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celestialsundog · 1 day ago

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Quote anons experience on twitter: “My closest encounter with the mafia is when I went to a starkly empty pizza place in Rhode Island once, they seemed utterly confused that I wanted a pizza, it took 45 minutes to make, they gave it to me for free, and it was the best pizza l'd ever had.”

Turned it into a small snippet for the lovebirds ! Figured I should post at least one of the heaps of drabbles I have stored away for them🤍✌️(plus an unrendered piece I made of them a time ago. It’s unrelated to the piece below,

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The afternoon was warm with the slow heat of early summer, a kind that made the cobblestones sweat and the glass shopfronts gleam like coins. Maria walked the city streets with her gloved hand tucked politely against her coat, soft curls pinned just so beneath her hat. She’d finished her errands early today- stopped by the grocer, the seamstress, even the little victory garden to simply say hello- and found herself struck by a sudden craving.

Pizza.

Not the doughy, sad kind her aunt would attempt to make on Sundays, but a real, genuine, thick- crusted cheesy, delicately Italian pie, fresh and spiced, like they said you could only get in the Italian Quarter. She thought of Red, likely lazing in his chair by now, cigar half- smoked, the faint stink of his cherry tobacco still clinging to his lapel as he snored with content. He’d eat anything greasy with gusto after a nice nap. And Papyrus… well, he could pretend to like “authentic cuisine” when it pleased him to be gracious, but it might serve him well to try.

A little surprise for the house.

Maria had only paused for a brief moment before she’d glanced up to find it there.

A narrow little storefront, tucked between a cobbler’s shop and an old watch repair, its sign reading “Luccio’s Ristorante” in faded red script across the glass. The window dusty, the corners smudged with time.

Inside, strangely still.

No clatter of dishes. No warm scent of baking bread. No quiet hum of conversation that marked a kitchen at work.

Empty. Odd for midday.

Then again… Tuesdays could be slow. She remembered her own slow Tuesdays, quiet and long, waiting for the evening rush that sometimes never came at the lease of a boring performance.

A faint bell chimed upon the woman’s entrance, the sound thin and small in the vast quiet of the room. Maria noted a quiet bunch of three men huddled in the far corner, casual simple suits and dark ties with their gazes set over cards. They didn’t look up. She was greeted by a large man in a crisp white apron, peering at her from behind the counter like she was a ghost.

“…Buongiorno?” she tried, giving a quiet smile. “Do you serve pizza here?”

A long silence. The man blinked at her blankly, wiping his hands on the apron as if waking from sleep. “Uh… pizza? You want pizza?”

The chalkboard above his head was blank. Not even a scribbled special. No prices. No menu. Not even a faint whiff of sauce in the air. She’d hesitated with a quiet stutter, before answering her reply at the waiting man stood in front of her.

“Yes. Ahm- a plain pie. For takeout.”

Another pause of silence. From deeper in the restaurant- where the few men sat hunched over a card table- a chair creaked. One of them letting out a low grunt, barely audible over the hum of the old ceiling fan.

The man at the counter didn’t move.

“Uh… si. Pizza. One moment.”

Maria awkwardly took her quiet position sat at the lone stool by the window, folding her gloved hands and pretending not to notice the way the cook muttered behind the counter in hurried but barely audible Italian. She could hardly make out what he spoke, even with knowing the language herself.

It took forty-five minutes.

When the box finally appeared, the man slid it across to her like handing off contraband, the woman just barely noticing the recognizable unease in his eyes. That notion had been making itself more and more apparent as of recent days.

“No charge,” He’d mutter simply.

“What? Oh, but I- “

“No charge.”

His eyes flicked nervously to the men at the table. “For you. Take.”

Maria blinked. Thanked him politely. Walked out into the warm street, slightly bewildered but still cradling the bulky brown box like a newfound treasure.

Maybe flattery was the only reason. Or maybe she’d just be naive enough to believe that odd excuse for the man’s gesture. Suppose it was an apology for taking so long. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps the suppliers were running late that week.

—————————

The scent reached him first.

Warm, rich dough curling in the air like the ghost of perfume- a hint of roasted garlic, sharp smoked cheese, and the softest whisper of basil lingering like a secret. It slid under the door, crept along the apartment’s wood floor, and all but wrapped itself around his senses as his skull tipped up, slow and curious, sniffing the air like some great hound.

That wasn’t the usual sauce.

It was… unfamiliar. Something made fresh. Pleasantly different from all Papyrus’s attempts. Though certainly not Maria’s.

Red glanced down at the cloth still in his hand, half- polished revolver gleaming under the low kitchen lamp. He’d been oiling the Colt out of habit- half- bored, half- attentive, the quiet of the apartment bringing a rare peace. Now the room smelled like little Italy’s best daydream. His lazy sprawl straightened by degrees. Nasal ridge twitching, brow lowering.

“…Sweetheart?” His voice rumbled low across the room as he folded a towel over the scattered pieces. “Whatcha got, doll?”

A rustle from the kitchen nook.

Red watched as a head of curls and chubby cheeks peeked out from the doorway as he entered, his little lady's sleeves rolled up to her elbow, cheek smudged faintly with something red.

Green eyes bright, warm but with tired delight. Behind her, laid like treasure on the counter, sat an enormous, blistering, golden- edged pizza in an ugly brown box- the kind without labels, speckled with dark grease stains blooming like ink.

“I went to that place down on 14th. The one by the old pier with the green awning? It was odd. Empty. Only some quiet men in suits waiting silently… they let me order anyway. Took forever, though they gave it to me for free after.”

Maria hummed quizzically, inspecting the pizza before slicing off another piece with a butter knife.

“Oh Red- it’s the best damn pizza I’ve ever had.”

The man watched Maria take a quick bite of the meal, cheese stretching like golden ribbon, and her sigh- a long, blissful breath of honest joy. His hand frozen over the counter. Blank socket staring. Blinked. Studied in silence. Then blinking again, slowly.

“The place by the pier?”

“Mmhmm.” She finished chewing happily. “No sign but the faded one in the window. Next to a watchmaker, I believe. Empty like a ghost town, but absolutely amazing.”

Red stilled his hand on the counter. Leaned forward, spine stiff as he spoke. His tone was soft, even lilted with a subtle amusement.

“…Sweetheart. That place ain’t a restaurant.”

A moment of silence passed before Maria turned to the larger skeleton, looking at him with now confused green eyes.

“What?”

She watched him drag his large hand down his face, half wheezing, half laughing under his breath.

“Oh, babe… babe. That ain’t been a restaurant since damn prohibition.”

He tipped his head toward the window like speaking of some distant ruin. “That’s Langstrom’s old washhouse. Money laundering. Ain’t no menu ‘cause there isn’t a menu. They don’t serve nobody. Place is just a front for cleaning cash and meeting outta sight. Nobody orders food ‘cause there ain’t any food.”

Maria seemed to freeze mid- bite. Slowly lowering the slice, black lashed eyes rounding like moons before she looked back at Red.

“…But they made me a pizza.”

Another rough laugh broke from him- throaty and benign. Red standing up straight, running a hand over his bare skull like this was the best thing he’d heard in years.

“Course they did. You walked in askin’ for the one thing they ain’t served in twenty fuckin’ years! Bet those boys in suits about shit themselves.”

Her hand shifted over her mouth after a thick swallow and following silence.

“…they gave it to me for free.”

She heard Red crack- his shoulders shaking, mouth wide with a fierce, helpless laugh tearing loose as he crossed the room and thunked the box with a bony finger like priceless treasure.

“Oh, babe…. What’re they gonna do, say no? They know who you are. Everyone in this work does, ‘nd Dons boys ain’t stupid. You walk in there alone, askin’ for somethin’ off the non- existent menu- hell, they probably thought you were sent.”

The words sank in after a moment's silence. Maria sat back slowly, stunned, the sad weight of the greasy slice drooping in her hand.

“Oh… I just wanted to surprise you.…”

Red leaned down behind her, arms curling slow and sure around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, that deep smoky purr warming her ear and curls.

“Sweetheart….” His voice drawled with a satisfied little hum. “You got no idea what kinda fear you just struck into them boys today.”

Maria felt her face warm with a huff, a smile creeping on her burning cheeks.

“…I thought they looked nervous when I asked for pepperoni.”

He laughed again, soft now, wickedly amused by her hesitance as his large chin rested against her shoulder.

“Next time you wanna play Russian roulette with dinner… gimme a heads up. Coulda got you a free steak outta Langstrom’s safehouse.”

Her eyes only stared at the pizza box, dazed into a steady silence. She whispered her reply.

“…Should I not eat it?”

Another chuckle leaving him. She’d felt his shadow crossing her as he reached to grab a fat, heavy slice for himself. The cheese snapping with a string as he pulled it free.

“Babe, if the mob makes you a pizza… You eat the fuckin’ pizza.”

She watched her man take a massive bite of the food, sighing as she leaned against him. Grease dripping warm onto the cardboard with satisfaction written in every line of his smug, bone grin.

“…Still the best pizza I ever had.”

Red chewed. Swallowed. Stayed grinning.

“Nothin’ makes a man cook better than fear of death.”

And it really was the best damn pizza in Blackridge.

—————————

The call came in the quiet hour.

Red seated comfortably in the bedroom, waxing the leather of a pair of his older shoes, faint smell of oil and grease sitting softly in the apartment. The radio crackling faintly in the kitchen. Maria humming in the other room, folding laundry.

Then the phone rang. It wasn’t the house line- this call coming from the other one. The thin, black rotary Red kept solely for business.

Cheshire grin fading with the exhaustion of a man answering to his boss, Sans answered the receiver slow and careful, and his voice gruff with the evening.

“…Red here.”

A pause. Soft breath, the faint echo of city wind through high glass. Then-

“Evening, Red.”

Don Langstrom’s voice had always held a particular curl to it. Smooth as dark wine, velvet laid over quiet steel tempered by a graceful of aging. His timing only nearly as uncanny as Wings' own, Red would notice at times.

“Hope I’m not disturbing supper, friend.”

The monster's eyes flared faintly. Free hand curling loose around the newly cleaned gun kept on the table nearby.

“Not a problem, Don.” He kept his voice level, even if carefully tempered with a grinding annoyance. “What can I do for ya?”

A soft chuckle hummed down the line.

“Oh, nothing serious. No trouble. Just thought I’d call about your woman.”

The silence stretched on now. Red’s grip tensing on the flimsy small phone, between his shoulders stiffening and a raging dark thought crossing the monster's mind. A sweet little daydream, of just how painful Red could make this man’s death, if he didn’t choose the right words.

“…My woman?”

“Yes.” Langstrom sighed amusedly, like a father catching a bright child stealing chocolate.

“Little Miss Maria. Lovely voice. Very sweet. She sang for my birthday, did she not? I remember.”

Don spoke of the day as if Red didn’t so vividly recall its every moment. The way the old man’s beady eyes had ran across his dolls, the way Red’s fists had clenched across his body, stiff and silent to conceal his rage at the time. Even Papyrus had felt it, bless his help.

“Green eyes. Dark hair. Gentle. You’ve got good taste, Red. I quite enjoyed her last performance.”

I like your girl. Maria Giovanni. Red’s teeth set in. Awaiting the man’s verdict.

“She’s sweet, that one.” Langstrom’s smile was almost audible in the way he spoke. “Innocent. Walked right into my old washhouse this afternoon. You know… the old one.”

Red shut his eyes, grimace slow.

“Yeah. Heard about that.”

“She ordered off the menu that didn’t exist.” The Don’s chuckle darkened, trepidation marking his words. “Walked in soft as a lamb, asking my boys for pizza like she was at Tony’s on Ninth. Thought you should know.”

“I know.” Red’s words came out faster than he’d have liked. Edged and strung like a thin- wire blade.

“She ain’t mean nothin’ by it. Girl was hungry. Thought it was still open.”

“Oh, I know she didn’t mean anything by it. But you understand, don’t you, my friend… that I cannot have my private works mistaken for real restaurants.”

The unspoken threat glimmered like fine china in the dark.

“She didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He would atone. “Didn’t even know what the place was.”

Lee replied without missing a beat. Ease laced in his singsong voice despite his apparent stoic demeanor across the line.

“But Red… you do. And you let her walk the streets alone. Into my house.”

Red felt his eyes flare before fading back to his hollow glow. Spare hand tapping the table with a hand to keep from digging it anywhere else that he could pretend was Don Leonardo’s wrinkly throat.

“She ain’t your concern.”

“Everything that happens in Blackridge is my concern.”

Langstrom’s voice quieted to a low and cold baritone.

“Especially when it involves my best monster enforcer… and his human pet.”

A pause.

I’ll fucking kill you so damn bad… The pretty threat only lingered in his head as Sans' teeth set into a grinding scowl. But he remained silent for the Don.

“I like you, Red. You keep your leash short. Do your job. But you and I both know what happens when civilians stick their noses too close to family business. Accidents happen. Misunderstandings. Regret.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I take care of mine.”

“I’m sure you do.” Another soft laugh from the phone's end. “But see that you keep her, monster. We wouldn’t want another mishap. Aheh, not after she charmed my kitchen boys into giving her one of the few goddamn pies they’ve made in years.”

Red said nothing. He only felt his grip whiten, twitching the black little handle. Langstrom’s voice softened once more.

“No harm done. But you might tell her… next time she wants pizza, stick to Luigi’s, hm?”

A low, dangerous grin tugged at Red’s mouth.

“Next time… I’ll have her ask you for steak instead.”

Langstrom’s laughter echoed as smooth and rich down the line as humanly possible.

“Oh, you monster. Maybe I’ll even cook it myself.”

Sure pal. Only after I choke ya out the next chance I get.

A pause. Then lowering silence.

“Watch yourself, Red. My men watch too.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Red sat in silence for a moment longer, the warm pulsing hum of the room a growing contrast to the twitch and fray of his bones. Maria’s gentle voice drifting from the bedroom as she hummed some old tune from her parents' day. He gave a sigh, rolling his skull back, grinning sharp and tired.

“Doll… Ya got the whole city’s men sweatin’… and you just wanted a goddamn pizza.”

—————————

It would be a moments while before Sans felt the desire to address it to his lady. The city outside their window sighing with distant tires, quiet horns, the occasional far- off laughter of some soul drunk on summer wine. The hour late already, with the evening lamps dimmed and the air warm with a fading heat.

Maria stood in the little bathroom doorway, oiling her dark curls loose, green eyes lidded soft with sleep and her house robe trailing open at the collar. She’d find her Red sitting silent on the bed’s edge, rolling a new toothpick slow between his bared teeth, sockets shadowed in a steady silence.

Too silent.

“Dear? You alright?”

She earned a grunt in reply. Maria could sense the lack of a casual verdict this time. No following smirk, no quiet tease.

“Come ‘ere, doll.”

His voice was careful now. That rare tone- the real one he used, when it was a serious matter. One could make the air in the room shift its weight in silence.

It’s why Maria felt herself first hesitant.

So only in barren worry did she quietly pace across the bedroom to him, bare feet soft on the floor. Reds eyes met hers. Crimson lights glowing faintly in the dim room, wavering red like the flicker of a match. She felt his bony hand curling warm around her wrist as he drew her down closer, quiet and gentle until she stood just between his knees with his grip finding itself on her hip.

“We gotta talk, sweetheart.”

Maria looked down in silence.

“I figured as much. But about what, Red?”

Sans gave a grumbling sigh, an ever present smell of cherry tobacco and something dark, heavy as the city itself.

“The Don called me tonight.”

The words ran in her mind despite the stillness of her body. The Don. Not ‘a Don’. They knew no other Don to speak of. No other than the very explicit man Red worked for. A large hand giving her hip the faintest of a squeeze served to ground her mind back to the present.

“About you.”

Sans noted the particular twitch of her circular eyebrow. Lips frowning softly against her face. The way her heart began once more, following the pause of her breath as it hitched in her throat and she forgot it was still safe to breathe.

“About me.”

“Yeah. ‘Bout the little pizza stunt.”

Whether his words made her any more relieved or any more worried, Maria didn’t quite understand herself. Because he would’ve noticed. It hadn’t even crossed her mind any sooner that it may have been a genuine problem- one enough to notify the owner of its establishment. If he had civilians unknowingly entering his dealing zones.

“… I didn’t..”

“I know. He knows.” Red reached to pull her hand into his, squeezing slowly. His other hand brushing her waist, quietly sure with his lifted gaze.

“You’re clean. You didn’t do wrong. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re safe. But, sweetheart… You can’t do that again.”

Maria let him gently tug her onto his lap, cradling her against him with his skull pressed to her temple, his breath warm in her hair. Green eyes wide with worry and a burningly still stare into his own.

“Not alone. Not down there. Not near any of those places. The Don’s smilin’ now but that smile’s got teeth. You don’t poke the bear’s den twice. Not even on accident.”

Maria curled into him faint. A hand drifting to his chest, feeling the low hum of his magic under his ribs. Red’s tone flattened.

“He laughed about it. This time. Said you gave his boys the best scare they’ve had in years… But that’s ‘cause I’m his monster. And ‘cause he likes your singin’ voice. Next time, they ain’t gonna be so amused.”

“….They ain’t gentle men.“

The tension followed his words like a warning, one where she could feel the silence leer upon her shoulders. Eyes flicking down as if the feeling of being lectured had been almost forgotten in her mind. And perhaps it had. The woman being so accustomed to keeping careful and mature with how she handled herself, in a world where a single sliver of dependence could mean injury… even worse then. It almost felt impossible that she had even let this slip- up happen. A heavy sigh escaped her languid frame.

“I’ll be more careful, Red.”

“…That’s why you won’t go alone anymore. No more walks alone near the piers. No more empty joints. You want somethin’? You tell me. I keep you safe. I keep ya mine. You hear me, doll?”

Red leaned back to gaze at her slowly, his empty black socket reflecting the light brown of the room around the pair. His free hand traveled to the back of her neck, thumb brushing the stray baby hairs that marked where her hair began. Caressing the under of her ears as she sat in a contemplative silence.

“Langstrom made sure I heard it clear, sweetheart. He’ll have the city watchin’ now. Other families… listenin.”

A tired smile tugged at his jaws.

“Only you could do that.”

Silence passed before Maria gave a quiet breath. Resting her head against his chest, as if to think anymore were to wear the woman out.

“I won’t go alone again,” she’d promise solemnly. “Not without you. Or someone you trust to watch.”

Because Maria was well aware that Red paid a quiet handful of nameless men to keep watch over her- shadowing her steps any time she left the apartment, unseen but always there. A quiet insurance. A silent net. She pretended not to notice. And he pretended she didn’t know. But they both understood. She felt his jaw ease just faintly enough for his teeth to click.

“Good girl.” His voice dipped lower a with rare, honest care. “Don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to you. Not ‘cause I wasn’t watchin’.“

His hand slid to her cheek, gentle. A grin tugging at his Cheshire- toothed smile.

“And besides…” His thumb brushing the curve of her jaw. “Next time you want pizza… You come to me. I’ll steal you somethin’ better than mob pie.”

Her smile was small, faint enough as she brushed her nose against his own to sigh quietly.

“….Still the best damn pizza I ever had.”

His chuckle rumbled against her hair. A rare, light thing. She felt her own hum of a laugh slip free- soft, barely hidden in the new hush between them.

“….Fear makes good cooks.”

And as soon as it came had the warmth cooled, fading fast behind his sockets. His phalanges splaying firm across her clothed waist.

“Just stay close, doll. From now on.”

And Maria only nodded- silent, knowing- because she felt it now. The shift. from the city’s gaze creeping close at the windows and Red’s quiet heart burning beneath her palm in sync with her own. The weight of eyes watching.

A new crowd. New dealers. New brutes slipping into the lounge’s smoke and velvet.

A larger audience.

And they were watching her, too.

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