weren't for the gun, you would have already lunged forward to slap your father. Or perhaps more realistically, screamed at him to leave and threaten to call the cops.
"You can leave mom out of this, she hasn't even been in our lives since-"
"Period, [Name]. She hasn't been in our lives, period."
There is a brief moment where you clench your fists against the leather seat below you, spitefully glaring at him. "You haven't been in mine either. Period."
Slightly taken aback from your remark, your father roughly cocks the gun in his hand and points it back, this time readily aiming for your head.
"At least tell me how you've been so I can feel less bad after I blow your fucking head off."
It feels as if there were bugs crawling along the inside of your veins, making it difficult to force your inhales in slow, even breathes. The look on his face and even the gun began to take a toll on your nerves. At first you didn't think he was serious, but he urged your beliefs further when he sneered at you.
"Horrible," You tell him. "I might not graduate because you decided to gamble every bit of money you have, plus rent is overdue. Other than that, I think everything else seems to be fine."
