#YES I use to be in a fight club but now my bones are glass and I can't speak to another human being with my mouth words | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theduosetter · 3 years

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── 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙠 ──

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x f!reader

Summary: Two strangers laid their eyes upon one another and were captivated at first sight. All they were itching to know was their name yet who knew they were closer to each other than they realized.

Warning(s): cursing, fluff, adorable all around!!

A|N: I hope you enjoy this mini series! Any heart or reblog would be appreciated thank you! Feedback too :D

Links: m.list | writing commissions ✏️ || tip the writer ✍️ ||

Part: 3

"Hurry up, Y/n!" Hinata yelled as he grew impatient.

"I'm coming, Shoyo! You're literally outside of my door." you hung up and grabbed your bag along with your phone.

Opening your bedroom door you saw your best friend standing there tapping his foot. "Was it really necesarry for you to call me when you were already here?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed "I don't want you changing plans last minute."

"I'm not going to bail on you guys." you chuckled "Relax, we are going to hangout together today."

"Alright. Come on we still need to get to the gym to warm up." he grabbed your hand and ran downstairs.

"Shoyo!" you exclaimed "Where's Tobio anyway?"

When you got to the bottom of the stairs you saw the black haired friend sitting down at the kitchen table. A sigh escaped your lips knowing he wouldn't pass up the chance of some milk with your mom's pastries. "I can't quite say that I'm surprised."

"Do you wnt...s-sum?" he muffled as he chewed down on the bread making his cheeks chubbier.

"I'll be fine." you answered unlike the orange hair who stuffed a plastic bag filled with pastries while your mom laughed.

"Why don't I just give you guys some extra ones?" your mom said as she filled another bag with individual wrapped bakery goods.

"We'd appreciate it!" the duo spoke.

"We gotta go or else you'll be late for the game!" you exclaimed pulling each one away from the counter covered in sweets.

"Let me get one more!" Hinata whined, "One more-"

"You'll both end up getting stomach aches if you don't stop!" you retorted.

What seemed like eternity you managed to get them out the door despite the begs. "Please make sure to come back soon boys!" your mom said.

"We'll be back Mrs. (last name)! Thank you for the sweets!" they both yelled in unison.

"I will see you before closing, mom." you kissed her cheek and grabbed the four bentos. "Thank you for the food!"

"Be careful okay?" she waved goodbye at you then chuckled to herself, "I'm glad my baby has her friends."

"Seriously you guys barely have enough time to get to the gym!" you yelled out as you three ran towards the school's grounds. "I told you we had to go!"

"Yeah but your mom's bread was so good!" Hinata jumped "It tasted like a fluffy cloud Y/n!"

"She definitely needs to bring her food to the next school's festival." Kageyama added "Imagine how much attention your mom's bakery would get."

You bit your lip "You're not wrong about that..."

Hinata looked at his watch, his eyes widened. "We only have 15 minutes to practice before the other school get's here Kageyama!"

"You idiot! I told you we had to go!" he moved closer to kick his butt but Hinata managed to dodge his hit.

"Oh shut up! You were stuffying your face too!"

"Why am I friends with these two again?" you muttered.

"Come on pick up the pace y/n!" Hinata and Kageyama grabbed your hands and ran faster than your legs could move.

"G-guys!" you exclaimed "I-I'll end up falling─ slow down!" they were too focused on getting to practice than hear about your objections "If I break a bone I'm telling my mom to ban you from the shop!"

After a five minute run that was supposed to be ten, you finally arrived. Your legs felt like jelly and your sweater was long gone as your body was too sweaty. 'This was worse than a summer day...' you thought, 'I showered and got dressed so nicely only for it to be ruined by those two. Ugh they owe me big time.'

You slowly treaded towards the stairs of the gym, their teammates were too busy preparing to notice you. A sigh escaped your lips upon feeling the cool air coming from the a/c. "This... this is nice." you mumbled. "It feels like a cold freezer..."

"Um... hi." a voice spoke coming from behind you.

"You two are so banned..." you muttered under your breath. Slowly you turned around to come face with two guys. 'They must be their teammates.'

"Are you going to keep blocking the door or can we get through?" the tall guy with the glasses spoke.

"Tsuki." the shorter one mumbled.

"Well?" he stared you down, "We don't have all day."

'He must be the guy that Shoyo and Tobio went up against.' you thought.

"R-right... but you don't have to be so rude you know." you answered.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes walking passed you meanwhile his friend gave you an apologetic smile. "He's usually not mean." he chuckled slightly "Do you need help with something?"

"No... I came to see some friends. But they left me out on the front steps to get ready for your match today."

"Wait... are you really their friend?" he asked.

"If you're talking about the tall one and the ginger then yes." you chuckled, "They said it was fine for me to come today."

"Don't take this the wrong way but..." he scratched his cheek looking away from you, "I'm surprised they have a friend that's a girl, given the way that they are."

"No worries. I understand what you mean especially since we met in very different times." You two walked inside "I'm still surprised they are friends."

"Y/n!" looking to the left you saw Yachi jogging over to you. "Oh hey, Tadashi!"

"I should go warm up, it was nice meeting you!"

"You too Tadashi!"

She then spoke again, "What happened to you? Did you run all the way here?"

"Hinata and Kageyama were too busy stuffing their faces with my mom's pastries. By the time they actually listened to me it was too late and we had to run all the way here." you whined "Now I'm all covered in sweat and I feel disgusting."

"I told them not to get distracted." she sighed "Do you want to freshen up? I have an extra shirt in the club room."

"Really? Id really appreciate that."

"Come on we still have a few minutes before the whole team gets here."

Your feet were too tired to walk yet somehow you managed to go upstairs to the room. "I swear one day those two will be the death of me." you complained.

"Can you blame them? Your mom's sweets are too good." Yachi chuckled.

Shaking your head you went inside and washed your face along with your arms and back. "How are the two doing with their quick attack by the way?" you asked.

"They're getting there, although they still want to make sure it comes out perfect. Coach Ukai said they need to upgrade it or else it won't be enough to get past the blocker's hands."

You nodded, "There's no doubt in my mind they will make it work. From the videos you've sent me those two can work a miracle even if they end up fighting... their goals are the same."

"Oh right I was going to ask you..." Yachi continued "... how did it go with your guy by the way? Did he end up messaging you?"

Biting your lip, you put on the white clean shirt. "He did, he was so nervous and sweet. I apologized to him about what my mom did yet he said he didn't mind because he was nervous about talking to me." you giggled.

"Wait so your mom really did give him your phone number?!"

"She did! I wasn't expecting her to go that far." you answered "But it is kinda embarrasing how she had to do it for me though..."

"Nonesense!" she exclaimed "You just needed that little push well you both did. I'm sure he knows that especially since he took the time to message you."

It was difficult to hide the smile that kept creeping up on your face. "As cliche as it sounds... it really feels like a movie Yachi."

"You're barely at the talking stage but what if he asks you out on a date then to become something more. Are you ready to go that far?"

Closing the locker you turned to face her, "Not going to lie with everything that has happened... I feel scared to say yes. After what happened I never really thought someone would take an interest in me and that I'd feel the same way."

Yachi placed her hand on your shoulder, "It's been at least 4 four years I think it is time to enjoy a new adventure in your life. You may never know what might happen."

"Yeah, I know."

There was a knock on the door, "Hey! Yachi are you almost ready? Kiyoko said she needs your help setting up."

"Yeah! We'll be right there Sugawara!" she yelled back.

"Who's Sugawara?" you asked.

"Come on let's go meet the rest of the team that way it'll be easier." she chuckled taking your hand and walking back to the gym.

There were sudden butterflies in your stomach, although you knew your friends were part of the team, you couldn't but wonder if it was okay for you to come. All you wanted was to make a good impression for the team that gave your friends the opportunity to play.

As soon as she opened the door everyone turned their heads to look at you. Two memebers then ran over to you both making you jump back.

"A new girl!" they yelled in unison.

"She's so cute!" the shorter one exclaimed.

"You didn't tell us you had such a pretty friend Yachi!" the taller one added.

Yachi became flustered, "Ah! T-this is m-my friend! She came to w-watch the game today. Y/n this is Tanaka and Nishinoya."

Feeling embarrassed you gave them a nod, "It's nice to meet you guys."

"She's so adorable!" Tanaka exclaimed "I hope we get to see you around here more often."

"Oh... um sure, if you guys don't mind." you said.

"Where have you been all my life?!" Nishinoya's eyes widened not being able to handle how cute you looked.

"Oh Y/n!" Hinata then jogged over to you guys "Can you help us toss some balls?"

"Yeah let's go-" you went to follow Hinata only to be taken away in the opposite direction.

"You need to meet the whole team." Nishinoya held your hand dragging you over to what seemed to be the third years along with other members.

"Guys! This is Yachi's friend, Y/n! Y/n, this is Suga or Sugawara for short, Asahi, Tsukishima, Tadashi, and Ennoshita!"

You tried to hide your nervousness, "Hello! It's nice to meet you guys, thank you for letting my friends play."

Tsukishima stared at you with an uninterested look, while Tadashi smiled softly.

"How did you manage for Hinata and Kageyama to get along? They were at each other's throats." Sugawara chuckled.

"Well... let's just say it's still hasn't changed much." you rubbed the back of your head. "But we make it work."

"Are you also a first year?" Ennoshita asked.

"Mhm I had to change school's during the second semester." you answered. "Karasuno is my second school."

"Well welcome to the team, I apologize in advance if things get out of control." Sugawara said "They're usually..." he tried to put into words but you understood.

"No worries if I can handle those two I'm sure it won't bother me." you chuckled. "Is this the whole team?"

"We're only missing our captain." Asahi answered, "Where is he anyways?"

Tskushima shrugged "He said something about needing to find his knee pads."

"Anyway we should go get ready before the school shows up. Let's start to warm up." Sugawara said and everyone went off to do their own things. "If you want you can sit down besides Coach Ukai and Mr. Takeda."

"Oh okay." you then looked around "Do you need help with anything?"

"I think we should be good, can you help with picking up the volleyballs and putting them in that basket when the other team gets here?"

"Sure." you were about to grab the cart when you heard the door open again.

"Oh! Daichi come over here!" he yelled.

Your feet froze, the numbness you felt earlier in your legs returned. 'Please... don't be who I think it is...' you thought lowering your head, 'Oh my god what if he gets dissappointed?'

You tried to subtly fix your hair and tuck in the club room shirt. Sugawara noticed, "Are you okay─"

"What is it Suga?" Daichi asked as he walked over to where you both were.

"This is the friend that they were talking about, this is Y/n." he said smiling softly at you. "Daichi?"

You slowly lifted your head to come face to face with those loving brown eyes. Daichi was in the same state as you, shocked yet happy to finally see you.

"Are you alright?" Sugawara asked looking at him.

"Y-yeah..." he chuckled awkwardly "It should have been obvious right?"

Your face was hot, "Y-yeah, I shouldn't have been so dumb."

"You two know each other-"

"This is y/n... the one I've been telling you about." Daichi said.

"Oh...." Suga mumbled "So you're the one he can't stop rambling about." a smirked then formed on his lips.

You blushed, "W-what, really?"

"Suga!" Daichi exclaimed.

"I can't believe after all this time you two would end up meeting each other at school." he said.

"Yeah..." you chuckled lightly "I knew you played a sport but never thought you were my friend's captain."

"I didn't know if it sounded cool─" he admitted.

"Are you kidding?!" you exclaimed "It's amazing! Volleyball isn't an easy sport. The amount of people that depend on you to lead them, yet you still have their backs and know what to say" you smiled looking up at him. "It's admirable really."

Daichi rubbed the back of his head, shyly smiling "Thank you I try my best to keep them under control... but sometimes they don't bother to listen."

"I know how that feels."

Sugawara stood quiet watching you two converse as if you were the only ones. He wanted to say something to get Daichi all flustered but didn't have the heart to do so. 'I am sooo going to have fun with this.' he thought.

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misterewrites · 3 years

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Intro to.....????

Hello everyone! Been awhile. It's been busy and really hot for me so it's hard for me to sit down to write sometimes.

But it's here!

E here with the next chapter and the final intro character chapter! The intro chapters were supposed to introduce everyone to the main and important characters of the story, who will be driving the main plots and stories though sometimes i might use new characters or different background characters. So beyond this chapter will be more worldbuilding, story arcs and oneshots. just stories about this world and its characters. I might even use some of my friends ocs i accidentally convinced them to make for my world. It was so much fun!

Alright that's it for me! Stay safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, take care of your loved ones, get vaccinated if you can, push to release the vaccine worldwide and have a great week! Enjoy! feel free to leave likes, feedback *I love feedback and comments even if it's just a line you liked or a scene you found awesome or funny* reblogs and tell your friends! Promoting myself still feels weird haha. E is out! Byeeeeee

If you want an easier time to read the story and since I’ve been shadow banned from tumblr for like ever now, here’s the newest chapter on ao3 right over here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/82583164

If you are interested in my work and want to read from the beginning check it right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

Interested in my full catalog? https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Jackdaw is a powerful crime lord in the magical side of Newton Haven. He is feared more than respected and he doesn't care who he has to crush to accomplish his goals. So when his lucrative club is burned to the ground with his guards piled neatly outside, battered broken but alive, he takes it personally. Of course who is crazy enough to burn down a club of a notoriously dangerous crimeboss? A mercenary paid to do so.

Obviously.

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Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of footsteps pacing back and forth thundered throughout the silent room.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

No one said anything. No one could say anything given the disastrous failure of the night. It hadn’t mattered if they were physically present at the site of offense or that they were scattered across town in one of many locations vital to the boss’s business: Someone hit them and the boss was itching to hit back.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Alright” A voice spoke up, smooth yet cold.

The room was already quiet but now the air filled with a frighten tension.

The boss whirled around from the massive window he’d been staring out of, eyes narrowing on the defeated group of guards who averted their gaze from his.

The few still conscious were in varying states of dishevel and injured: Broke bones, nasty bruises, clothing ruffled and torn in places. Not a single one had gone unscratched from the assault on the club earlier that night.

Jackdaw was not pleased.

No one in the room knew much about their boss despite devoting their lives to his cause: He was in his mid 30’s, his nose uneven after being broken in a fight though no one could agree what he had been fighting. Long wavy raven black hair ran down his shoulders while his dark brown eyes glanced about, icy and piercing.

“I’m a little confused.” Jackdaw said with a menacing drawl as he approached the closest guard “Mind answering a few for me?”

The guard nodded shakily.

Jackdaw smiled, patting the guard’s cheek in a mocking manner “Good, good. Now let me paint the picture: My club is currently a smoky, charred corpse of its former self. Yes?”

The guard gave another timid nod.

Jackdaw puckered his lips thoughtfully “Okay, okay. How many guards on duty?”

“8.” The guard murmured fearfully.

“Okay. How many standing?”

The guard shot a nervous glance to the other three. They found the floor more interesting.

“F-four.”

Crack!

The guard’s limp body tumbled backwards and laid still on the ground.

Jackdaw flexed his fingers “Wrong! I count three. You!”

The next in line flinched but stared their boss in the face “Sir?”

“Since that one.” Jackdaw lazily motioned to the unconscious man “is sleeping on the job, you tell me what happened.”

“O-okay.” The next in line mumbled “Well the night started same as any other….”

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The Gray Waves nightclub brought in a decent crowd for a weekday: Dozen or so people lost in the dim shadows with only a disorienting array of ever changing lights for company. Drinks served and the booming, thundering sounds of music set the chaotic mood clubs thrived on.

Nice peaceful night.

Floyd, the current storyteller, had been watching from the second floor landing when he noticed the gathering of guards below. The eight guards on duty were often out and about performing their different duties ranging from gate keeping the door to making sure nothing disturbed the vibe of the club. The fact five of his coworkers were huddled together should’ve been the first red flag.

The group talked in hushed tones despite the deafening bass and techno music the DJ’s speakers blared out. Once or twice, someone glanced to the far end of the club. Floyd looked and found the source of meeting.

Someone in their forties was loudly drinking at the counter tucked in the shadowy part of the club: It was impossible to tell who they were from this distance but they clearly were enjoying themselves: Head tiled back with messy, wavy salt and pepper hair. They gestured to the bartender (A wonderful woman named Carolyn who unfortunately had school debt to pay off and mob work was the best paying.) excitedly as their drink spilled onto the floor. They wore a large, tattered dark green trench coat that had seen better decades with faded worn out blue jeans. Their black boots were caked with grime and dirt that dirtied the floor. The only thing remotely new was their black t-shirt with some words in white font.

Floyd understood what the problem was: Clubs thrived on their popularity and image. People wanted to feel like they were special, all access stars to the hottest place in the city. With such a reputation came a mighty need to uphold said rep. No offense to whoever was having fun over there but with that look, it might send the wrong message and no amount of cash would ever change that.

Evidently a plan was reached as the meeting broke up. Two guards remained behind, returning to watching the room as the pit boss made his way over to the hapless customer, flanked with back up.

It was oddly satisfying watching the pit boss work: He gracefully slid in and out of crowds, slipping through the lost dancers like a snake treading through water. He motioned to the others to wait then made his way to the person.

The person was singing something at the top of his lungs. Drink, clink or something like that. Maybe it was the song playing at the time but Floyd hadn’t been paying attention to that at the time.

Trench Coat slipped Carolyn something and she laid a bottle of alcohol on the counter beside them: Vermouth? Absente? Vodka? One of those probably.

She nodded gratefully and disappeared into the back.

Floyd frowned at the red flag number two he had just seen: Carolyn was a pretty woman and was told more or less to just do as the customer asked be it answering questions or a reasonable request that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Of course this was with the strict rule of not to leave the counter unattended.

At the time Floyd thought it was weird, not yet realizing what was about to unfold.

The person poured the bottle directly into their mouth, shaking their body to the catchy beat poorly. Whoever they were could not dance to save their life.

The pit boss, Malcolm, closed the distance between himself and his prey. He snuck closer and closer, the unaware customer too lost in their antics to noticed. Malcolm reached out for their shoulder and…

The thud was loud enough to cut through the noisy club and got the attention of everyone present.

Before Malcolm could even tighten his grip, the person struck: They whirled around, grabbing Malcolm’s head and smashing it into the counter. As Malcolm sunk to the floor, limp and unmoving, the person turned to shoot a smug grin towards the guards.

“I’m on the floor, floor! I love to dance!” They sang, one hand outstretched to the sky, the other gripping the bottle upside and draining its contents onto the counter.

The back up drew their weapons, standard issue nightsticks, and made their way forward.

“So give me more, more, till I can’t stand.”

They emptied the bottle, their green eyes never leaving the approaching guards.

“Get on the floor, floor, like it’s your last chance.”

They chucked the empty bottle into the wall of drinks, broken glass and different alcoholic drinks spilling onto the floor and mixing together.

“If you want more, more, then here I am!”

They pulled a match from within their coat pocket and lit it with the backside of their boot. Without looking, they threw the match over their shoulder and smiled as a raging flame broke out behind them.

The club goers were slow to realize what was going on but the remaining guards, Floyd included, mobilized to action.

Before anyone could react, however, an unexpected shrill shrieked throughout the building: The fire alarm designed to be the most annoying and loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

Even though it had been a slow night and only a dozen or so people were here, the customers panicked with a surge of three times that number.

Screams and yells filled the air as bodies shuffled about in a mad dash. The guards were thrown about, tossed this way and that while the lights, alarm and music worked together to confuse everyone.

Luckily the club was deserted within moments, leaving only security and the troublemaker.

The person hadn’t moved an inch despite the increasingly raging blaze behind them.

The back up pair approached carefully, unsure what this person was capable of.

All of them really had no idea.

The person raised their hand to the sky, belting with full force “LET’S DO THIS ONE MORE TIME!”

Without warning, silence and darkness filled the club: The fire alarm and music died suddenly. The lights followed a moment later but the raging flames, growing hungrily, remained. Floyd’s eyes watered with a sharp pain, the stuffy air and sudden shift in lighting too much for him

Floyd paused his story, uneasy growing at the sight of Jackdaw’s tightened jaw. The poor lad could actually see the veins pulsing with barely contained rage on his boss’s forehead.

“And why did the power go out?” Jackdaw asked through clenched teeth “No one was watching the power? Or the fusebox? Not a single person was guarding what I pay them to guard?”

Floyd remained silent, unsure how to answer that. He was just one of the lower rank and file guards: He got told what to do and he did it.

“Well? I’m waiting Floyd my boy! Why did the power go out?”

Floyd felt the beads of sweat run down his neck.

“Umm sir?”

Floyd nearly collapsed as one of Jackdaw’s techies nervously stepped forward, a loaded video on a tablet in hand.

Jackdaw blew a loose strain of hair out of his face and took a moment to slick back his hair. The vain gesture was enough to allow him to regain some level of composure as he snatched the tablet from the techie. With a grunt, he pressed play.

The video was short: It was a camera feed set up to watch over the fusebox to prevent tampering. Two guards were gesturing to the box, idly chatting with somebody in a red jumpsuit with a clipboard in one hand and a toolbox in the other. The back of uniform had the words “Newton Haven City Maintenance” scrawled across it in some rather hard to read font. The guards laughed out loud, jokingly patting the stranger’s shoulder before leaving frame. The city worker opened the fusebox and began tinkering without anyone stopping him.

The tablet crunched nosily as Jackdaw’s grip sent a ripple of cracks across the screen.

He turned to the techie.

“It was a routine check up.” the techie sputtered out “Our guards called it in this afternoon. Said there was an official letter with stamps and signatures and everything!”

“Did you check with me?” Jackdaw snarled “Because I pay the city specifically so they don’t send anyone to the club. Because of my illegal business practices that I perform there.”

Floyd could see the techie’s shoulder slump, whispering quietly “You were in a meeting….”

Jackdaw growled furiously but returned his attention to the nearly broken tablet.

It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes for the mysterious city maintenance worker to finish. They slammed the fusebox closed, doing a little jig before checking the contents of their toolbox and went on their merry little way.

Jackdaw’s blood froze as the figure gave a cheeky wink to the camera, knowing exactly where it was despite the magical wards in place to keep it invisible.

“Savant.”

An eerie emptiness replaced the hostility in the room.

The fight disappeared out of Jackdaw, leaving only an intense sense of dread and paranoia.

All this was lost on Floyd, who saw the troublemaker’s face and couldn’t help but blurt out “That’s them! The one who beat up Malcolm and burned the club down!”

Jackdaw chuckled darkly “Oh. Oh this makes sense. No one wonder you all get your ass kicked six ways to Sunday. Someone sic’d Savant on me. Ya’ll never had a chance against them.”

Floyd shuddered, the memory of how brutal and efficient Savant had been against them: Grown men dragged kicking and screaming into the shadows, the crunchy noises of bones broken, bodies falling down and yells stopped mid-shout. He still remembered Savant standing over him, nightstick in hand, whistling cheerfully as they brought down the weapon and sent him into unconsciousness.

“Alright!” Jackdaw clapped his hands “Lock it down!”

Everyone glanced towards one another, unsure what exactly the boss meant.

“LOCK IT DOWN!” the snarl that escaped Jackdaw’s lips sent goosebumps down everybody’s spine “NOW! I WANT THIS PLACE SEALED UP NICE AND TIGHT!”

“But we’re 14 stories up...”

Techie flinched as Jackdaw whirled around, eyes blazing with unrestrained rage and impatience “You deaf? I said lock down the building or so help me I’m going to use you as a human shield when they start coming for me.”

Techie opened his mouth when an unexpected sound filled the silence: A muffled, cheeky yet tacky melody of a cellphone ringing.

Glances and gazes looked about trying to find the source of the disturbance. Floyd was baffled when he realized it was coming from inside his coat pocket. Nervously, he reached within and slowly pulled out a palm sized flip phone, the kind hadn’t been used in decades.

Jackdaw’s eyes widened with fear and alarm as he snatched the phone from the poor guard with inhuman speed.

“It’s them!” Jackdaw’s voice was manic “IT’S THEM!”

The mobster was torn about what to do next: Answering meant playing right into Savant’s hands and whatever the mercenary had plan. On the other hand, not answering would no doubt annoy them into far worse retaliation.

With a hard shallow, Jackdaw answered with an uncharacteristically shy “Hello?”

He could feel his heart screech to a stop when a bored, almost nonchalant voice replied “S’up.”

Jackdaw threw as much charm and cheer into his voice “Savant, buddy! Pal!”

“Don’t.” the voice sighed tiredly “It’s pathetic when the begging start. You’re a big, bad mob boss. Act like it you dumbass.”

“Fine” Jackdaw let go of any sense of civility “Good old threats: if you so much as show your face around…”

“Ugh too much in the wrong direction” Savant replied, seemingly uninterested in what the mob boss had to said “You people are all the same: False bravado and overcompensating. It’s embarrassing. Just say you’re scared of me and we can move on.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Jackdaw couldn’t help but feel irritated “Oh is that what you want? Get your jollys when powerful people admit they’re afraid of you? You think you can….you can…”

Jackdaw paused, unsure if his ears were working correctly.

“Are you eating?”

“Hmm??” the sound of smacking lips and chewing was the mercenary’s response for a few moments “Oh yeah. Get hungry when working. Normally I’d be all for the theatrics but it’s been a long night what with fucking with your fusebox, burning down your club, planting the phone on a guard. It’s like 3 in the morning dude.”

Jackdaw bit his lip angrily, a single drop of blood running down his chin “It is 3 in the morning and I’m very tired so I’d very much like to conclude our business. How much?”

“To hire me?” more lip smacking “An amount. You could probably afford it.”

Jackdaw let his shoulder’s sag with relief “So it’s agreed? I’ll hire you and we can all be on our merry way.”

“Sure!” Savant said cheerfully.

Bullet dodged.

“You can hire me after I finish this job. By the way did you like the gift I sent you?”

Gift?

Jackdaw was a powerful and feared member of the illicit side of the magical world. He climbed to his position through sheer force of will and power. He left countless of his enemies broken and defeated in his wake.

To see him reduced to a flailing, paranoid mess would be a story no one would believe.

“GIFT?!” Jackdaw screamed, unable to keep the high-pitch whine out of his voice “WHAT GIFT?! SOMEONE FUCKING ANSWER ME!”

The techie was the first to shake off their stupor “Well there was a box that came in today. It was empty and we detected no magic so…”

“Box?!” Jackdaw spat as he wildly searched the room before landing on the seemingly innocent box just sitting on his desk “You brought it the fuck here?”

Everyone backed away.

“I…”

“Wait” Jackdaw cut off the techie’s answer “Maybe they were hoping you’d take it somewhere or get rid of it. No, no this is good. We’re outwitting the fucker.”

“Sir, the box was empty. And you told use you personally wanted to inspect any and all….”

“You hear that asswipe!” Jackdaw grinned ear to ear “My people are the best! We’re ahead of you. Your game is over, you hear me?”

“My man.” Savant’s voice was infuriatingly calm “It’s just a regular old box for a boring ass mobster.”

“Stop lying!” Jackdaw roared angrily, instinctively bringing down his fist on the closet object in the room.

Which of course was the box.

The parcel collapsed under the mobster’s supernatural strength with little effort. As the box was smashed, the two inert glyph drawn in an invisible ink on both ends collided and activated each other.

The room erupted in an array of dazzling, blinding lights.

The light show hadn’t lasted long but no one knew that as they stumbled around, disoriented and lost, the display still burned in their retinas.

Jackdaw howled violently, swiping at the air blindly with long talon-like nails. Any calls for explanations or help were lost under the raging mobster unleashed.

Jackdaw didn’t hear the window break, the sound of glass shattering as it rained upon the floor. He didn’t see the muzzle flash that flared across the street, Savant’s sniping perch. He knew nothing but the sudden searing pain that filled his shoulder without warning.

Everything drained out of him, he slumped to the floor like a doll. He weakly clutched at his shoulder, steam wafting off the wound as the sliver bullet dug itself deep in its new home.

It didn’t matter what kind of werebeast you were: Wolf, bear, rat or even a raven like Jackdaw. All them were deathly weakened by sliver. The mere smell could cause nausea, touch burned worse than third degree burns and any injuries could take weeks, maybe even months to heal.

Jackdaw wheezed, the room spinning in a messy blur.

“Right.” the phone landed by his ear but Savant’s voice sounded far off like it was echoing down a long tunnel “Sorry I got the paper right here.”

Muted sounds of pockets being turned inside out: Scraping of metal on brick, shuffling papers, even rustling fast food wrappers.

“Got it!” Savant beamed “Quinn says stay the fuck off his turf. Mind your lane or the next time he sends me I won’t be aiming for your shoulder.”

“How did you know I was...I was… no one knew...?” Jackdaw murmured incoherently.

“Your heart.” Savant explained “It’ll be your heart. Okay well I gotta go so take these next few months to reflect on any sort of ill advised turf wars, domestic disputes and fighting with your rivals. If you’re still interested in hiring me for revenge or whatever, you call me at my business payphone. Bye little birdy!”

----------

Savant dropped the phone to the floor, crushing it under their boot while rubbing the tension out of their neck. Around them was the standard stakeout gear: high powered and totally illegal sniper rifle, a neatly piled trash heap and a sniping pillow (Sniping’s hard on the stomach and knees.).

They packed away the gun, kicked the trash heap to make it look more like natural rooftop garbage and went downstairs.

Savant yawned tiredly, not at all concerned with the guards that were pouring out of Jackdaw’s hidey hole. They glanced around, trying to get their bearings when they noticed a hot dog vendor across the street.

“I really shouldn’t” they pursed their lips “Especially after paying for someone to set up the pyrotechnics spells. But I am hungry. Stomach wins!”

Savant made their way over, patting their stomach lovingly “One hotdog please. Everything on it.”

“You got it!” The vendor nodded before eyeing the commotion “What’s with that?”

“I don’t talk business.”

“O-kay. Umm here’s your hotdog. That’ll be two bucks.

Savant reached into their pocket and shoved a hundred dollars into the waiting vendor’s hand. Without a second look, Savant gratefully took the hotdog and walked away.

“Hey buddy! BUDDY! You gave me way too much!”

“You too!” Savant replied, took caught up in the rapture that was their meal.

This was a really fucking good hotdog.

#my work #Original Work #original story #my stuff

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deidaratheartboi · 3 years

Conversation

Money Shenanigans

It was a normal day at the Akatsuki base until Kakuzu ran in all mad and on the verge of insanity.

Kakuzu: I CAN'T BELIEVE I LOST ALL OF IT!

Hidan: Woah woah woah dude what's up with you?

Sasori: Lost what?

Kakuzu: My money, pride, and dignity.

Hidan: You had dignity?

Kakuzu: This is no laughing matter.

Pain: What's all this?

Hidan: Kakuzu lost all of his money.

Pain: Well get it back

Kakuzu: It wasn't just any money it was our fund money

Deidara: Fucking dumbass

Hidan: Your in trouble noooowwww

Pain: Seriously how could you be so irresponsible?

Kakuzu: Well it was the last round and everything was on the line I didn't have anymore money to bet so bet our.

Pain: Who did you go up against?

Kakuzu: Lady Tsunade

Hidan proceeds to laugh his ass off.

Hidan: You lost to her? Pffftt

Pain: You won't be laughing for long you both have to get the money he bet. How much did you bet?

Kakuzu: $3,000

Deidara: How the hell are you going to get that much it's impossible

Pain: Well they better start making it possible.

Hidan: WHY AM I ALWAYS STUCK WITH HIMM UGGGHHH

Kakuzu: Stop whining and let's go

--------------------------------------------------------------

In the village

Hidan: So where is this joint?

Kakuzu: Follow me

They make it to a shabby old looking house.

Hidan: Damn this is a dump

Kakuzu: It's the inside that matters.

They walk in and take a staircase downward which reveals a club like joint.

Hidan: Cool now are ya gonna gamble the money back?

Kakuzu: Yes and no

Hidan: Dude just give me a straight answer

Kakuzu: You are going to pretend to gamble while I pick pockets and other stuff.

Hidan: I know nothing about gambling.

Kakuzu: Just bet, bluff, and shout. That easy. (I know nothing about gambling so might not be accuracte)

Hidan: Now that I can do

30 Minutes Later

Hidan: HAH I WIN SUCKAS

Guy 1: NO WAY YOU CHEATED

Guy 2: Where's this money you have anyways?

Hidan: My friend has it

Guy: So you've been gambling with no damn money??

Hidan: NAH YOUR JUST MAD CUZ YOU LOST

Guy 3: Cheater

Hidan: And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?

Guy 3 throws a chair at Hidan who ducks and it hits Guy 1. Guy 1 yeets a glass at Guy 3 but it hits Guy 2. Everyone proceeds to throw stuff and this starts a chain reaction across the bar.

1 hour later

Hidan and Kakuzu are kicked out of the bar and banned for life.

Hidan: At least I gave that bastard something he'll remember for years to come hah

Kakuzu: Yeah but, they took our money dumbass

Hidan: Guess we'll have to find another way

After a few hours day breaks and no money then suddenly opportunity comes running at them.

Opportunity: Hey are you the guy who beat up James?

Hidan: How the hell am I suppose to know I beat up lots of people.

Opportunity: The guy at the bar fight? You left him with a black eye and broken bones?

Hidan: Oh that bitch

Opportunity: Oh wow huge fan he told me he fell off something though.

Hidan: Yeah I'd be embarrassed too if I got my ass beat hahahahaha

Opportunity: Well I'm his nephew and don't worry I think he got what he deserved he was an asshat. I heard you guy were looking for money so I got ya something.

He holds out a briefcase.

Kakuzu: A bomb?

Opportunity: Noooooo money the money you need

Hidan: Gee thanks

He waves and walks off.

Kakuuz: Don't you think it's strange he knew we were looking for money?

Hidan: It's a place for gambling everyone does. And who cares we got the money.

--------------------------------------------------------------

At dah base

Hidan: WE GOT THE MONNNEEEEEYYYY

Kakuzu: Mhm

They all take a look at it.

Kisame: It's fake.

Kakuzu: WHAT?!

Kisame: Any idiot could tell

Itachi: Well they just upgraded to Grade A dumbasses

Pain: Where did you get it?

Hidan: A guy named James

Deidara: He played you guys big time

Kakuzu: But- We- He-

Tobi walks in.

Tobi: Tobi got the money

Hidan: HOW?

Tobi: Tobi knows a guy

Kakuzu: OH COME ON

Hidan: Kakuzu you seriously need to find new guys

Pain: Nice Tobi

Hidan: Maybe we can sell the fake money on the market?

Kisame: Yeah if we could find people gullible enough to believe it's real

Itachi: Just let Hidan and Kakuzu do it I'm sure they could find more dumbasses like them.

Hidan: OI SHUT UP ITACHI

Pain: Well get to it

-------------------------------------------------------------

Hidan and Kakuzu were sitting waiting for someone to buy the money.

Hidan: How did Tobi get all that money?

Kakuzu: Beats me but, it's fishy.

Then they see James.

Hidan: HEY JAMES GET OVER HERE

Ex-Opportunity: Yes?

Kakuzu: The money you gave us was fake what's the big idea?

Ex-Opportunity: I didn't know I got it from someone names Jack and he said to give it to you

Hidan: Where is he?

James leads them into an alley.

Jack: Hello there boys

Kakuzu: Why?

Jack: I owed someone a favor

Hidan: Who?

James: Me

James turns into Tobi.

Tobi: Hello

Hidan proceeds to strangle him.

Hidan: You little shit

Tobi: HELP MEEEEEEE!

Kakuzu: I find this entertaining

Jack try's to help but, gets pushed.

After awhile Hidan stops.

Hidan: Why the fuck do you do this all the time? Get us in trouble?

Tobi: Technically you got yourself in trouble

Kakuzu: Shut up

Hidan: You had to go and steal our thunder once again

Tobi: Tobi didn't mean any harm he just wanted to impress Pain

Kakuzu: Now what?

Hidan: We sell this stupid money and go home.

Tobi: I'm sor-

Kakuzu: Save it

--------------------------------------------------------------

Kakuzu and Hidan return home.

Itachi: Well if it isn't-

Hidan: Not a word from you

Kakuzu: We sold it finally got $2,000 off of it

Pain: Perfect now you boys can rest

Hidan: It's been a long ass day

Edit: I might have some spelling mistakes so if I do fee free to point them out that goes for any story.

#akatsuki texts #hidan #kakuzu #Deidara #sasori #kisame #itachi #pain #tobi #jack

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

PARIS PART II of III

Warnings: Swearing, heavy drinking, smut. +18.

SUMMARY: Timmy is an artist living in Paris in the 1950′s. You come to him to model for a painting but you have an unusual demand for the artist.

R E A D P A R T O N E H E R E

1st of October, 1952 - Paris.

It’s Tuesday and Timothée is tired. It’s 1 in the afternoon but his head is still aching from last night. It's been seven months since you left Paris, and somehow, life has gone on.

The sun is shining mercilessly bright and he wishes he was back in his studio, so he could hide from it. But it’s a place he spends as little amount of time as possible in as of late. Instead he’s sitting on a bench just below Sacré-Cœur, wearing last night's clothes, a mess of curls framing his tired face. In one hand a cigarette and in the other a freshly printed copy of the Tatler. On the front page is your face, radiantly beautiful, in a wedding dress and veil, diamonds in your ears and diamonds on your head. Next to you is your Freddie, looking straight at the camera, unnecessarily smug; or so Timothée thinks. Inside the magazine there’s an entire montage in the happy couples’ honor, complete with exclusive pictures from the high-society occasion.

“Dubbed the wedding of the season this intimate affair took place on a drizzly September morning between baron Freddie Fairfax and his blushing new bride. Freddie, who is the son of the 9th Earl of Abington, was overheard by some guest remarking over the beauty of his new bride, who was wearing a bone-white couture gown signed Christian Dior and accessorized with a diadem, an heirloom of the Fairfax family that has been in their possession for generations and borrowed to the bride on this special occasion. The nuptials were exchanged in St Margaret’s Church, gloriously decorated with bunches and bunches of yellow chrysanthemums, aconites and white lilies, in front of an audience including representants from most of the royal households of Europe and the English social elite. The reception took place at the Earls 25,000 acres estate in Oxfordshire and upon arrival the guest were served ice cold”

Timothée stops reading and throws the magazine down on the bench. For a long time he sits there, watching as people climb their way up the stairs to the church, and smoking cigarette after cigarette until his throat feels sore. It’s a fine October day, the air crisp and clean. The leaves on the trees changing from emerald green to vibrant shades of orange and yellow. Some have already fallen to the ground. A melancholic part of him, the majority in fact, can’t help but to think of it as a metaphor of his life. He’d met you and the entire world had seemed in bloom. Now it was rapidly fading.

Someone sits down beside him on the bench, but he ignores them, mind too far away to care.

“You are monsieur Chalamet, I presume”. With a startle he looks at the person next to him. It’s an elderly lady, possibly in her 80’s, with hair in a sophisticated updo, burgundy lips and sparkling eyes. She’s clothed in an expensive fur coat and with diamonds on every finger. He suddenly feels dirty in his unwashed clothes.

“Yes madam, and who are you if I may ask?” he answers politely.

“Marguerite Beauchêne-Wright” she introduces herself, stretching out her heavily bejeweled hand. He shakes the elderly woman’s hand. It feels strangely cold in his.

“And what can I do for you, madam?”

She doesn’t answer at first but looks down on the magazine between them. “Pretty, isn’t she?” she asks. He doesn’t answer at first, doesn’t know what to say to that. “Yes, very pretty” he answers at last.

“It was a terrible wedding” she continues. “Terrible”.

“And how do you know the bride?” He asks, feeling rather uncomfortable

“She’s my grandniece” she says and looks up at him again, studying his face. “She lived with me for a period, here in Paris. I believe you know one another?”

He doesn’t answer her question, knows she already knows the answer to it, instead he asks “and why was the wedding so terrible?”

“Oh” she says and swats with her hand, but there’s a look of worry on her face he can’t look past. “When the bride’s wearing the wrong dress, or the bridesmaids won’t behave, or the food’s terrible, well those are all things one expects at a wedding. But when the bride marries the wrong groom, well, that’s not quite as easily overlooked. Then you find yourself actually praying for an ill-fitted gown instead”.

He stares at her in confusion. “What do you mean, the wrong groom?”

She observers him with shrewd eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Madam, with all due respect, I not sure what you want with me” he says slowly. He finds himself wondering if maybe he’s still asleep and this is a strange dream produced by too much absinthe. If he’ll perhaps wake up in a ditch soon, with a hangover from hell.

“But don’t worry” she says with a kind smile “We can still fix this”.

He wonders if he should leave, for this is not a conversation he wants to have, especially not with a complete stranger. But despite himself he says “there’s nothing to fix”.

Then she takes him by surprise, for she grabs the magazine from the bench and hits his arm with it, not hard, but enough to get a reaction out of him. “Ow!” he bursts out, “what was that for?”

“For you to get a grip of yourself! Don’t be so defeatist, I told you we can fix this. You still love her and she loves you, not that absolute buffoon”.

“It’s too late, she’s already married him. And I'm over it” he lies, trying to keep on to some kind of dignity in this bizarre situation.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you haven’t moved on from any of it, I know an idiot in love when I see one, and you’re it”.

“Gee, thanks” he mutters, rubbing the sore spot where she hit him with the magazine.

“Now, what are we going to do? Are you going after her?”

He stares at her in disbelief, “no, she’s married, I told you, it’s too late”.

“Do I need to use this again?” she threatens and holds up the magazine, but there’s a humorous gleam in her eyes that makes him smile.

“Why are you trying to help me?” He asks.

“Well, quite frankly dahling, I'm not trying to help you. But that girl, my dahling niece, is miserable.” There’s sadness now in her old eyes and something twists uncomfortably in Timothée’s chest.

“It’s that bloody women's fault, her mother!” She bursts out, taking him aback. The venom in her voice almost palpable, “She’s whispering ideas of self-sacrifice in her ear. Not that her father’s any better – defeatist! That’s the only word to describe him! Never could fight for himself. To think that my dahling sister could have given birth to such a fool. And now my grandniece...” she trails off, sadness in her voice again.

“Now your grandniece has a title and is married to one of the richest people in England.” He states firmly.

She throws the magazine down on the bench again and swats her hand in front of her, as if to get rid of a particularly annoying fly, and the diamonds on her hand sparkle in the sun. “Yes, but it’s not what she wants. Is it? What she wants is, well, it’s you.”

There’s something so penetrating about her eyes and the way she looks at him. Crinkled and full of wrinkles her face may be but those shrew eyes shine bright as ever. They are very familiar eyes, a strong remembrance to another pair of eyes that haunt his dreams. He looks away,

“But she did decide to marry him, that was her decision. Doesn’t mean I don’t understand it, but there’s where we’re at. There’s nothing to be done.”

“I saw the painting you made of her” She says in a voice that make him think she’s fishing after something and in the corner of his eyes he can see her inspecting him. He lights a new cigarette and avoids her eyes. “The one with yellow tulips?” she adds, making it sound like a question.

“’s just a painting” he mumbles, feigning nonchalance.

She continues to observe him before sighing. Then, she pats him on his arm and in a gentle tone she says “we both know that’s not quite true”.

And suddenly he wants to weep. Weep in a way he hasn’t since he was a child. Without holding back, without grace or shame. Weep, and subject the poison from his body. But he doesn’t. Clenching his hands around the rim of the bench with all of his strength he manages to keep the storm at bay. Only when he feels he has his emotions locked up and under control does he look at her again. Her familiar eyes, full of sympathy, observes him and something inside his chest is screaming.

“Could I paint you, madam?” he asks with a smile, to lighten the mood.

She throws her head back in laughter. “Oh, how sweet of you, but I'm afraid my modelling days are far behind me. But if you ever need something, a listening ear or” and she looks at his dirty clothes “or perhaps a loan, then feel free to keep in touch.”

She gently pats his shoulder, then gets up and leaves.

February 12th, 1953

In a dimly lit club in Pigalle Timothée is writing a letter. Smoke surrounds him and the dim light shining through gives the illusion of a halo around his head. It’s a bad place to conduct letters in. People around him are cheering and talking, singing and howling with laughter while a modern band plays experimental jazz. It is rowdy, and it is wild, and it’s the perfect distraction.

It’s a shabby sort of place, where the floors are sticky with god knows what, the music is loud and the liquor comes cheap. Timothée thinks it’s heaven.

A man sits down next to him in the bar and orders a Gin Rickey.

“Terrible, aren’t they?” He questions in a broad American accent, gesturing toward the band as the bartender hands him his drink. Timothée nods in agreement and gestures with his empty glass to the bartender, implying need of a refill of his whiskey neat. The barman catches his gesture and pour him a new glass of Glenlivet and hands it to him just as the band begin a new tune.

“Hardly Duke Ellington” he says to the stranger and nods to the scene. He folds the unfinished letter and puts it in his pocket for later. The other man snorts in response, “that’s putting it kindly” he says, amusement in his voice. Timothée takes a good look at the stranger. He looks to be about his own age and is wearing a nice grey suit and hat tilted to the side. With a square jaw, a tall stature and piercingly blue eyes he could pass for a movie star. Lighting a cigarette, the man then offers one to Timothée, who gladly accepts the offer in a gratified manner. He’s been running low on his own stash these last few days.

They start talking. Discussing the differences in American and French jazz, the best drinking holes in Paris and who really is the great American writer. Timothée claim it’s Hemingway (“mark my words, he’ll win a Nobel price one of these days) whereas the stranger argues for F. Scott Fitzgerald (“the way he writes about the promise of the American dream, no one can rival Fitzgerald” he proclaims and Timmy wants to argue that surely he writes about the failed promise of the American dream, but they move on to a less dividing topic). The discuss bourbon and whiskey and rum as the bartender refill their glasses and the liquor no longer burns his throat and his eyes have adjusted to the smoke in the room as they mindlessly chat on. Timmy finds out that the strangers name is William and that he’s originally from California though went to boarding school in ‘good ol’ England’ but that he’s spent the last year in New York. Also, that he’s just separated from his wife. Timmy in turn tells him of his own life in broad strokes, his American mother and French father, art school and life as a painter in Paris. A few drinks later still and they get a hold of an old, wooden table at the far back of the room and so they cross the room, avoiding collision with the dancers, all in various states of drunkenness, and they begin a game of cards. The jazz band plays on.

William turns out to be quite the gambler and Timothée, who’s been walking around for months now with a feeling that he has nothing more to lose, can’t help but bet on the few things he has. They laugh and play and share stories of their youth while the jazz band play louder and louder. Perhaps the good company and distracting surroundings goes to his head, because a couple games in and Timmy is indebted to the American. He has had a bad hand overall as of late and he tells his opponent as much. The man in turn laughs and leans back in his chair, his cards in one hand and a cigar in the other. He takes a long drag from it before blowing out smoke across the space between them. Around them people dance to the chaotic music.

“Hell, I’m feeling generous tonight and you’ve been good company. Not many people I can talk to here in France, my French is terrible. So, you’re a painter, how about a painting, then? And I’ll write the whole thing off.” he suggests and smiles broadly.

Timothée hesitates. His apartment has been unusually empty of paintings as of late. The few ones he had he sold just last week in order to meet rent. Inspiration to paint new ones had not been with him. Not since you left. Everything he had managed to paint had come out drained of colour and bleak and he ended up losing interest in it.

He only has one painting left. But he couldn't, could he?

“Alright” Timmy agrees. Because what choice does he have? Maybe it’s time to put this ghost to rest, once and for all. Your gone and no wishful thinking or practices in gratefulness can change that simple fact. You’re married and there’s nothing he can do about it, despite madame Marguerite’s words of your misery ringing in his ears. There’s nothing he can do to save you now. You’ve made your choice, and all there is now is the aftermath. The post mortem. You have to live with that decision and so does he. Even if he doesn’t want to. So, why should he keep the painting? The baron got to keep the real you after all, and the only thing he has is the picture of you. A picture that can’t talk or laugh, can’t smile or play with his hair or touch him or dance to Chopin or lecture him about classical music. A painted image that he has stared himself blind at for these past few months, grieving that he cannot bring it to life, while the baron got the real you.

His unfinished letter burns in his pocket but he ignores it.

And so they leave, on unsteady legs and heads swirling with liquor, and the jazz band plays them out to their worst tune yet as they exchange the smoky club air for a cold night’s breeze.

“Fuck” William mutters as they enter the night. “Fucking freezing” he adds and shivers in his nice suit. “No worry” Timothée slurs “not far”. They stumble their way across the cobblestoned streets. “You damn Frenchmen” the other man mutters after some distance, “always got to fucking walk everywhere, taxis where invented tor a reason, you know!” Timmy snorts and points to a building just a couple of meters away. “Live there, yeah?”

And with a lot of effort they help each other up the stairs to the loft. Once inside William asks if there’s any brandy, for ‘recovery purposes after their hellish journey’ and so, they drink some more. They start discussing politics, a bad idea all around, before venturing into the less dividing topic of French cinema. It’s not long after that they’ve both fallen asleep, William slung on the sofa, his long limbs hanging over the edge, and Timothée’s sprawled out on the carpet, the bottle of brandy clutched firmly in his hand. (For recovery purposes.)

A few hours later and Timmy’s hurling down the toilet. He wants to check his head for bullet holes, that’s how bad it’s aching. After having cleaned up, although there’s nothing to be done about the mess of curls that is his hair, he joins the American in his living room.

William is sitting up on the sofa, but it looks very much as if he’s just woken up, hair a mess and a 5 o'clock shadow, his expensive suit all wrinkles now. The sun is shining mercilessly bright and its rays lights up the room as he rubs his eyes. “Coffee?” he requests in a gruff voice. Timothée nods, before realizing that any movement of the head is a terrible idea as pain shots through it.

“What a fucking night” William mutters some time later as they drink their coffee. “And I’ve got a meeting with the lawyers this afternoon, not the sort of thing one should do hungover.”

“Oh yeah?” is all Timothée manages to get out, head still too sore to put any thoughts together.

“Yeah, divorce proceedings”

“Rotten business” Timmy states and the other man laughs. “Rotten business, indeed” he agrees and cheer him with his mug of coffee. “Still, a necessity that must be endured.” He looks around the loft. “But I’ll have a new painting to hang in my bachelor pad, that’s something to write home about!” he says, more cheerful now.

And fuck, he’d forgotten that part.

Feeling nauseous again he puts down his coffee cup. “Yeah, you’ll have a new painting” he agrees, mostly to fill the silence.

“Haven’t seen any of your work yet though” William considers. “You might be shit. My five-year-old niece might be a better painter, and I’ve just promised to write off your debts to me” he adds and laughs. Timmy gets up, there’s no putting this off. “I’ll go get it and you’ll decide” he says and heads for his bedroom.

The paintings leaned against the wall. He doesn’t turn it, doesn’t want to see it one last time. There’s not enough brandy in the world for that recovery. Something inside his chest is rioting against the very idea of handing the picture over to anyone else, but he pushes down the feeling of nausea and heads back to the living room, canvas clutched firmly in his hands.

“Well” he says and holds it up, so the other man can see. “Here’s your winnings”.

William looks up at it and then, the strangest thing happens. His entire being freezes, his mouth ajar, stuck mid-movement as he had begun to say something before having seemingly been struck by lightning. Bells are ringing alarmingly in Timothée’s head, going off like sirens. Somethings wrong.

He observes Williams glossy eyes taking in the portrait in front of him, mouth still agog in chock. He places to painting on the dingy little table but William still doesn’t take his eyes off it. He gets up slowly and walks over to the painting, as if in a trance, like a man bewitched, and he reaches out a hand to touch the painting and with hesitant fingers he gently touches your cheek. The nude portrait of you, the one Timothée had painted on the day that you left him, posing slung on the very same sofa William’s just slept on.

And it hits him then, like a collision.

That this is William. The William. The man who broke your engagement and sailed across the Atlantic with his new bride. A bride he’s apparently already separated from.

“How, how-” William begins but he seems unable to finish the sentence.

A sudden feeling of being a side character in somebody else’s story settles inside of Timothée. Words like destiny and star-crossed comes to mind as he observes the other man and his wide, wild eyes, the way he looks at the painting in absolute wonder.

“Is, is she still here? Is she still in Paris?” and his voice is weak but full of hope. Slowly Timothée shakes his head. “She’s left.” He confirms, and the crushing disappointment is so clear in the other man’s face that it feels cruel to continue, but he does. “She’s married now. To a baron”.

William’s head snaps away from the painting for the first time since he saw it. “Freddie?” He asks, voice bitter and Timmy nods. “That fucker” he swears “he always was sniffing after her” he adds resentfully. He looks back at the painting and his expression soften, but he looks sadder too.

“That’s why you came here, isn’t?” Timothée asks hesitantly. “To look for her?”

William nods, seemingly unable to look away from the picture. He reaches for it and an overwhelming urge to stop him, to remove the painting from his sight washes over Timothée. To hand this portrait of you away to a stranger had seemed like a sad but unavoidable thing to do. But to give it away in due for his debts to your ex fiancé… It felt dirty and cruel.

But what choice did he have?

And so, he watches William take the painting and watches him leave with the only thing he has left of you.

Because Timothée is 26 and he still hasn’t got any money. And he can’t compete with handsome William, or to Freddie the baron. Because Timothée is 26 and all he’s got to show for it is an apartment he can’t afford anymore and a broken heart.

He runs to the bathroom and hurls in the toilet again, unable to ignore the feeling of nausea and guilt any longer.

That night you come to him in his dreams. Like a vision you appear at the end of his bed, drenched in water. White, wet silk clenching to your body, hair slicked to your face and such a haunted look in your eyes that he involuntarily reaches out for you, to hold you, to help you, to save you. He’s not quite sure. But before he can reach you the scenario changes. Because suddenly – as is the way of dreams, you’re the Tate museum watching John Everett Millais Ophelia. Your standing next to him, water dripping from your drenched body down on the floor. He looks at you, but you keep your eyes on the painting.

And when he looks back at it, it’s no longer a portrait of Ophelia lying dead in the water. It’s you.

He wakes with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat, gasping for air. It feels like he has to force fresh air into his lungs, like he’s been under water for too long. He feels around himself, automatically, to feel for your body, make sure you’re safe.

Bur you are miles away.

February 14th, 1953

Timothée writes a new letter.

It’s 5 am and I'm drunk and I am thinking of you and in a few hours it’ll be 12 am and I'll be drunk and I'll be thinking of you. And so the story goes.

I met your William, charming bloke, shame about his wife. He came here looking for you, you know? Don’t worry, I told him you got married to a baron. Your wedding pictures looked lovely in the Tatler, by the way. Diamonds suits you.

I haven’t painted much since you left. I have no inspiration. For anything.

You know, we've made a beating heart out of my pain. It’s a living, breathing creature and it walks with me everywhere, hidden somewhere under my ribcage. Like a second heart. Where I go it follows. What I feel for you, it’s a Frankenstein's monster kind of grief, bits and pieces cut out from us both, turned into a living creature. Can you hear it beating for you? Can you hear it screaming out for you? Saying ‘where did she go? Where did she go? Why can’t I follow?’ Like a child begging for its mother. Come back, come back and collect your second heart, take it out of my body, remove it from me, I cannot stand its begging. I'd kill the monster, but it’s the only thing I have left of you now. Don’t think I could stomach the loss.

I’m not the same I was before I met you. This love has made a different man out of me. This love has made a bitter man out of me. This love sure feels a lot like drowning. In my dreams you come to me, all Ophelia-esque and suffering, and I want to pull both our bodies out of the water, but you’re determined to sink and I don’t want to let go of your hand and so – we drown.

I know it’ll pass, this longing I have for you. It must. I cannot keep walking these streets wrecked with grief. One day at a time. That’s what I tell myself each morning as a watch the sun rise over Paris, my head and heart pounding in revolt, one day at a time.

There’s a Swedish saying that goes ‘a lot of water shall run under a lot of bridges before I forget you’. What it essentially means is that it’ll take a lot for me to forget you, or the way you made me feel.

But I'm sorry. One mustn’t be morbid. I won’t write you again. I’ve tried to be grateful; I am trying. I hope married life is treating you well. I hope you’ve gotten all you ever wished for. I hope you’re happy. I honestly do. You deserve the best life has to offer. I’m just sad I can’t be the one giving it to you. Being without you is a hard thing to be grateful for.

One day at a time.

Yours,

Timothée

The next morning, he calls the model agency. Later, just as his headache is subsiding, a blonde model named Lucy knocks on his door. She’s chatty and friendly and moves around too much when he paints her. Her laugh is loud but childlike and she keeps the conversation going. He plays a Benny Goodman record and her hips gently swing along to the rhythm almost involuntarily and she sings along in a sweet voice to ‘The Sunny Side of the Street’.

Outside the sun is shining and the whole world seems at rest. It’s not the same – God knows it’s not the same – but for the first time in months it all seems, not alright perhaps, but bearable.

Later that night as he washes himself clean from the yellow paint that’s stained his fingers, he tries to push the feeling of guilt down from where it seems to be stuck in his throat. When that doesn’t work he tries to wash it down with absinth but as he lays down on the livingroom floor, too tired to make it into the bedroom, he watches the golden painting of Lucy gleam even in the dark, he wonders if perhaps absinth is what makes guilt grow.

1st of Mars, 1953

Timothée wakes to sunlight streaming in through the large and unwashed windows. For a long while he lays there completely still, sprawled out on the white linen sheets, curly hair draped over the pillow; trying to force his eyes to get used to the light. His head is pounding, and his body aches, but the sensation feels as familiar as the scent of turpentine and oil paint. Slowly he moves his limbs, first wiggling his toes and his hands; as if to count them all, and then, with monumental strength of character, he gets out of bed. Naked as the day he was born he walks over to the window. Far down on the street Paris is already awake, cars and passer-byers chasing down the streets. Some have changed out of their heavy, winter jackets to lighter coats as the bustle off to their individual destination.

It is the first day of spring.

He turns away from the window, in search for some clothes but stop in his tracks. As if seeing the room with new eyes he takes it in. Around the bed lay bottle after bottle of liquor, the sheets are old and dirty, the room hasn’t been dusted in months, and various pieces of clothing lay scattered everywhere.

He can’t go on like this. It’s time, whether he wants it to be or not. He has to go on.

He pours down the absinthe, the rum, the whiskey and the brandy down the kitchen sink and watches as it disappears. He cleans and wipes the floor, washes his sheets and clothes and then carefully folds them and puts them away in his closet. He finishes his painting of Lucy and then starts on another. He calls his delighted art dealer and informs him of the progress, tells him that he’ll have more ones in no time. He then swallows his pride and calls madam Marguerite, asking for the loan she offered. Pride won’t keep him warm if he loses the apartment due to not paying rent. She too sounds delighted and tells him he can pay her back by coming over for dinner. They both need the company.

And so, he walks to her apartment, a bouquet of daffodils in hand, smelling like clean laundry and with his newly brushed hair it all feel an awful lot like going to church. Upon arriving at Marguerite’s home, a maid opens the door for him and he tries not to smile when she wrinkles her nose and takes his old and patchy coat. The apartment is palace-like in grandeur, white marble everywhere, and decorated with expertise. She leads him into the lounge and announces him.

“Mr. Chalamet, madam”.

“Yes, thank you Louise” Marguerite answers and the maid leaves them.

“A cocktail?” she asks, holding up an empty martini glass. He politely accepts and looks around the room as she prepares it. “Is that a Picasso?” he asks astonished, pointing at a blue portrait of a woman on the wall opposite.

“Yes” she says and hands him a martini.

“How- how?”

She smiles at him indulgently. “I knew him in my youth” she explains and takes a sip from her own drink. He stares at her in amazement. “You know Pablo Picasso?”

She scoffs. “Oh, don’t be jealous of that, man’s an absolute fool”.

And so, they talk, all through drinks and then dinner. About art and music. About both of their childhoods, different though they both may have been. She tells him stories from her long and impressive life. About dahling Humphrey. After dinner, which had been a superb affair of duck confit; served on the finest of porcelain and paired with the finest of wines, they’d gone out on the terrace for drinks and smokes. He sticks to his old Lucky Strikes and she to imported Russian cigarettes, (a habit she’d picked up during the war, she’d told him).

“Darling Humprey would have liked you, he would have rooted for you” she says and leans back in her chair, a Hermès blanket in her lap to keep her warm.

“Oh really? Was he a good gambler?”

“Oh god no, he was terrible better. And a sore loser.” she says and smiles in the fond way she does when she thinks of her late husband.

“How reassuring for me” he says dryly.

“Dahlinh” she begins in a drawl that would have made Betty Davis proud, “what should be reassuring is that I’m fighting in your corner, and I don’t believe in a losing hand”. Then, changing the subject she says “My niece is quite right you know, your knowledge of classical music is subpar, so I'm educating you. Next week, I'll take you to the opera.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, indeed. Gianni Schicchi. I have a spare ticket so feel free to bring someone along with you”.

“Puccini?” he says with a grimace.

“Now boy, I'm fond of you but if you say bad word of Puccini I will throw you of this balcony myself”.

He smiles, but she reminds him so much of her grandniece in this moment and something in his chest is calling out for you

Later that week he calls Lucy and they go out dancing. He doesn’t take her to Pigelle, wants to keep away from its smoke-filled rooms and sticky floors. Escapism isn’t heaven. Not anymore. Instead he takes her to La Noyade, a nice place where nice people go to have fun. And they dance, and she makes him laugh and it’s not world-altering or butterfly-inducing but it’s a good way to pass the time. They mindlessly chat about movies, and music and film stars over glasses of Champagne and they never once wade into personal territories. She wears a nice and tight dress in a sunny color, her golden blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and as he watches her seductively move her hips to the live band's music, he finds himself thinking ‘why not?’ And when she kisses him with painted-pink lips under a streetlamp he kisses her back. Because why not. And when he takes her to bed that night and fucks her into the mattress, her moans ringing in his ears, and her yellow hair sprawled over his pillows he nearly manages to forget you.

Nearly.

He holds her as she falls asleep and he tries to get used to the unfamiliar scent of her hair, the unfamiliarity of her body next to his. One day at a time.

(In his dreams you come to him, through the haze of a misty beach. You take his hand and guide him into a boat. And there you lay, as the boat drifts away and you watch the stars. You hold him close, and breathing feels easier. The rioting creature inside his chest finally at ease.)

Walking of the stairs of L'Opéra Garnier one can’t help feel anything but small. The supreme grandeur of the palace is designed to make you feel inferior after all. The high ceiling, gloriously painted by Isidore Pils, is enough to knock the breath out of anyone, and then white marble and gold for as far as the eye can see.

Timothée is wearing a tuxedo, the cheap rental kind, and the collar hasn’t been starched properly. It itches, and he fights the urge to scratch at his neck, and so he keeps his hand occupied by taking Lucy’s hand in his, and they make their way forward.

They make their way down the grand foyer. All around them people are dressed up to the nine’s in evening dresses, furs and tuxedos and more diamonds than he’s seen in his entire life, and god, Timothée misses Montmartre. Through the crowd he can see madam Marguerite, fitting her surroundings perfectly.

“Madam” he greets and kisses her cheek.

“Timothée” she responds, and she sounds fond. However, before he can introduce Lucy to her Marguerite looks over his shoulder and excitingly exclaims “Oh, there you are darling!” Without thinking he turns around to look at whomever Marguerite is greeting.

His body reacts before he does and goes completely still and for a moment he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.

It’s you.

With your hair up in an eloquent hairdo, wearing a black velvet gown that he bets costs more than his apartment, and diamonds around your neck, you’re walking towards them. Arm in arm with you walks a man Timothée recognizes from the Tatler, Freddie, with blond hair and upturned nose. He’s certainly not wearing rental wear. “Timothée?” you ask in a weak voice as you reach him. You’re seemingly unable to believe your eyes. “Is it really you?” And with your painted blood-red lips you lean in to kiss his cheek, but they never touch his skin. You pull away and he sees how Freddie’s arm tightens around your waist.

Then you look at Lucy.

“Oh, yes of course, this is Lucy she’s my, uh” he halters.

“Muse” Lucy fills in and Timothée wants to protest, wants to catch the word midair and change it for something else, something less familiar. But he can’t. So, he watches in silence as she stretches out a hand for you to shake, which you elegantly do and even though you’re politely smiling there’s a frozen look on your face that unsettles him. With effortless grace you introduce yourself.

Then, “and this is my husband, Frederic”. You smile up at him and something inside Timothée chest is wreaking havoc. Freddie looks bored.

“Should we move along?” Freddie says in a drawling, posh voice that makes Timmy’s skin prickle in displeasure.

“Of course” Marguerite says, and leads the way, calling out ‘hello’s’ and ‘dahling’s’ to various familiar faces as she goes. Lucy crosses arms with him and they follow the older women's lead, you and your husband at your heel.

Timothée feels disorientated, head swimming with thoughts. There are too many feelings at once inside of him, too many different emotions fighting for dominance. But somehow, he continues to put one foot in front of the other and before he knows it, they’re in the auditorium. They’re in one of the boxes, and Marguerite places herself front row, next to an elderly gentleman she greets with fond familiarity. In the row behind them Freddie guides his wife and then sits down next to her. He and Lucy take the two seats behind them, Timothée ending up in the seat right behind you. He sees how Freddie leans in to whisper something in your ear, but he can’t hear his words. All he can see is that you stiffen, and slowly shake your head.

He looks at you, you’re perfect updo, not a hair out of place, the immaculately painted lips, the swan-like neck and perfect stiff posture. Your face still with that unsettling frozen look, as if you’ve retracted somewhere far inside yourself and he remembers how you used to dance in his studio, unguarded and free. Laughing and dancing while he painted you. A sudden urge to take your hand grabs hold of him. To take your hand and lead you away from all of this, away from the man sitting down beside you. To loosen your hair and limbs. To take you home and play Chopin and make you laugh again. Erase that frozen, still look from your face.

The lighting dims in the auditorium and then the orchestra begin the dramatic first chords of the opera but Timothée finds it hard to concentrate. Lucy has her eyes set on the stage, her hand on his knee. He feels like a trapped animal.

He thanks his lucky star that it’s at least only a one-act opera he tries to focus on the performances, but his eyes keep moving back to your neck. Your dress is backless and if he reaches out his hand, he could touch your skin. But doesn’t. Knows you wouldn’t want him to.

When O Mio Babbino Caro starts playing he sees how you lean forward, mesmerized by the beautiful voice of the soprano and he smiles, for he remembers you telling him it’s your favorite aria. But he sees how Freddie puts a hand on your arm, making you sit straight again.

‘Huh’ Timothée thinks and looks at your husband, ‘so this is what pure hatred feels like’. He digs his nails into his hand, leaving little half-moon shaped marks.

Eventually the wretched thing ends and after having applauded the performers and the orchestra you all rise up to leave. You turn and look at him and he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch your cheek, tell you how beautiful you are, how brave and wise and kind, and how undeserving the man next to you is. But he doesn’t.

Once outside it’s decided that you and your husband are going back to George V with your aunt for drinks. Politely you invite him and Lucy but he reclines with a bad excuse. He observes you, and even with your perfectly polite manners it’ like you’re walking around half-asleep, still with that frozen look in your face that’s beginning to scare him. And Christ, you’re just so guarded. You bid your goodbyes, and kissing her cheek he thanks Marguerite for the tickets, but when he tries to say goodbye to you, he can see Freddie’s arm tighten around your wait again. So instead of leaning into a kiss on the cheek he politely bows his head and you and in a gentle voice he says “goodbye then, it was nice seeing you again”. You smile back, eyes glossy and for a moment he wonders if you’re about to cry but a moment later you’ve pulled yourself together and politely bids goodbye to Lucy. And then you’re walking away, Freddie’s arm still around your waist.

* The next morning he goes to visit madam Marguerite, a book in hand. Louise lets him in, looking down on him as usual. “Would you like me to mend this, monsieur?” she asks, both sarcasm and contempt clear in her voice, as she looks takes his coat, indicating the big tear in one of the sides. “If you wouldn’t mind” he answers cheekily and walks past her.

Marguerite is sitting on the terrace eating breakfast, Le Monde in front of her. He puts down his copy of Jane Austen’s Emma in front of her.

“There” he says and sits down in the chair opposite her “your literary soulmate”.

She scoffs “Mr. Knightley really isn’t my type”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles fondly at her “No I shouldn’t think so. And I meant Emma, not Mr. Knightley. You and Emma are the same”. “Oh what utter nonsense!” She burst out, indignant, “I’ve never meddled a day in my life!”

Timothée stares at her in disbelief.

“Honestly!” she defends herself “I didn’t know they were coming to Paris until the day before and then, well, it seemed unnecessary to tell you”.

“You should have warned me she’d be there” he says sternly. “If nothing else then because then I wouldn’t have invited Lucy”.

She has the decency to look ashamed. “Oh, I dare say I should have warned you. But I was afraid you’d cancel, and I needed you to see it with your own eyes.”

“See what?”

She looks him dead in the eye then, a grave look, “the change in her, of course”.

He stays silent, doesn’t know what to say, drags his hands through his hair in distress.

“So” she says after a few moments of silence, “what do you make of Freddie?”

“The words princeling comes to mind”.

She observes him for a second, a sceptic look on her face, “I’m sure that’s not the only word that comes to mind”. He can’t help but smile at that, because she’s right. “True, but those are not words I'd use in front of a lady. She bursts out in laugher. “Darlinh, I practically invented swearing, no need to hold back in front of me.”

“What do you think of him?" He asks instead.

She huffs. “I prefer Picasso”. *

14th of Mars, 1953

Timothée is painting. Specks of yellow and gold adorn his hands and white shirt. The afternoon sun is lighting up the room and Chopin is playing for the first time in months on the record player. The knock on the door startles him, and since he was in the process of painting the details of Lucy’s eyes a stroke of dark paint ends up on her eyebrow as his hand jerks in surprise at the sudden noise.

“Fuck” he swears, and with a great deal of annoyance does he go to open the door.

You look surprised as he flings the door open.

“Sorry” you say, apologetically. “Is this an inconvenient time?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t seem to find his voice, just steps aside, inviting you to come in. You do, and move into the studio. He walks after you, seemingly in a daze.

“Drink?” he asks eventually, interrupting the pressing silence.

“Yes please” you answer. He looks at you, your hair is elegantly styled and your wearing another expensive looking dress. You’re not looking at him though, but instead at the golden portrait of Lucy he’s in the process of making. You don’t say anything. There’s still that still look on your face and it unsettles him.

He hands her a glass of gin. “Where’s dear Freddie then?” he asks, in a feigned nonchalant manner as he offers you a cigarette. You step closer to him so that he can light it. You’re so close he can smell your familiar perfume, and feel the heat from your skin. He looks down on you as you try to get the end to gleam. He can count your eyelashes from this distance, see every single feature in your face, every crook and corner. In the beginning, when you had first come to this studio, he had felt obsessed by the idea of painting your perfect likeness. But the closer he looked at you, the more impossible it felt. “Freddie is at a business function. I was not required” you answer and steps away from him, blowing out smoke into the room. “And where’s your muse?” you ask, and there’s a certain amount of resentment in your voice that you can’t seem to keep at bay.

“Right here” he answers simply, looking at you.

“And Lucy?”

“I don’t know” he responds truthfully. “I got your letter” you say, calmly.

Ah,

“Sorry” he says. “Shouldn’t have sent that. I was drunk”.

You keep looking at him, seemingly deep in thought. And before he loses all courage he asks, “may I paint you again? One last time?” “In what colour?” “In all your colours, just as you are” he answers, and then “I don’t have rose-colored glasses when I look at you anymore”. The room goes very still for a moment. “Do you still want me?” you ask, voice small. And with sincerity clear in his voice he answers. “More than ever”.

“No” you say and put down your drink, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray. “No, I don’t want you to paint me”.

Something twists painfully in his chest.

“That’s not what I want you to do to me” you continue and step closer.

And then you kiss him.

He grabs hold of you and kisses you back, trying to express every ounce of longing he’s felt since you left into the kiss. But he can tell part of you is holding back. “Don’t do that” he says in a low voice, pulling away from you. His eyes are bright and shining. “If you’re with me, you’re with me. Don’t keep foot out the door. If you’re with me; be with me. If you don’t want to be, then you have to leave. I don’t want you half-heartedly. I understand you can’t stay with me longer than today but if you’re with me then don’t keep your mind on him.” You stare at him, taken aback. “Well?” he asks “is this what you want?” Your answer is a red-hot kiss. Your answer is your hands, trying to tear his shirt off of him. Trying desperately to get your hands on his skin and he wants to cry from the sheer relief of feeling you touch him again. Frantically you’re tearing at his clothes. He grips your hands to stop you. “Slowly” he whispers in your ear. He can tell that you’re worked up from your labored breathing, chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes gleaming as you look up at him. The frozen look finally gone. You look alive again. He can tell that all you want right now is for him to lay you down and fuck you as hard and fast as he can. But he doesn’t want to rush this, knows this is all the time he’s going to get. And he feels like a man living on borrowed time. He kisses you, languidly, and your lips taste like gin. He leads you down, so you’re lying on the soft carpet, hovering above you. For ages all you do is kiss, your hands roaming his body, like you can’t stop touching him. Eventually he starts to remove your clothes, the silky material of your dress soft like water in his hands as he takes it off you, sneaking in kisses all over your body as he does so. You in turn help remove his dress shirt and trousers. Until eventually there’s nothing but air separating you. He looks you directly, deep into your eyes “Sure?” he asks, because he must hear it. Couldn’t live with himself if you ended up regretting this. “Yes” you say, voice barely louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t waver. The last rays of golden sunshine lights up the room and maybe it’s his overactive imagination, but he swears the light forms a halo around your head. He’s prowling over you, settled in-between your legs. He thinks you must see, surely you must see, all the wonder in his eyes that he feels when he looks at you. He kisses your sensitive nipples and you shiver in delight. Your hands in his hair and you move up against him, desperate for him to touch more of you. He bites, nips, licks and sucks your breasts, leaving wet traces as he goes and god, he’s missed this; missed you. The taste and feel of your soft skin, your gasps and moans, your hands tugging at his hair. Some part of him, a particularly cynical part of him, thought he’d must have made it up, that in the aftermath of you leaving his brain had beautified the memories of you until you’d reach almost divine proportions. But it was all real.

He grinds his body against yours, fill his hands with your breast, kisses you everywhere he can. He reaches down a hand to the wetness between your legs. “So wet” he murmurs against your skin “have you been thinking about this all day?” He pushes a finger inside you and you buckle up against him in response. “Mon cœur” he continues as he presses wet kisses against your throat, and adds another finger inside you, touching you with expertise in just the way he knows will send sparks of pleasure all down your spine. He remembers exactly how you like to be touched. “I asked you a question”. “Yes” you moan. He looks down on his fingers, moving in and out of you, glistening with your wetness. “Have you missed it?” he asks, voice low, and he speeds up the pace, his thumb moving over your clit. Your head thrown back you let out a deep moan and in a breathless voice you answer “yes, yes, missed it so much”.

Your hair has fallen out of its elegant hairdo, your cheeks flushed and wet and lips swollen from kisses. You look wild and free.

“I’ve been thinking about this, touching you; fucking you, ever since the opera” he leans down and kisses your clit, fingers still moving inside of you. And then he sucks on it and you explode around his fingers, cramping down around them, hips bucking and moans falling freely from your lips.

He strokes your cheek and kisses your face as he lets you catch your breath. Eventually you start kissing him back, softly at first, then ardently. He so hard he feels he could self-combust but as he lines up at your entrance, he looks you in the eye and asks “sure?”

“Never been more certain” you reply, voice like honey, and you wrap your leg around his waist, trying to guide him inside you.

He lets you get used to him, adjust to his size, before he starts moving. Your hands are in his and he can feel your wedding ring against his skin.

You try to incite him to move faster, bucking your hips against him, but he doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t want to go too hard on you.

“I’m not made of porcelain” you hiss, frustrated “you’re not going to hurt me. Fuck me like I'm yours”.

He’s starts fucking you with more force then, grinding where he knows you like it. Your nails are scratching his back, pulling at his hair. Sounds – moans, whimpers and begging's of more – escaping your mouth uninterruptedly. You can’t seem to stop them. He looks down on you and he swears out loud. The good damn sight of you like this, he knows he’ll never get the image out of his head. Knows that in months from now – when you’re back in good old England with your husband and he’s all alone here in this apartment – that he could paint this moment with picture-like perfection. Your glossy eyes filled with bliss, wild hair and flushed skin, lips still painted red and formed in a moan. But he won’t. He’ll let it be a memory, the thought of anyone else seeing that painting too unsettling for words. You come again then, eyes tight shut and head thrown back, mouth wide open in a silent scream. He feels your orgasm, can feel you spasm around him and he swears he’s gone to heaven. And as the final rays of sunlight disappears outside, he calls your name – half prayer half cry– and releases inside you, white hot pleasure racing down his spine, and then the whole room goes dark. The only reasons he knows the world hasn’t ended are your warm and sweaty body beneath him. The only sounds in the whole, wide world are both of your breathless gasps. * After, you put on your clothes in silence, avoiding the others eyes. He feels almost shy. The thing inside his chest is crying, knowing that you’re minutes away from leaving again, that this time it’s forever. How do you do something even though it kills you? “I’m sorry, for everything” you say and it startles him. “For everything?” “Yes. I’m sorry I came back” you avoid his eyes as you speak “well, I’m sorry but I don’t regret that part. And I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’ve never meant to hurt you.” Because it’s the right thing to do.

You are staying with your husband. This is your decision. He can’t force you to leave, or stay. He can’t save you, no matter what Marguerite says. Not when you’re determined to drown. “I’ve loved you wholeheartedly and I have no regrets. I’ve loved you of my own free will. You don’t owe me anything.”

The frozen look is back on your face and your spine straight again, hair fixed in place. You’ve put your armor back on. And like this, you leave.

* 18th of April, 1953

It’s a fine morning in April and Timothée is headed over to madam Marguerite’s apartment, a box of treats from her favourite patisserie in one hand and bouquet of magnolias in the other. Later this week she’s taking him to the opera again, Rossini this time, and he wants to give her something as a thank you.

Outside on the street an ambulance is parked. He walks past it and starts climbing the many stairs to her apartment. When he gets to Marguerite’s floor he’s taken by surprise. The apartment door is wide open and in the doorway stand a sobbing Louise, being comforted by a medic. Dread settles in his stomach.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and he can hear the panic in his own voice. “Where’s madam Marguerite?”

Louise starts sobbing even louder and the kind-looking medic pats her sympathetically on the shoulder.

“She passed away in her sleep last night. This woman here found her this morning”.

Something falls inside Timothée and is lost forever. The ground feels unsteady under his feet and for a second, he waivers. “Have you notified her family?” He asks.

The man shakes his head, “no, not yet”.

“I’ll do it” Timothée says firmly, letting it be known that this isn’t up for discussion.

* “Frederic Fairfax speaking” Freddie’s drawly voice answers when Timothée calls your London address.

“Hello, it’s Timothée Chalamet, could I speak to your wife, it’s urgent”

Silence for ten long seconds.

“No, anything you want to tell her you can tell me” Freddie eventually answers and there’s tension in his voice.

“Is she not in?”

“Yes, she is, but I'd rather you take this with me, Mr. Chalamet”.

“I see” Timmy answers, and he somehow manages to keep the rage he feels out of his voice. “But I have some very distressing and urgent news I have to pass on”.

“Then I suggest you share them with me”

Timothée wants to bang his head against the wall. But he keeps his voice calm. “You see, her greataunt Marguerite has passed away.”

“I see” the other man answers in a cold, unfeeling voice. “Well, if that was all, Mr. Chalamet, good bye.”

And he hangs up.

* May 1st, 1953.

In a red brick building on Chancery Lane, London, Timothée is sitting smoking in an armchair. The solicitor’s office looks like you would imagine a solicitor's office to look like, with oak furniture and cabinets full of files with important documents, outside busy men in suits hustling by and secretaries in pen skirts tapping on their typewriters’.

Madam Marguerite’s solicitor Mr. Lancaster looks on the crowd gathered for the reading of the will.

There’s Timothée, lounging in his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and avoiding looking at you. There’s you, perfectly poised and wearing black, hands clapped in your lap to stop them from shaking. Then there’s your parents, your black-clad mother sniffling into a tissue and your father, with a grave look on his face.

Freddie is nowhere to be seen, and this surprises Timothée.

“Shall we begin?” the solicitor starts, organizing the papers in front of him. There’s a general hum of agreeing from the crown and Mr. Lancaster clears his throat. “Very well then. I had the great fortune of knowing Mrs. Beauchêne-Wright and I considered her a personal friend. She was a remarkable woman” he clears his throat again and Timothée shuffles with his feet, still not understanding why he’s been called to be present at this occasion. “An extraordinary woman” he repeats and look down at the papers in front of him. “Very well then” he says, before beginning to read from the will. “This is the last will of me Marguerite Beauchêne-Wright of 55 Rue de Châteaudun 75009 Paris -”

* It’s raining outside, a gentle but persistent drizzle. TImothée stands under his umbrella and observes as your mother storms off, her husband at her heel, into a taxi. She slams the door and they drive off, water splashing up on the sidewalk. His head feels foggy. The whole situation feels unreal. He’s standing outside the red brick building smoking, trying to get a grip on the situation. In a few hours he has to get back to Victoria station to take the night train back to Paris.

You walk out of the solicitor's office, a dazed look on your face, seemingly not even noticing the rain falling down. You seem him and walk up to him and he lifts his umbrella so you’re under it too.

“Gotta admit, didn’t see that one coming” he states and hands you his cigarette. You take it gratefully and inhale deeply.

“No” you say, some seconds later, “no I didn’t quite see that coming either”. A homourless laugh escapes you. “They’re furious about it” referring to your parents. “Asked if they could contest the will. Mr. Lancaster told them they didn’t have a leg to stand on”. “So” you say and look up at him. “What are you going to do with the money?”

The money. Marguerite’s entire estate divided between him and the woman in front of him. There had been a few smaller bequests to various people and charities, but the absolute majority of the fortune where to be split between you. Even after all the death duties it was by all consideration a fortune.

“Dunno” he answers. ”Haven’t really thought ahead that far”. And then, because he can’t contain his curiosity anymore. “Where’s dear Freddie then?” You’re silent for a moment, avoiding his eyes as you watch the rain create patterns in the puddles. “Freddie’s left.” you say eventually. “He’s seeking for a divorce. God knows he’s got grounds for it.” the cigarette shakes in your trembling hand. “I’ve been a terrible wife all things considered.”

He’s stunned into silence, too much life-altering information having been dropped on him already today. Eventually he gets a hold of himself and states, because he already knows it to be true, “he knows about us, doesn’t he? About what happened in Paris.”

You nod, and two tears fall down your cheeks. “They’re furious with me.”

“Who are?” he asks, confused.

“My family” “Why?”

A grimace, then “doesn’t matter”. Drop the cigarette on the ground and stomp it out. “Mr. Lancaster says we have to go to Nice. Apparently, most of her possessions are there and we need to go through them. He says that since we own the house now, we can live in it while we do so”.

He observes her for a moment. “I have an exhibition in Paris this month, I can’t leave before that’s done.”

You smile, but it’s still devoid of humour. “And I have a divorce to settle.”

The rain keeps falling around them.

“How about this” you say “we’ll go there in July, a summer on the riviera doesn’t sound too bad, and we’ll...” you trail of for a second “and we’ll settle everything then”.

Gently he puts his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up so that you look at him. You look as if you’re bursting at the seams, like you’re at your last straw. “Alright” he says and leans in to gently press a kiss on your forehead. “Alright, sounds like a plan”. And then he looks you in the eyes again “Everything will be alright, you know. Everything will be fine”.

You smile again, and this time it’s more genuine. Then you lean in, and place the softest of kisses on his mouth.

Then you leave. A/N: jesus christ, I spent a good 25 minutes of my life googling the rules of aristocratic titles in England. Freddie’s father is an earl, that makes freddie as the oldest son a baron and his wife a baronet? Right? If that’s not correct then, well, sorry, but those rules are mind boggling.

Other things I've googled a lot is the language of flowers and what different flowers symbolizes.

That ‘Swedish saying’ timmy refers to in his letter is not a saying but in fact from a song by Veronica Maggio called Stopp and very badly translated by me.

Also. I know that timothée’s letter is a bit... disturbing, but the thought of it wouldn't leave my mind so I had to write it.

I am planning on writing the last part, but this story always takes a lot of effort to write so it’ll be a while.

#timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee x y/n #timothee chalamet x reader #timothèe chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée x you #timothée chalamet #timothee imagine #timothee fanfic

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Orb/Reanimation

Another part of Doorways! Link to series here.

“What’s his name again?” asked Danny, picking at the hem of his shirt. Today had been… stressful, for a number of reasons. Partially the long drive and the disastrous breakfast stop, but also the fact that they were driving to meet a guy who was possibly:

a) Vlad Masters version 2.

b) A horrible hole in reality that would try to kill him.

c) Possessed, like the Keens.

d) Using ghost stuff without knowing it was ghost stuff.

e) Messing around with ghost stuff while knowing it was ghost stuff, but without any of the skill to keep it from messing him up in turn.

f) Crazy in some wonderful, unforeseen way.

Or, finally,

g) Mom and Dad’s one and only normal friend.

Danny really wasn’t holding for the last one, if he was being honest. After all, unlike Marianne, this guy had been part of the Paranormal Research Club.

Okay, maybe there were other, positive, options. It was completely possible for someone to be weird or crazy and not be evil or even particularly threatening. Most ghosts were like that, in fact.

Still.

“Frank Stone,” said Dad, cheerfully.

“If he turns out to be a Dr. Frankenstein type, I quit,” groaned Jazz. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t quit,” said Danny, with complete confidence.

“He is a doctor,” said Mom. “He was studying biology when we met him, for his undergraduate degree.”

“I quit; I’m telling you.”

“If you were really quitting,” reasoned Danny, “you’d just open the door and jump out.” He was pleased that Jazz was taking her turn as the resident overdramatic teenager. She carried that burden only rarely, but it did seem like long trips in the GAV really brought it out.

Maybe they made her remember the whole Youngblood thing. Who knew? Not Danny.

“I’m not going to jump out of a moving vehicle. That’s more of a ‘you’ thing.”

“I can’t really dispute that,” said Danny, remembering all the times he had, in fact, jumped out of a moving vehicle. “In my defense, I can fly.”

“Why you can fly completely negates that as a defense.”

Danny held up a finger. “Okay, so, first off, reality is not a moving vehicle.”

“Anything can be a moving vehicle, depending on your reference frame.”

“I agree on the moving part, but I dispute the vehicle part. Vehicle comes from the Latin vehiculum, which is ‘a means of conveyance.’ Reality is not a means of conveyance. Ergo, it cannot be a vehicle.”

“Not so fast, brother dear. Words change meaning over time.”

“Yeah, but that’s still what vehicle means,” said Danny. “Unless you’re doing the medicine definition, anyway. I think.”

“Reality is a metaphorical vehicle.”

“Well, if it’s metaphorical, it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s moving. Does it?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“I think this is the place!” exclaimed Dad, pulling into a parking lot. “Golding City University Medical Research Lab.”

“He doesn’t live here,” said Danny, slowly, “does he?” They weren’t ambushing this guy at work, were they? Even if he did turn out to be just as bad as all of Mom and Dad’s other friends, that was kind of mean.

(Except, the Keens had been acceptable, once they were no longer possessed, and even the ghost possessing them hadn’t been too terrible.)

“He’s in the building behind the lab,” said Mom. “They let the teachers live on-campus, here. He’s expecting us, anyway.”

Right. Because they had called ahead, giving warning to their potential enemy. Curse you, common courtesy and sundry social conventions.

Jazz was glaring at the small name sign on the building, which was just barely visible through the rain. “Golding City University,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, is something wrong?”

“Frankenstein,” she said.

“Um,” said Danny. He looked more closely at the name. “Golding City. Ingolstadt.” Oh, no. Now he was glaring at the name, too. Because Jazz was right, and it would be his luck. Their parents’ luck. Whatever.

“Do you feel anything?” asked Dad.

“No,” said Danny.

“Well,” said Mom. “We’ll have to run a bit, try to stay out of the rain. It’s too bad there isn’t a closer parking lot…”

“I could also just make us all intangible,” said Danny.

“What?”

“I could make us all intangible. I do it all the time to miss the rain when no one is looking too closely.”

“Huh,” said Mom.

“It isn’t as if my powers disappear when I’m not fighting ghosts,” said Danny. “I get to use them for other things.”

“I know, I know, it just seems… petty.”

“Petty is one of the best words to describe ghosts with,” said Danny.

Frank Stone did not look like a Frankenstein. Not the monster, and not the ‘doctor.’

(Because Victor Frankenstein had not, in fact, become a doctor, had he?)

He was actually pretty average looking. The same age as Mom and Dad, of course. Brown hair. Glasses. Skinny, but not that skinny. Could Dr. Stone rob a grave? Probably. But carrying the loot away without some mechanical advantage was probably out. Unless it was old loot. Dried out. Maybe just bones.

Corpses were heavy.

(No, Danny was not going to elaborate.)

Dr. Stone appeared to be somewhat confused about why Danny and Jazz were there. Evidently, Mom and Dad had managed to give the man the impression that they wanted to fund his research with the fortune they had inherited from Vlad.

Which, incidentally, had been inherited by Danny, who couldn’t really do much with it until he was twenty-five. Not that he was particularly keen on funding… Whatever it was that Dr. Stone was researching.

Maybe that would be different if he could tell what Dr. Stone was talking about. Danny wasn’t stupid, far from it, and had a good background in any number of esoteric subjects, but, well. It was hard to rival an adult lifetime of learning and research. Especially when he didn’t have any context.

Mom and Dad’s briefing on Dr. Stone had generally focused on what he had been interested in as a member of the Paranormal Research Club, not his true field of study.

“Oh,” said Mom, suddenly, “this is about your organ transplant project, isn’t it? You really need to provide more context. When you just jump right in like that, even we’ll get lost!”

Okay. Danny felt better.

“Well, yes,” said Dr. Stone. “I have been working on this off and on since college, you know how it is. I know you kept up with that portal business!” He flashed a nervous smile and set his coffee mug down on his coffee table. It made a soft chinking sound against the glass. “But the university gave me a grant, Vladco’s been donating some supplies—From their chemical division, mostly—and I’ve been having a lot of success! I can’t wait to show you. We’ve actually got a few specimens in near-stasis right now, all from mice. We’re going to be implanting one tomorrow. See how it functions.”

“Have you implanted any before?” asked Mom, leaning forward.

“A few, but, well. I can’t say they were resounding successes. The most recent subject only lasted a few days… Although, that is better than the first! We’ve been adjusting some of our ratios.”

“Say, Frank,” said Dad. “What chemicals are you using for this, anyway? I know you’re using them in conjunction with low temperatures, but keeping crystals from forming in the flesh—”

“Yes, yes, that’s always been the problem with cryogenics,” agreed Dr. Stone. Then they dove back into jargon and technical language.

Danny glanced sideways at Jazz, uneasy. Chemicals. From Vladco. Yeah. Not suspicious at all.

He leaned over. “Ten dollars says that he’s using ectoplasm to reanimate dead bodies.”

“I’m not taking that bet. Do you feel anything weird from him?” Jazz whispered back.

“Weird, yes, but…” Danny bit his lip. “I’m not sensing any… doors. Or ghosts.”

“Okay,” said Jazz. “So, when we do find his mad science lab full of dead body parts, what do we do?”

“Well… Nothing? As long as they’re legal dead body parts, I guess. You know, from organ donors, or people who donated their bodies to science. I mean…” He shrugged. “You’ve read Frankenstein, too. And met Ellie.”

“Hm. True,” said Jazz. “I have to check my biases. I’m still quitting, though. As soon as we find his Frankenstein stuff. Just so you know.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Jazz just sighed.

Danny walks silently through the halls of the research facility. True, Dr. Stone was planning on giving his family a tour of his workspace first thing tomorrow and had implied that other researchers would be doing the same, but Danny believed in being prepared.

Well. Sometimes. He was allowed to be inconsistent and contradictory. Like any teen, he was still learning how to exist.

Maybe he should stop comparing himself to ‘any teen,’ though. It was beginning to feel dishonest, even in his own head. Even though, technically, it was true.

Anyway.

This place was kind of creepy. At least, he presumed a normal person would find it creepy. Too bad he didn’t know any normal people. Sam would think it was cool. Tucker would be freaking out because it was a medical research lab. Ancients, Danny was as bad as his parents.

It did have a number of features that one would typically only find on the set of a horror movie, however, so he felt fairly confident in his assessment of its creepiness. Also, he had encountered at least five different crimes against nature and sanity (it took one to know one), and he hadn’t even gotten to Dr. Stone’s lab yet.

He was impressed. He hadn’t expected such a high concentration outside of Amity Park or Vlad’s hideouts.

At the thought of Vlad, Danny drooped. Yeah. He still wasn’t over the stupid fruitloop. Still hated the fact that he had died.

Back to the crimes against nature. Ectoplasm was definitely a component, if a small one. Hard to get things to glow that precise, reality bending shade of green otherwise. Also, well. Danny can sense ectoplasm.

And… Now he was in a room of jars full of diluted ectoplasm and… He sniffed. Formaldehyde? He frowned and decided the number, size, and arrangement of jars was suspicious. He walked around the table. Yep. That was in the outline of a human body. Yep.

Honestly, this wasn’t any more alarming than the living mice impaled with various glowing needles, or the disturbingly brown heart beating in a fish tank a few rooms back. It was, also, significantly less alarming than the prosthetic face (mainly because, dang, that thing looked realistic), the (fresh) skeleton someone had been injecting ectoplasm into (yikes), and the weird flesh… blob… thing that someone had just left out in their workspace.

Still. This was another point for the ‘someone is building a Frankenstein’s monster in this building’ theory, and Danny had kind of been hoping that he was wrong.

He walked out of the room, on alert for random murderous corpse monsters (or sad corpse monsters that needed a shoulder to cry on, a restraining order against their creators, and a loving home). Or mad scientists. Because, at this point, he was fairly certain that everyone who worked here was crazy, and not necessarily in the fun way Mom and Dad were.

He was glad they had decided to sleep in the GAV and ignore Dr. Stone’s invitation to stay in his apartment.

Dr. Stone’s office was just next door. His lab, just beyond that. Danny approached cautiously, his ghost half on high alert, and his deeper self stirring uneasily.

He laid a hand flat against the door, and that stirring became wakefulness.

Crimes against nature. Hubris. Pride.

Superbia. It had to be.

A hole. A wound.

Well. This was fast. Even with the Keens’ list of Paranormal Research Club members they had encountered while possessed, Danny hadn’t expected to find another thing like Gula so quickly.

He hadn’t wanted to. Despite his outward pessimism, he had hoped that there weren’t any more.

After several frozen moments where Danny braced himself for an attack, he realized one wasn’t forthcoming. The tear beyond the door had not noticed him, was not trying to consume him.

So, he had a choice. He could either try to deal with this alone, right now, or he could sneak away and tell his family what he had found. Both choices had pros and cons.

Before even a second had passed, Danny was easing away from the door. He hadn’t quite promised to share if he felt anything strange, if he had detected anything bad, but… It was a near thing, and he didn’t want to be dishonest with his family after they had been so accepting of all his… Stuff.

Yeah. Call it stuff. Nice and generic. Covers everything.

Plus, his encounter with Gula had confirmed that he needed backup.

He refrained from calling on his powers on the way out. He didn’t want to draw attention. The limits of the doors to the place which should not be mentioned were largely unknown to him.

Luckily, the doors weren’t alarmed, and he got back to the GAV without a problem. He poked Jazz awake first.

“Hey,” he said, “we’ve got a problem.”

“This portal is just… Sitting there,” said Mom.

“Yep.”

“In Frank’s office.”

“Well, I think it might actually be in the lab, but yes. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Is Frank sleeping in his lab?” asked Dad, stroking the stubble on his chin.

“No, I checked that before I went in,” said Danny. “He’s in his apartment.”

“You just… broke into his apartment?” asked Mom.

Danny shrugged. “I didn’t break anything,” he said. “But, I mean, what else was I supposed to do?”

For a moment, it looked like Mom was about to argue or scold him, but she shook her head. “Alright, then someone else is in his office.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure if these portals need a person attached or not. Using person in the very loosest of senses, because…” He made a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as a soul being forcibly removed from a body without killing the body.

“You don’t think it’s in the, um,” Jazz also made a vague gesture.

“You mean the hypothetical Frankenstein’s monster he’s made? Yeah. I think that’s likely. Also, judging from the sheer amount of, um, weird stuff in the other labs, I’d say it’s influencing everyone and everything around it, too.”

“Is that a thing it can do?” asked Mom.

“I mean, I can do that,” said Danny. He paused. “’I’ in this case being the portal. Yeah. That’s why Amity Park is so… Amity Park.”

Mom breathed out, slowly. “Sweetie, trust me on this, Amity Park was strange long before we made the portal.

“Well, yes?” said Danny, not seeing what that had to do with it. “So?”

“So, that strangeness couldn’t be caused by the portal.”

“Mom. I’m—It’s a hole in reality. Do you think it’s going to obey the laws of cause and effect? You went to Amity Park because it was already a ‘thin spot,’ right? I was already there.”

Mom looked vaguely ill.

“Okay,” said Jazz. “Let’s table that discussion for right now. What are we going to do about this? Break in? Wait for our ‘tour’ tomorrow?”

“I don’t like the idea of waiting for Dr. Stone to give us a tour,” said Danny. “I don’t want to give them time to prepare for us.”

“He doesn’t know what we’re here for, though,” said Dad. “Does he?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny. “I can’t read minds.”

“Yet,” added Jazz.

“Do you think he even knows about the…” It was Mom’s turn to enter the gesturing game.

“Let’s just call it a hell portal for the sake of communication,” said Danny, despite the fact that the term did not do the actuality justice. “Or Superbia for this particular one. I think this must be Superbia, anyway.” He didn’t want to imagine the possibility of even more of these things out there.

“I’m not sure how he couldn’t notice that something strange was going on,” said Dad. “Even if he was using ectoplasm and other supernatural elements in his research, we gave him a good grounding in what to expect from ectoplasm in college.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz. “But not everyone is like you and Mom. Your college days were over two decades ago.”

Something moving in the dark and rain beyond the GAV windows, catching Danny’s eye. He pushed past his family to get a better look, blinking to adjust his eyes.

“Heck,” he said. “We have a mob.”

“What?” exclaimed Dad, rushing to the console to turn on the GAV’s exterior floodlights.

They illuminated Dr. Stone and a crowd of college and graduate students quite nicely. Their eyes reflected a dim red. The GAV was, as far as Danny could see, surrounded.

Very briefly, the thought of gunning the GAV and crashing through the crowd crossed his mind. It was just as quickly dismissed.

He didn’t know what the line between influenced and mind controlled was, or how easily Superbia could cross it. It was even possible that the ‘hell portal’ could vault over both of those and land directly in possession.

“Ghost shield?” suggested Danny.

“Will it do anything?” asked Mom.

“Won’t hurt,” said Danny with a shrug.

Mom flipped the switch.

“What are we going to do?” asked Jazz, softly. “Wait them out?”

“Realistically,” said Danny, “we don’t have enough food and water to do that. With this many people, they could take turns watching us.”

“Call the police?” suggested Maddie. The other three turned to look at her. “They are still human, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, frowning. “But I don’t know how much, um, agency they have right now. If we were in Amity, I’d say sure, our police understand, mostly, but… Also, bringing extra hostages into this might not be a good idea.”

“If it’s the campus police that would get called, they might be affected, too,” said Jazz.

“They have campus police? How do you know?”

“This college sent me a brochure once.”

“Right. Um. I could always just fly us out of here,” said Danny.

“Assuming they don’t have ranged attacks,” said Mom, dubiously.

“Hm. Yeah. I think I could lift the GAV, and then we could just leave the shield on.”

“Assuming the shield does anything.”

Danny shrugged. “I can always just try to fight them outright. I’d prefer not to do that, though.”

Mom inhaled as if she were about to say something but was cut off by a loud noise from outside.

“Jack~ Maddie~ I know you’re in there.” That was Dr. Stone’s voice, warped by a megaphone speaker. “Why don’t you come out and see what I’ve done? I dare say I’ve exceeded even our wildest dreams from college.” A long pause. “I even made a portal… Weren’t you trying to get one of those? Isn’t that what got good old Vlad hospitalized?” There was laughter. Too much laughter.

The mob was laughing, too.

Superbia. Pride.

Danny knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to walk out and deal with the threat that was grating on his every sense. But… He knew that prideful actions were contraindicated under the present circumstances.

Influence. Right. How much could Danny be influenced?

How much could his family be influenced?

He looked up at his parents, seeking guidance. They seemed uncertain, too.

“I didn’t destroy any lives- I made new life. New life! Powered by an interdimensional portal, oh, yes… Can you imagine the application? Can you imagine a new world?”

“Okay, he didn’t seem like this in the apartment,” muttered Jazz. “We have human nonlethal weapons, right?”

“Still have to worry about running people over,” said Danny. He looked back at the lab building. “We could try to cut this off at the source. They aren’t protecting the building. They’re using it as part of their perimeter.”

Eyes turned to the dimly lit building.

“We can cover you,” offered Dad.

“I don’t like this any better than you flying off with us,” said Mom. “But… It offers a more permanent solution.”

Danny should have gone after it when he was in the building the first time. Well. Time only rewound for one ghost, and that ghost wasn’t him.

Unless he counted… Never mind. The point was, despite all his other wonderful and troubling features, Danny couldn’t go back and change a decision he’d already made. Agonizing over it was a waste of time and brain power.

Dad got behind the wheel. Jazz crawled up into the well-disguised turret. Maddie manned the other weapons.

Danny stood at the door, ready to run, ready to transform as soon as he was through the shield.

Family bonding activities. So much fun.

The mob attacked before he got the door open. He still made it to the building.

Danny didn’t bother with doors or windows or halls. He remembered what floor Dr. Stone’s office was on, and, now that he was sensitized to it, he could feel Superbia. He went through the walls, straight as an arrow.

(He wondered, briefly, if he was being as bigoted as he’d often felt his parents to be. If he was ascribing more evil to the portals to the Red Country than was warranted. If he was simply holding up a dark mirror and seeing what he feared from himself.)

(But no. He did not command like that. He did not force his people to assemble armies in the night or attack people. He kept them safe. He had rules.)

The lab was awash in sick red not-light that burned in Danny’s mind. It was barely physically perceptible, more present in senses that couldn’t translate to human terms than anything to do with Danny’s eyes, ghostly or not.

In the center of the lab, on an operation table, was a stitched-together corpse. Perhaps, under other circumstances, it would have been a very pretty corpse. A young woman with long dark hair and broad shoulders.

Its chest had been torn open. Half-in half-out of the cavity was a red orb, the source of the not-light, like some sick imitation of a ghost core.

(It reminded Danny of Freakshow’s staff, and he realized that he never did find out where that horrid thing had come from.)

They had been trying to make something like Danny.

He felt like he had eaten those blood blossom pancakes.

Danny gritted his teeth and let his light, white-green and clear, fill his hands. Ectoplasm fought against the miasma in the air, an oddly purifying presence. It wasn’t enough to chase away the wrongness. This wasn’t his space.

The fight against Gula was different. Both he and it had been within nominally living bodies. They had been next to the heart of Danny’s territory, his home ground. Danny had been tricked and trapped, taken off guard, unable to use the tricks he had grown used to while fighting ghosts and Vlad.

(He could feel Superbia in his mind, pride urging him forward towards error. Pride in his abilities, in his mind, in his family.)

Danny drifted sideways, watching. Listening. Other things in the building were stirring. Sparks of wrongness growing and twisting, warping into fountains and springs. This whole building was full of it. Rotten to the bones. It pressed against his teeth.

Careful.

He had to be careful.

The orb shone.

(Too much like Freakshow’s staff.)

(Influence, Danny remembered. Just how close was it to mind control?)

Doing this as a human was impossible. Trying to fight that as a ghost was unwise.

The always-open always-closed door that both contained and laid within Danny’s soul shifted. So did the corpse on the table, its constituent parts sliding over each other gruesomely. Death had lost its hold, lost its meaning. The ghost that was Danny twisted, and he was too human, too alive.

Special little thing. You think you can defeat us.

He could. He could open himself and wash all this away in an instant. He could burn with electric fire and the cold of deep space. He could reach out. The orb would be as dust under his hand.

He didn’t move.

In thinking you become��

Un-light burned up from the grooves in the tile floor. It didn’t reach the soles of his boots, didn’t reach his soul. He gritted his teeth.

US.

YOUR VICTORY IS OURS.

“Wow, you picked the wrong person to use that strategy on,” said Danny, out loud. Internally, he pulled on the delicate and frayed strands of reality that persisted even here. “I have so much imposter syndrome and anxiety that it isn’t even funny. I know I can’t beat you. Not here.”

But then, he didn’t have to.

He found the right string and pulled. He found the key and opened the door. Death was in the room again. Danny could move again. Not so much the pile of flesh in front of him. It was hard, it hurt, to keep hold of something like this, but half of Danny was this, was dead, even if he had far too many halves to ever be whole.

Ice coated the floor, the tiles cracking under the sudden temperature change. He dropped to the floor and was human.

An impossible thing.

And behind the human—

Well. Danny didn’t have to defeat Superbia. It wasn’t like Gula, didn’t have that strength, that experience. He just had to make it so the things that would, could.

(Danny had rules. Some of them were to protect himself.)

He walked over to the orb. Ultimately, it was just a representation, not Superbia itself. Still. He put his foot down on it and slowly transferred his weight to it until it cracked. Until it splintered. Until it shattered. Until he ground its dust under his heel.

Then, the building collapsed. Danny didn’t move, didn’t have to move. He was a ghost again, floating in the air, exactly where he had been, all the floors having passed harmlessly through him.

Outside, the faculty and student body of the college were sprawled in piles on the ground. The GAV was, somehow, halfway up a tree. A shockingly sturdy tree. Several statues were in pieces.

The sun was coming up.

Danny put a hand to his chest and assessed himself. Yes. Still here. Still himself. The Ghost Zone still sang in his bones, in his core. He was still anchored in Amity Park. Everything in order.

This place, though… This place would be tainted for years, a thin spot forever. He could feel it, now. Why couldn’t he feel it before, when they drove in?

He shuddered. Then he flew down to the GAV and knocked on the window. Mom rolled it down.

“Want me to fly us away to somewhere secluded before the cops get called and we get asked a bunch of awkward questions?” he asked.

Mom closed her eyes. “Please do,” she said.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #ectober 2020

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 5

Thomas X Reader

2389

Summary: Police interrogation turns to torture.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

While it was still late summer, hints of fall had begun appearing during the earliest hours of the morning. A crispness in the air that didn’t belong to any other time of year sent thrills through Y/N as she set out to find more work for herself.

If she was to become self sufficient she’d need a continuous flow of requests, which usually came from reputation. The only reason she’d gotten to play the other night was because the host there owed her a favor for getting rid of a clingy lover. Now with that under her belt she wouldn’t have to start at the bottom, but it wasn’t much of a head start.

She hopped from dance hall to dance hall. Without references or a traditional music background Y/N wasn’t having much luck. It wasn’t until the fifth stop that someone recognized her.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who played the violin yesterday? You know, down at the Garrison?” a tall man asked as he sloshed his beer.

The barkeep raised his eyebrow as Y/N replied, “Yes, that was me.”

The man hiccuped, “Best music I ever heard. And I’ve heard lots of music. My mum used to play clarinet for one of those orchestras. You were better than any of those stiff necks.”

Y/N felt her face go hot but she thanked the man regardless. The barkeep on the other hand eyed the two of them.

“Is this some ploy to garner my sympathies?” he growled, scratching his beard.

“No, sir.” Y/N replied. She had considered it but if she wanted to earn a legal wage she’d have to do it on her own.

He grumbled, “Come by tomorrow. If the customers like you then, I’ll book you again. I can’t afford every night, but you’re lucky enough getting this out of me.”

“Understood. Any requests?”

“Yeah, wear something saucy.” He winked at her like the lecher he was.

Y/N replied with a tight smile, her hand closing around the brass knuckles in her pockets. With great effort, she wrangled in her anger and left.

She made it down a couple blocks before her internal alarm went off. Something was wrong. The street that had been packed with people a couple moments before was now empty except for a handful of men.

She froze, head whipping around as she looked for an exit. Residual pain from yesterday made her stiff and she didn’t know the town well enough to slip away unseen, but she had to try. Just as she was about to beeline for a nearby alleyway, filled with crates for cover, the click of a gun stopped her.

“Move one more inch, Ms. Y/L/N, and Thomas Shelby will be tossing pieces of you in the river.”

Y/N lifted her hands in the air, “Well I knew Thomas had friends here, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A soft growl answered her, “Cuff her, men!”

The remaining people on the street began to converge on her. It was a practiced formation meant for the thinner streets of Birmingham. Y/N silently cursed as she rolled, bracing herself for the pain.

Her body hit the ground, but the momentum carried her away. The man with the gun hadn’t expected her to run for it and shot off a round a foot above her head. She kicked at his ankle, using her heel to get the most force she could on that one spot. As he yelped in pain she got on all fours and launched herself towards the alleyway.

Two men stood between her and escape, but she didn’t stop. Instead of leaning down and tackling them, she leapt onto a crate. The wood had enough give that she was able to propel herself into the air above their heads onto another stack of crates. She gripped the brass knuckles in her pockets and used her height to her advantage.

She swung, keeping her balance as low as possible. Y/N didn’t aim for the jaw like most people did. She aimed for the nearest man’s temple. Bone collapsed beneath her fist. Another shot fired ricocheting off the brick walls. With one man down she descended. The others were closing in, there was nothing left to do but run. So run she did.

Each step was a knife in her back. It nearly stole her breath away but she needed every ounce of oxygen she could squeeze out of her lungs. Footsteps pounded on the stone behind her. The walls closed in as the alley twisted and curved. Soon her shoulders were brushing the brick but the end was in sight. Crowds hustled by oblivious to the chase they were the key to ending.

A great shout came from behind and something hit her from behind. She fell hard, her hands scraping against the sharp stone. Her head cracked against the hard surface causing bright spots to appear in her vision. Her legs were jelly beneath her. Move. Move Goddamn you!

One of her pursuers had hucked his billy club at her in desperation. It had caught her in the knee forcing her to collapse in on herself. Only one man at a time could fit through the alley way at a time. Rough hands closed around her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Or tried to. She couldn’t stand if she wanted. Y/N’s head lolled back fighting for consciousness. A groan escaped her as they dragged her back into darkness away from the crowd.

〜

She awoke to the sound of a cane clacking against tile. A black hood had been draped over her head to keep her from guessing the location in transit, but since they weren’t moving she assumed they had arrived. Rough rope tied her hands behind her back. It splintered and dug into her skin all at once making any movement uncomfortable. The chair she sat in had no back and wobbled even as she turned her head.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you know I could charge you with assaulting an officer at this point. Throw you in jail and let you rot. But you’ve faced the jury before haven’t you?”

Her hood was ripped off. A bright light was shining down at her causing her eyes to water. She didn’t need to see him to know the guy talking was the same one who’d pulled a gun on her. She gave a soft smile when she heard the cane make contact with the tile once again.

“No, sir.” Y/N’s voice broke. It felt like hours since she’d last spoken a word. Or had anything to drink.

“Sir? That’s such a respectful word from someone who tried to break my ankle.”

She shrugged, wincing as the rope bit into her wrists. “Well you did pull a gun on me. So I figured fair is fair, Mister…?”

He bent down, his silhouette suddenly a dark mass against the light, “It’s Inspector actually. Inspector Chester Campbell. Matthew on the other hand didn’t have a gun.”

Y/N glanced up, “Matthew?”

“That man whose head you caved in. His name was Matthew,” he growled shoving aside the light.

Now she could get a proper look at him. Y/N felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. This was the man Grace had met at the Opera. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat; now she couldn’t play fast and loose tossing her life to the wind. Now she had to make it out of her and warn Thomas.

Inspector Campbell leaned in close enough Y/N could smell his breath. “Is that shame I see? Or fear? What a pity. I was hoping you were the cold blooded killer your files said you were.”

Y/N tried to clear her throat, “My file?”

“Your military file. Once I realized what your name was, I had every bit of information I could dug up on you. And believe me I almost had to pay an arm and a leg to do it. Nothing creates red tape like military shame.” he slowly paced the room turning his back to her.

He sure likes to hear himself talk. “Find anything fun?” she goaded.

He raised his eyebrow, “Oh, I bet you’re used to people just being stunned that you were able to join. It was a fun story I’ll admit, but that’s not what caught my eye.”

She heard the noise before she felt it. A billy club made contact with her flesh just to the left of her spine. A thunderous crack resounded throughout the room. The sound that ripped out of her mouth wasn’t human.

It felt as if someone had slipped a red-hot hook inside her and ripped her insides to shreds. The world went white. She couldn’t stop screaming long enough to breathe. Y/N’s skin was instantly covered in sweat as she shook.

The men around her recoiled. Some even turned green. Yet Inspector Campbell’s face remained smooth as glass as he watched the aftermath of what his men had done.

When she collapsed, doubled over and panting, he reached down and yanked her head back by her hair. Y/N could barely focus on him in the weird lighting. And quite frankly she couldn’t give two shits about how close he was.

“Look up. Look at me. You killed an officer of the law today, so I can’t just let you go. But don’t worry; you’ll make it out of here alive. I mean sure we’ll have to strike a deal first-”

Y/N spat in his face.

He sneered, letting go long enough to wipe away her saliva. Then he backhanded her with a resounding thud. Her head snapped to the side almost causing her chair to wobble dangerously. Inspector Campbell’s voice was soothing as he spoke, “Now disrespect me again and there will have to be real consequences. I want you to tell me everything you know about Thomas Shelby. Judging by the fact that you put all this work to hunt him down three years after your service ended, I’d wager to say you and he have something special.”

Y/N mulled over her options. She was in a room full of people who would face no repercussions for what they did to her. The only thing that stopped them was whatever passed for morals in a torture session. If war had taught her anything it was that good men gave way to monsters when push came to shove.

“What’s left of my platoon lives here, Inspector. The military let them think I was dead, all because of shame. I came here to tell them I was alive.”

“And now that that’s done I suppose you’ll be on your way?”

She shook her head. “Put a down payment on a place. Gotta job lined up that starts soon. I’m here to stay, my good sir, and I’ll say this is one hell of a welcome party.”

Inspector Campbell tapped his cane on the tile, “Did Thomas bring you in to deal with the guns?”

“I would’ve loved to see that seance.”

The Inspector nodded towards whomever stood behind her. His men recoiled before the blow even landed. CRACK. Pain. Blackness.

Y/N started awake sputtering as water as thrown in her face. She was somewhat aware of a clicking noise. It was the Inspector.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you were a British soldier, the best of the best. Now why is it that you black out from a couple of switches to the back?” His grin caused nausea to twist in Y/N’s gut.

She didn’t answer, only took slow deep breaths. That wasn’t going to be the last time he hit her. They all knew it.

He circled around her, using his cane to lift her shirt. “You were shot in the abdomen correct?”

When she stayed silent he cracked his cane on the tile floor. She flinched before nodding.

“Then why is there no exit wound? Did they remove the bullet through your stomach?” he continued.

“No.”

His eyes flashed in the dim light, a triumphant smile on his face, “So it’s still there. Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N, do you think old age will get you first or lead poisoning?”

She rolled her eyes. “My own pride is what’ll get me.”

Inspector Campbell opened a small pocket book. “And why do you say that?”

“Well for starters if this is what you call torture you’re fucking awful at it.” She slowly sat up refusing to huddle in on herself any longer. She could see a man who stood opposite her shake his head. He didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. At least someone here is smart.

“Do enlighten us Miss.”

Y/N cackled. “No. This is a beat down. You have limited time before Thomas notices I’m missing. You need to get me in and out with little to no markings as fast as possible otherwise he’ll know I got nabbed.”

He interrupted. “It’s just information we want.”

“Oh, that ‘information you want’, why haven’t you gone to his other war buddies? The town is thick with them. Oh that’s right, cause they won’t tell you jack shit. Think I’ll just spill the beans because I’m a woman? Fuck you.”

His eyes turned dark, “We can do more to you than beat you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Then he saw it, the wild look he’d only seen in Thomas Shelby until now. A grin split her face as she snarled at him. Her gaze was that of a starving predator that had finally caught sight of food after a long winter.

Her voice was filled with venom as she spat, “Give me a reason to hang your flesh from the good ‘Ol Tower of London.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Inspector Campbell raised his cane and brought it down across her back so hard it knocked over her chair. Her rage filled scream resounded off the walls as the rest of the men closed in on her. Most of them looked sick even as they beat her with their fists, their clubs, whatever they had that would bring maximum pain. Eventually, they stopped to check and make sure she was still breathing.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy #peaky blinders imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion

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starrynite7114 · 4 years

Text

Misconstrued: Part 1

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE! First of all, I would like to thank you for the response you gave the preview I posted last night. Hopefully this will do it justice. Thank you so much again for all the support you have given me! Kind of went overboard and it was much longer than I expected. Enjoy this new multi-part series!

Anon: I don't know if this is too specific but could you do something about Angel ruining a date and later admits it because he loves them and then they have some angry smut and late night fluff

Word Count: 6708

Masterlist Tag List: @iambabyharry : @justahopelessssromantic : @carlaangel86 : @marvelmaree : @mrsamaroevans : @ifoundmyhappythought: @woahitslucyylu : @cind-in-real-life : @briannab1234 : @fairygardenss

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Your Tio Obispo was so lucky you love him. There was no bone in your body that wanted to go to a clubhouse party. All you wanted to do was stay home and sleep. He was lucky you decided to come even after going home to shower and change. You parked just outside of EZ’s trailer, not wanting to draw attention if you had gone all the way in.

It was a good night to host a party. The weather was quite good, not cold and not scorching hot. You didn’t wear anything special, just jeans and a shirt. It was a Barbeque, you didn’t need to wear anything crazy.

Walking in with a few other people, you made your way towards the clubhouse, but before you did, you spotted Angel sitting by the bonfire with a club hang around on his lap. For some reason, you’ve never seen him with any of them before and it definitely hit the point home that Angel would never be interested in you. He seemed like the type of guy who couldn't hide his feelings and was straight forward. Only thing he did with you was keep you company while you’re at the clubhouse and text you every now and then. You were certain that the only reason he hung around you was due to your tio’s request.

Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you entered the clubhouse in search of your tio. If you showed your face once, you could hide at EZ’s trailer for an hour or two and then head home. You’re pretty sure he’ll be wasted soon enough.

“Sweetheart,” you heard your tio call you. He just came out of Templo with Taza following after him.

“Tio, hey.” You wrapped your arms around Bishop once he was close enough to you.

“Glad you came, I thought you were just going to stay home, knowing how lazy you get.”

“Haha,” you rolled your eyes. Your relationship with your tio always seemed to be more brother-sister like than anything else. Your mother was much older than your tio, when he used to take care of you, he would teach you how to fix cars, change your oil, etc. He was the cool tio, but you still had that boundary and never overstepped it. “I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t want you to send your security after me.”

“It would most likely be Angel.” Bishop knew of Angel’s crush on you, it was hard not to notice. He always volunteered to do things when it came to you. At first he thought Angel took a liking towards you since you were new in town and he felt naive that he even thought that, but it became very apparent why he was always nearby.

“Yes, my own personal bodyguard.” You nodded your head. “Who is enjoying the women today, which works out for me so I don’t have to worry how much I bore him.”

“I don’t think you’re boring.” Bishop frowned. He knew it was difficult for you being an only child and with how overprotective your mother was, he was surprised that you didn’t want to choke her out at times. You yearn for freedom and he was certain it was the primary reason you chose to stay put in Santo Padre.

“Tio, it’s a joke, I know I’m not. But maybe you could rotate some? Angel doesn’t always have to be the one attached to me.” You two walked over to the bar, EZ manning it as always. “Give Angel a break.” EZ placed one of those ciders you liked drinking, mouthing a thank you.

Bishop was perplexed at your suggestion. He knew why Angel was always around you and he thought you knew as well. Angel was always around you, surely you had to take the hint that he had felt something towards you.

“What? Angel goes to you on his own accord. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t actually sic any of them on you.”

“Oh,” you gnawed at your lip, a habit you developed when you were unsure of what to say or do. “I, I just thought you had Angel attached to me.”

“So that I can get an earful from you? No fucking way.” Bishop chuckled. Maybe at the beginning he did have Coco keep an eye on you, but otherwise, it was Angel’s own doing that led him to you.

You smiled as you took a sip of your cider. You didn’t want to drink much since you had to drive home. The cider didn’t have much alcohol content so you weren’t worried.

“Don’t cause trouble, I’ll grab you some meat.” Bishop left you to your own vices. He was very overprotective, but he tried not to be as overbearing as your mother. The last thing he wanted was for you to push him away.

“Where’s Angel?” EZ questioned you once Bishop walked away.

You shrugged. “Outside? He’s not on babysitting duty for once so he’s with one of the girls.”

EZ knew that Angel most likely didn’t know you were coming. Angel was definitely interested in you, but getting one in every once in a while wouldn’t hurt either. Angel was no angel after all. He had needs, they all did and it’s not like you two were official and from what he could see, it was one-sided, on Angel’s side.

“Aw, you know you’re not so bad either, besides the fact you can be an annoying smart ass.”

“Right back at ya Boy Scout,” you lifted your drink toward him, making EZ laugh.

“Y/N, hey,” you heard someone greet you.

Looking back, you saw Damien, who worked with the club from time to time. You weren’t exactly aware of what the affiliation was, but all you knew was that he was not a member of the club and was running some business.

“Hey, how are you?” You greeted him, turning so you could face him. “I rarely see you at these parties.”

“I come all the time, you’re always preoccupied by someone else.” Damien teased. “Glad you’re all alone so that I can have some of your attention.”

EZ wanted to gag at that. This guy was a quintessential douchebag. He lured girls in with his charm and usually disposed of them once he had them. The club worked with him before, but as far as EZ knew, they were no longer in business together.

“Attention? You can always come up to me, not like I bite.” You joked. You tried to recall if you ever saw Damien at any of these parties, but you were always with Angel. Hard to look elsewhere when you were with him. “Don’t worry about these guys,” you pointed at EZ. “Completely harmless.”

“Not my brother though,” EZ mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” You turned to EZ, not quite heating his words.

“Nothing.”

You turned back to Damien. He was a good looking guy. Six foot two, muscular built, with slicked back brunette hair and hazel eyes. He was a definite eye candy.

“Are you busy next week?” Damien had to leave since he had promised his mother that he would drive down to Chino for some quality time.

“Um, depends when, I mostly just have work.” You tried to think of your schedule at the top of your head. You worked at the auto repair shop four days a week and the other days, you were at home doing orders for cakes, brownies and other baked goods.

“Saturday?”

“Should be fine, I get off work at 7, what’s up?”

“Would you like to go to the fair?”

“What?” You and EZ said in unison.

You and Damien both looked to EZ confused by his reaction.

EZ wished that Angel was here to stop it, if he even tried to stop it, people would misconstrued things and maybe this would be the fire under his brother’s ass to push him to do something.

“Sorry, Coco was mouthing something to me.” EZ looked across the room at Coco who was thankfully looking at him. He made some gesture at Coco who gave him a confused look. “I’m just gonna go see what he wants.”

You two watched him walk over to Coco, still confused by his reaction.

Damien knew why he reacted in that way and he should get an answer from you immediately before they reported to Angel. “Anyway, so, you down?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You haven’t been on a date with anyone at Santo Padre. Maybe it was a lack of trying on your part, but regardless, the dating scene in Santo Padre was nonexistent. You didn’t want to assume either, but it seemed like he was.

“Yes. If you want to go?” Damien knew if he fucked up, he would be six feet under. Despite the rumors, he was trying to be a decent guy and truly wanted to show you a good time. Just a plus if he scores afterwards.

“Sure, I’d love to go on a date with you.” You were kind of excited. This was your first date in years, but you kind of wished it was Angel who was asking you. Then again, you weren’t his type, so, why not explore the field?

“Everything good here?”

You thought you were hallucinating his voice, but you weren’t. Right behind Damien was Angel, holding a plate of food that you assumed was yours.

Damien turned around and backed away to the side. He was slightly afraid of Angel after seeing him fight a few times in the ring. He knew Angel was some sort of watchdog for you however, seeing the last few times you two were together, he was almost certain Angel was interested in you.

“I was just talking to Y/N. But I got to go, so I’ll see you both later.” He placed his empty beer on the bar. “See you next week?”

“Yes, see you next week.” You nodded your head, offering him a small smile.

Damien quickly made his exit. Angel’s eyes were trained on you, not paying any mind to Damien. He wasn’t sure why Damien was speaking to you, but it didn’t matter, he was leaving.

“Querida, why didn’t you tell me you would be coming? I could have picked you up.” As far as Angel knew, you weren’t coming to the party. You texted him that you were swamped at work and all you wanted to do was sleep.

You really hated it when Angel spoke in Spanish, it made the butterflies in your stomach run wild and it was just annoyingly sexy. “I wasn’t, but tio wouldn’t let me say no. Something about not wanting me to be alone.”

‘I could keep you company.’ Angel thought.

“Here, I brought you food.” He placed the plate in front of you. “I marinated the ribs.” He proudly informed you.

“You are pretty good with your meat.” You paused. You two looked at one another and smirked. “That’s what she said.” You and Angel said in unison, laughter erupting from the both of you. “You don’t have to keep me company, I’m going to take my food to EZ’s trailer, kill two hours and then go. At least I showed myself and tio doesn’t have to give me flack for not coming.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Angel was entertaining someone earlier, but as soon as Bishop informed him that you were here, he made his way over to you.

“Don’t be silly, I saw you talking to a girl earlier, just go back to her.” You tried your best to not sound bitter or jealous. You really hated that you weren’t Angel’s type, but it was the story of your life. Bad boys don’t go for the good girls as they believe in movies and television. They befriend them sure, but nothing else. “Get your dick wet.” You wanted to cringe at that one, but you always spoke to Angel with no filters, yet you couldn’t tell him you like him.

“I’m good, I’ll stay here.” He grabbed some fries that were on your plate. “I may have gotten the food for both of us.”

You laughed. “I was hoping so because I don’t think I eat this much.”

“What did pretty boy want?” Angel took the seat beside you.

“Damien? He asked me out on a date.” You took some fries and ate some as well. You mentioned it so casually that Angel took some time to reply to you.

“He did what now?” Now he was on his shit list. He had no claim on you, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he was happy about this. To top it off, now it made sense why Damien was always watching you, but he stayed away since Angel was always around. The one time he left you alone, Damien was able to slide in. Where the fuck was EZ? He knew his little brother manned the bar, he should have prevented it.

“Right? It’s kind of unbelievable, but yeah, I guess we’re going out next Saturday.” You shrugged and ate some of the carne asada on your plate. “It’d be nice since I haven’t been on a date for a while.”

“Wait, why is it unbelievable?” You haven’t been on a date in a while

“I don’t know, no one has asked me out around here, figured it was cause I was so unattractive.” Self esteem issues were a bitch. It was hard not to think that something was wrong with you when men didn’t ask you out.

“Mi dulce, you’re the most beautiful girl I know, don’t ever think that.” Angel placed his hand on top of yours.

You felt your cheeks hit up and the butterflies in your stomach just went berserk.

“You’re such a sweet talker.” You moved your hand and turned to the food so you could start eating.

Angel loved seeing the blush on your cheek. He liked knowing he had some sort of affect on you, especially since he was fucking in love with you.

Yep.

Angel Reyes was fucking in love with the president’s niece.

It wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t.

You barged into his life and there was really nothing he could do.

He was powerless against you and he honestly didn’t care.

=====================

“This is fucking stupid.” Angel heard EZ complaining at the backseat of the van. He was driving with Gilly at the front passenger seat and Coco behind him.

“No one asked you to come Ezekiel.”

“Asked me to come? You fucking forced me in the car.” EZ scoffed. “No choice Boy Scout, you do as your sponsor says.” EZ rolled his eyes, mimicking Angel’s words. “What does this have to do with club business?”

“Feel like we wouldn’t be doing this if Angel grew a pair and spoke with his dick like he always did.” Coco shook his head.

But that’s the thing, Angel couldn’t listen to his dick with you.

This was different.

You were Bishop’s niece, he couldn’t exactly go guns ablazing. He stayed away from you cause you were related to Bishop, keeping you at arm's length. But it was so difficult to keep you at arm's length when you were so damn charming. You didn’t even do much. You hooked him with one smile and he was fucking done. He felt like an idiot, like a teenager boy with a crush, but all you had to do was fucking introduce yourself. Bishop brought you by when you first moved two years ago. His sister, your mother, wanted to be close to her baby brother, so she decided to move to Santo Padre. But your mother was only able to stand the heat for so long before she went back to Oakland. You stayed behind, liking the work you found at one of the auto shops down the street from the scrapyard. It was owned by one of Bishop’s friends. Due to the closeness of the shop and scrapyard, you were always around and it was difficult to ignore you.

“Why haven’t you told her you like her?” Gilly questioned. “It’s not like Bishop doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her.” EZ answered for him.

“Fuck you Ezekiel.”

“Angel, what makes you so incompatible with her?” EZ hasn’t been around long, but even he could see his brother hung onto every word you said. It was actually quite fun to see. Whenever you were at the clubhouse, Angel stuck to you. No girls, no shooting his shit with his brothers, nothing else caught his attention. Whenever you would talk about the new cookies or cake you baked, Angel listened. Whenever you animatedly talked to him about the new car you fixed the last few days, he listened. He didn’t give a fuck about the baked goods or the cars, all he cared about was listening to you. It was cute. You were the good girl that the bad boy wanted, EZ had to say you weren’t Angel’s type, but you had his older brother hooked. “She isn’t your usual type, but I figured you dabbled in every pool.” He knew his brother felt more for you than any other women around. But he could never pass up a chance to tease Angel.

“My type, the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Angel looked at his brother through the rearview mirror.

“She technically is his type, she has a pussy.” Gilly joined in with teasing Angel.

“Don’t talk about our hermana like that.” Coco scowled at Gilly. “Y/N is special, she’s a good girl, untainted. Angel doesn’t do good girls cause they want commitments, something he can’t offer.”

“I’m fully capable of holding a relationship assholes. I was with Gabriella for like,” he paused, knowing his argument was not going to hold. “Fuck, how long was I with her?”

Gilly and Coco laughed loudly while EZ chuckled, shaking his head.

“You see? Come on Angel, if you’re not serious about her, let’s just turn around.” EZ was trying to use reverse psychology on his brother. He knew Angel hated it when people doubted him, counted him out. Maybe if they pushed his buttons a bit, he would get with the damn program.

“We’re not going for her, I don’t even know where she is.” Angel scoffed. He was lying, but these fuckers didn’t need to know that. “You fuckers don’t want a night of fun at the fair?”

“At the same fucking fair that Y/N is going to?” Gilly was amused. It was fun to see Angel head over heels over a woman.

“Oh, that’s the one she’s going to?” Angel smirked. He was a bastard, he knew, but he got the details of your date from EZ. He should have pulled his head out of his ass long ago, but Damien was a punk. He portrayed himself to be a good guy, but he was a perverted douchebag.

“I feel like you could have saved us the trouble.” EZ scoffed. “Angel, what’s your game plan? What are you going to do? Just listen to her like you always do and not say you like her?”

“When we get out of this car, I’m beating your ass.” Angel threatened.

Coco, Gilly and EZ laughed. If they were being honest, they tagged along to see what the fuck their brother was going to do. It was like uncharted territory for Angel. He went for easy girls who fell at his feet, they were easy, noncommittal, easy to leave. But you, that’s not how it worked, which made him out of his element. He’s had relationships before, but this was different. You two weren’t even together but he saw your future together. It was the reason he avoided you. Seeing a future with someone was daunting on anyone but for Angel? The guy who didn’t think he would ever find someone? It was something else.

When EZ came home, he thought you would drift to EZ, you like books as much as he did, fuck you two had a hell of a lot more in common than you and Angel. But instead you two bantered like siblings and it was an actual amusing site to see.

“I don’t even know why you like her, she’s obnoxious.” EZ didn’t actually mean that, but you were the sister he never fucking wanted. He couldn’t even imagine how Angel fell for you, you definitely were not his fucking type. But his brother could have changed in the last eight years, like becoming an actual mature adult, he has still yet to see that.

“Watch what you say about Angel’s girlfriend.” Gilly looked back at EZ. “Oh wait, she’s on a date.” The three men laughed with the exception of Angel.

“Funny shit, fuck you three.” Angel grumbled.

Angel was relieved that they got to the fair and parked the car just so he didn’t have to be in the car with these assholes.

Getting out of the car, Angel smoothed out his kute and made his way towards the entrance of the fair with his usual three partners right behind him.

He wasn’t going to ruin your date, but he had to make sure that Damien kept his hands to himself.

=====================

You giggled as your date, Damien finished telling you a story about his silly dog. You were so happy this date was going well, especially since you haven’t been to one in years. You decided to wear your contacts today in case you and Damien decided to ride some of the rides.

“You should meet him some time.” Damien commented as you two walked side by side.

Your hands were in your jean pockets and Damien has been trying to hold your hands, but you just kept it in there or if it was in there, your arms were crossed. He also wanted to make sure you were comfortable before he did anything. He knew that if even a hair on you was harmed, the MC would come looking for him.

“Your dog? Yeah, that would be great. I love dogs.” You always wanted a dog, but your mother was not the biggest fan. You’ve been thinking about getting a dog, but you just haven’t found the right one as of yet.

“German shepherds are very intuitive and they’re great dogs.”

“They definitely are.” You nodded your head. “So, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” You two were waiting in line to get some funnel cake, thankful that not that many people were here so you can get to the sweet treat faster.

“Why did you ask me out on a date? Don’t get me wrong, we’ve met, but you haven’t exactly spoken to me.” It was always a short pleasant conversation between you and Damien. A quick hello, goodbye, how are you’s and he was on his way. It’s not like you thought you were some horrendous looking person, but it just made you wonder why it took him so long to ask you out.

“I’ve always wanted to, but your uncle can be quite intimidating and Angel basically put out word that you’re untouchable.” It was true. He was warned off by Creeper that you were off-limits. At first he thought it was Bishop, but it became more apparent it was Angel. Any man who approached you during club parties was immediately turned away by Angel. At first he wasn’t certain if Angel was acting on Bishop’s orders, but when he noticed that Angel, who usually was surrounded by women, didn’t pay attention to any other woman but you, he knew then that it was Angel’s own doing. He asked himself why he asked you out knowing Angel would hunt for his blood, but as he saw it, you were single and were free to do as you please.

“Angel?” Your heart quickened a bit and for some strange reason, you heard his voice as well.

“Querida,” it was Angel’s favorite term of endearment for you. At first you thought he called everyone that, but it seemed that it was reserved for you as of late. You knew it was his way of being charming, but you couldn’t help it when your heartbeat quickened cause of it.

You turned around and found Angel and his usual suspects with him. His eyes roamed over your body and you couldn’t help, but blush. Angel’s eyes were always so intense, yet warm. He noticed your glasses weren’t on and he thought how much better he liked the glasses on you.

“Angel,” you said in some sort of disbelief. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We came to enjoy the fair, surprised to see you here.” He looked over you and at Damien, narrowing his eyes. It was his warning to him. He may have passed by him once, but it wasn’t going to happen tonight. “Damien.”

“Angel.”

The greetings were curt and you could feel the tension rise. You were still confused at Angel’s presence, but it showed you one thing, the butterflies didn’t come till Angel came. Your mother always told you that when the butterflies in your stomach fluttered, whoever did it for you was someone you would be someone special. Your mom was a die hard romantic person. You weren’t exactly all that romantic, but you definitely didn’t believe in fairy tales.

“Y/N, you wanna go get some ribs? I just realized we haven’t eaten.” Damien had to get you away before Angel could sink his claws and interrupt your date.

“Sure.” You looked at the three troublemakers behind Angel, giving them a questioning look and the three stooges fucking shrugged at you.

Damien attempted to lead you away, but Angel grabbed your arm.

“We’re all here together, we might as well stay together. Right querida?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing was coming out. You were enjoying your date, but seeing Angel changed the atmosphere. You couldn’t play this game. Damien was genuinely interested in you and you wanted to give him a chance. You weren’t even sure where you stood with Angel, it doesn’t matter anyway.

“No, it’s okay, Damien and I are going to get ribs. Enjoy your night guys.” You gave each of the Mayans members a hug and when you got to Angel, you tried to make it brief. You hated hugging Angel, he was always so intoxicating. If you lost yourself in that hug it was a done deal.

Grabbing Damien’s hand, you dragged him away from the group. You were going to continue and have fun, fuck Angel Reyes.

“Wow, that went well.” EZ commented. He couldn’t help it, it was rare he could pull Angel’s leg like this.

“Ezekiel, not fucking right now.” Angel watched you walk away, with Damien turning back to throw him a grin. “Motherfucker has me fucked up.” He took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“So what’s the game plan?” Gilly questioned.

“We enjoy the fair.”

Somehow, they knew that wasn’t exactly what was going to happen.

You were starting to get irritated. At every corner you turned, the Mayans were there. You were certain that your tio didn’t send them since he already threatened Damien at your apartment. But you never know, he may have had a sudden change of heart. You just wished it wasn’t four fucking members. That was like half of their charter.

“Is it me or are Angel and the other members following us?” Damien turned back and sure enough, there they were just hanging around.

Angel was leaning against one of the poles that was holding a game together, smoking his cigarette just looking at you. He winked at you and you scowled at him. You would like to think Angel was a friend, why was he here?

“Don’t pay them any attention.” You brushed them off.

“Why won’t I win you a prize, get you a memorabilia of this fun night we had?” Damien offered.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Damien led you to a knock the bottle game. He knew he had this, he was a star baseball player back in the day, if it wasn’t for an injury, he would have been big time now. He had this. After four tries, Damien won you a small bear, which was very sweet. You appreciated the effort.

“Here you go beautiful.” Damien handed your bear to your

“Such a small prize for such a beautiful girl.” Angel whistled, sitting beside where you stood, shaking his head. “I can win you a bigger one preciosa.”

“I’m good Angel, you know it’s not always about the size.” You smirked at him, even throwing a wink.

“Perhaps, but for the record, mine is pretty thick and long.” He licked his lips and you swear to god, you wanted to smack that annoying smirk off his face. “Come on, let me win you one. I always told you that if we go to the fair, I would try to win you a prize.” Angel was talking to you as if Damien wasn’t a few feet away. And your attention was on Angel, as much as you hated to admit it. But this was a conversation you had before, he told you that if you two ever went to the fair, he would win you a prize. You two had spoken about how you thought it was sweet when guys won girls prizes, it was very sweet.

“Fine, you get one shot.” You don’t know why you gave Angel the okay, but you figured if Angel didn’t get any hits, it would bruise his ego and he would leave you alone so you could enjoy whatever was left of your date.

Angel took some money out of his pocket and gave it to the worker. Angel got three balls to get the bottles that were stacked together.

“Which one do you like, baby girl?” Angel questioned.

“Surprise me.” You looked over at EZ, Coco and Gilly who were far too amused by this whole situation. “Are you three going to try too?”

“No, this is all Angel hermana.” Coco took a bite out of his churro, enjoying this whole situation. He always advised Angel to just bite the bullet, but as always, Angel was as stubborn as they come. “Just watch your man win you something.”

You bit your tongue, not correcting Coco. You pretended you didn’t hear him.

“Wanna give me a kiss so I can have some good luck?” Angel playfully teased you, offering his cheek to you.

“Just throw the ball Reyes.” Damien finally spoke up.

You turned to him and gave him a sheepish smile. “This will be done soon, he won’t hit anything.”

Angel smirked at your words. He threw the ball and all the bottles were knocked out. Damien’s mouth slightly dropped along with yours. Coco, Gilly and EZ all cheered him on, yelling out their congratulations.

“I know them down two more times and she gets the big one?” Angel questioned the teenager that was working the booth.

He nodded his head.

And Angel did it. One throw for all of them. He smugly looked over at you and held his arm out towards the booth.

“Whatever you want mi dulce.”

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were quite impressed. “I told you, surprise me.”

Angel chuckled and nodded his head. He wasn’t sure what you were trying to play at, but he knew you, after taking a random trip to the San Diego Zoo, he knew every fucking animal you liked. “Let me get the giraffe.” He handed it over to you, the giraffe had a long neck and was surprisingly soft. You couldn’t help but blush and look down at your feet. It was a habit you had, it was hard for you to look at the person you like in the eye. “You want more?”

“No, she’s good.” Damien had enough of Angel showing him up. This was his date, he wasn’t going to let Angel ruin it. “You want to go to the ferris wheel before we leave?”

“Sure,” you nodded your head. “Thanks Angel, have fun with whatever else you guys do.” You couldn’t exactly tell Angel that you really appreciated the gesture, especially since he remembered your favorite animal was a giraffe.

As you walked away, you tried your hardest to not turn around and look at Angel. You would have just ran back, besides, Angel was just being nice. He was always nice to you, very sweet as well. But you didn’t want to assume that he had feelings for you. A similar situation occurred to you a few years back and the guy was just being nice to you due to your connection to the Mayans charter in Oakland. It stung, but you promised yourself then that you would not assume things and always wait for confirmation from the person’s mouth. No telephone game, people misconstrued things and that’s what led you to believe that the guy had feelings for you.

“I’m really sorry, I don’t know why Tio Bishop sent them here.” You apologized to Damien as you two made your way to the Ferris wheel.

“It’s okay, they’re like the older brothers you’ve never had.” It was true. You had mentioned it to him that the Mayans felt like and extended family to you. A bunch of misfits that you never would have thought would become your family but they did. The charters up north always took care of you and your mother, checking on you weekly to make sure you ladies were taken care of. Damien was trying to be understanding of the situation, but he knew what Angel was trying to do. And he couldn’t let him win.

“Yeah, they are.” With the exception of Angel, cause that would be odd.

They were close to the Ferris wheel, Damien figured he could make his move on you then, no Angel to distract you. There was no line so you and Damien were slated to go next, but you weren’t exactly sure how it happened. The next thing you knew, you and Angel were in one of the capsules making its way up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Damien growled out at the Mayan members.

“You know she’s Angel’s girl, you knew this was going to happen.” Gilly wasn’t exactly sure what Damien expected out of this whole situation, but everyone who hung out at the club knew that you were off-limits. If being Bishop’s niece didn’t drive them away, it was Angel’s closeness to you that should have.

“They’re not together. He doesn’t even know if she feels anything for him.” Damien didn’t want to push his luck, but he was also getting annoyed. He wasn’t going to let them push him around.

“Doesn’t matter, you fucked up.” Coco scoffed.

“It’s interesting how much shit you’re spewing out when Angel isn’t around.” EZ smugly pointed out.

“Angel can go fuck himself. I’m sorry he didn’t have the balls to ask her out on a date, but tough shit. He’s not the only one interested in her.”

“What are you trying to gain from this? You think you're gonna bed her like your other girls?” Coco was curious as to why Damien decided to ask you out. He’s seen him lurking around, but he never tried to make a move since again, you were always with Angel, Gilly or himself. It was hard to penetrate that wall.

“That’s none of your business.” Damien venomously spat out at them, looking at the ferris wheel.

“Don’t make it our business, be smart about this then.” EZ warned.

You looked at Damien who was being held by Coco and Gilly while EZ waved to you and Angel.

“This is absolutely ridiculous.” You scolded Angel. “I’m on a date! I don’t know what my lovely tio told you, but please leave so I can enjoy what’s left of it.”

“Come on amor, you know you’re not enjoying yourself.” Angel scoffed.

“I was, till you and your three stooges came.” You slightly turned your body away from Angel, crossing your arms and looking out the windows in the Ferris wheel capsule.

“You were really having fun with Damien?” Angel knew you weren’t very happy with him, but he didn’t give a fuck. He was saving you from this asshole.

“Yes, I mean he’s a decent guy Angel, it’s a date not a marriage.” You refused to look at him. You kept getting mixed signals from Angel and you weren’t exactly brave enough to ask him questions about it.

“Look, I think I should be honest with you here.” Here it was. Angel was going to tell you that he was just messing around and that he was just following orders. No biggie. You weren’t going to be affected at all since you expected it. “I like you.”

“And I like you too when you’re not being a prick.”

“No, I like you, as in I have feelings for you. Seeing you with Damien is driving me crazy so I followed you here to make sure nothing happens between you two.”

It was silent for a few moments between you two which made Angel nervous. This wasn’t the first time he confessed to a woman, but this felt different. The air was heavier if that made any sense.

“Angel, this is going above and beyond my tio’s orders.” You spoke up, happy that the ride was making its descent.

He gave you an incredulous look, eyes wide and confused. “Orders? You fucking think I developed feelings for you through an order? The fuck do you think this is? Is it so unbelievable for me to have feelings for you?”

“No, it’s just, why would you like me? I’m not your type.” That was such a weak excuse but from what you gathered you weren’t his type.

“My type? How would you even know my type?”

“Observations? I don’t know.” Your knee began to shake, an indication that you were becoming anxious, something Angel picked up with all the time he spent with you.

“You have nothing to be nervous about.”

You felt the walls closing in around you. Escaping this option was not an option right now since you were still at least six feet above ground.

“I’m not nervous, I,” you sighed. “This shouldn’t be hard, but I always thought you hung around me cause tio requested for you to do so.”

“Believe me, your tio requested for Coco and Gilly to do it, I was drawn to you because of you.”

“Did Coco tell you about my crush on you? Because I feel like there’s a way to let me down without leading me on.”

Crush? You had a crush on him?

“Querida, what are you talking about?”

“Stop, don’t call me that. The pet names make this all that much more confusing.”

“What? Y/N, I’m not leading you on.”

The door opened and you immediately got out with Angel hot on your trail. “Damien can you take me home?”

“No, she’s good, I’ll take her home.” Angel stepped in between you two.

You glared at the back of Angel’s head which was seen by EZ, Coco and Gilly.

“I would really like to end my date at my house Angel, thank you for the offer.” You stepped away from Angel and walked over to Damien, grabbing his hand and making your way towards the exit.

Angel watched your disappearing form and let out a yell of frustration.

“She’s fucking insane!” He yelled out.

The three tried to keep their laughter in, but it was just so difficult for them.

“I’m glad you are all having fun at my expense.” Angel walked away from the three, grumbling under his breath.

“How was the ride?” Coco questioned.

“I told her I had feelings for her and she told me that I was going above and beyond my orders. The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Angel took out his sixth cigarette in the span of two hours.

“You’re smart bro, you know what she’s insinuating.” Gilly patted his brother on the back. “Maybe it’s time to take a different approach.”

“Again, if you just ask her out on a fucking date, this wouldn’t be so difficult.” EZ really didn’t know why his brother has been playing this game for years. It was like he was so afraid to be rejected. If he didn’t play confidant and immediately asked you out, then you two would be together and they wouldn’t be playing this game for Angel.

“Like what?” Angel questioned Gilly, ignoring EZ.

“You should play hard to get.”

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

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howlingday · 3 years

Text

Ozpin: Greetings, travelers. You may know me, or you may not. That doesn't matter at the moment. What does matter is this tale I will tell you. It is filled with magic, adventure, and many memorable moments. If I may begin?

Long ago, and far away, in labyrinths of coral caves~,

A mystic crystal was forged in glass, with magic or something like that~.

It's powers had been used for good, and all had lived in brotherhood~,

Until the necromancer attacked, upon her Grimm of bone and black~.

Her black-red eyes with evil gleamed, She stole the crystal and she screamed~,

Now bow down men and all between, Or face the wrath of my magic beams~!

The knights and nobles of the land, Did all they could to stay her hand~,

But not a single blow was struck, For alas, she had the strongest luck~!

Yang: Hey, Professor Ozpin? No offense, but this story is kind of lame.

Nora: Yeah! This necromancer just shows up, and everyone just loses?!

Ozpin: It's called building tension.

Yang: Yeah, but everyone's gonna get bored of the story at this point, and not bother listening any further!

Nora: I bet Ruby could tell a better story!

Ruby: Huh?

Ozpin: Very well. (Tosses the book to Ruby) The story is yours, Miss Rose. (Leaves)

Ruby: B-But I-!

Yang: So, what happened next?

Ruby: Uh, um-!

Nora: It might help if you just read the book.

Ruby: But wasn't that what-?

Yang: C'mon, Rubes! Show us what you've got!

Ruby: Uh, okay then...

She grabbed the princess from her throne, Then trapped her in the crystal stone~.

The king called in his wizards four, And begged them and deeply implored~,

Search the forests, Search the seas, Search in all time and realities~,

Two champions are what I need, To bring my daughter back to me~!

Yes, my king, it shall be done! The wizards said, and so begun~,

A wondrous spell, that soon would find, The greatest men in space and time~!

And that's where our story begins, Our two heroes soon come in~,

There is no quest they can leave be, But only one of them can really speak~.

Meanwhile..

Jaune: I'm really glad you said yes to this meeting. I was kind of nervous you'd say no.

Neo: (Tilts her head)

Jaune: Well, it's just, I think you may have a problem with killing. Or should I say not killing, because-

Neo: (Waves at him, Points)

Jaune: Huh? (Looks behind him) Is that... a mystic space portal behind me? (Portal sucks them in) OH SHI-!

They awoke within a foreign land, Inside a castle oh so grand~,

There atop a throne of gold, Arose the king, so green and old~.

I've called you from the great beyond, To save my daughter with hair so blonde~,

You've sailed across the skies and stars, The Brothers brought you here without harm~!

Jaune: Actually, your majesty, you just sucked us through about sixteen different dimensions, and I have to be honest...

My arms are broken, And I don't know why my chest is smokin'~!

I will heal you with my staff, Tri-Hard works so long as you don't laugh~!

Now go! Ride toward the Sun! No, not to me! They may be our heroes now, But I fear their destiny~.

And so, they turned and rode past the castle walls, In shining codpiece armor that did cradle his chivalrous balls~!

Then skies grew dark, and the road grew narrow, But our heroes would never be lead astray~!

Neo brought her magic arrows, And she can use them to light their righteous way~!

Jaune: (Shot) ARGH! Neo, have you ever used a bow before? (THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!) OW! OKAY, I'M SORRY FOR ASKING! (Rips out the arrows, Throws them back to her) Alright then, LET'S RIDE!

Ruby: Am I doing good?

Yang: Great, Rubes! But did you really need to mention the "cradling his balls" thing?

Ruby: (Blushing) It's what the book says!

Nora: Is it just me, or does this hero sound vaguely familiar?

Yang: I'm sure it's nothing. So, what happened next?

The roads were twisted, and the air was thick, It was clear her domain was as evil as dick!

They passed through the gloom of the Forest of Fear, And the Pits of Disgust, and the Dark Swamp of Tears~!

Then off in the distance so clear, the cold, gray peak of Mt. Nasty appeared~!

Past the Fields of Annoyance, and Dragon Barf Junction, And the treacherous Cliffs of Erectile Dysfunction~!

Now Neo has erectile dysfunction! Only Neo, though~!

Jaune: I know; it's weird. (Neo shrugs)

They arrived at the Evil Queen's halls, and dismounted their trusty steeds with resolve~!

They hugged them goodbye and promised they'd never quit, Then they ran straight away, for they gave not a shit~!

The moonlight shined over the door, And over the gems and the skulls on the floor~.

They felt no terror at their end of the caves, For unless the Bells of Doom tolled, They knew they'd be saved~!

They knew they'd be saved~!

THEY KNEW THEY'D BE SA-~!

Jaune: (Bells of Doom toll, Surrounded by countless Grimm) Ah, fuck...

Yang: Well, they're boned. Unless they fought their way out.

Ruby: It says here the Silent Knight fought her way out and escaped.

Nora: But not the other one?

Ruby: He fought, but tripped on the first swing and knocked himself out.

Nora: Is he dead?

Ruby: Let's see...

Colored gemstones lit up the walls, and formed a rainbow trail up to a giant waterfall~.

There, the necromancer grinned, the Princess stood frozen, yet still so hot beside her~.

Jaune, Yang, Nora, Ruby: Damn...

Then he heard a voice inside his mind, It was the Princess, she said, Jaune Arc, your heart is kind~.

Only light can stop dark~. I know what she spoke of, That to defeat the necromancer, I need to use love~!

Jaune: Stand back, Neo! I'm going to hug her!

She immediately shattered both his legs, and threw him across the room, He probably should have brought some weapons, but now the fool is doomed!

But Neo picked him up, because they're such good friends, Then she used his body like a club to beat their enemy to death~!

He should be in more pain than could ever be spoken, But luckily he felt nothing because his back is totes broken~!

Oh, the necromancer was dead, and the crystal broke in three, They looked up into the light and saw the Princess was now free~!

Jaune: Neo, she's so beautiful! Roll me to her!

Neo: (Rolls her eyes, Throws Jaune at the Princess)

Nora: Hooray! The day is saved!

Yang: That fight could have been better. Gotta say, though, that Silent Knight dude kicked serious ass! Is he single?

Ruby: Well, there's still a few pages left to find out.

They journeyed back to the King, His lands now green with the life of Spring~,

He leapt up and wept at the sight, Of his girl as she carried our hero through the night~!

Heal this man, wizards~! He cried in delight, And they did! Brothers damned, they kept their magicing tight~!

Sadly it was time to leave, so the King said, Fix Neo's ED, and hooray for Neo's Best Team~!

Yang: Great story, Rubes! Nothing left to do but to put it on a shelf and never read it again.

Nora: I wonder what happened to those two after this? Maybe I should write a sequel.

Yang: What if there's already a sequel?

Nora: A sequel as good as good as what I write? Puh-lease! What do you think Ruby? (Ruby is silent) Ruby?

Ruby: (Points to a picture of Jaune walking around, as if it were a live video feed) Look...

Jaune: Neo, look! The portal back home is opening! (Turns to face everyone, Unknowingly facing RYN)

Now fare thee well, It seems that our journey is at an end. We will be here if you should ever need our help again~. (They walked away, but stopped to turn before they take their last step)

Neo: (Kills a guy, Smirks as she maintains her rep)

We all have our battles to fight, and a crystal cage to break through in our lives~.

But when hope is gone, We will be there to help and fight the fuck on~!

Yang: Whoa...

Nora: (Sniffs, Wipes away a tear) That's my leader...

Ruby: (Closes the book)

The End...

#rwby #nsp #ninja sex party #the mystic crystal #ozpin #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #jaune arc #neopolitan #neptune vasilias #salem #sun wukong #sage ayana #scarlet david

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x-reader-theater · 4 years

Text

Doubt {8}

Relationship: Lucifer Morningstar x Non-Binary!Reader

Summary: Earth. Home. The people around you, your family, the man you love, the city you now live in. What could be better?

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Body Horror, Lucifer being a Bastard

Word Count: 2043 words

A/N: Wow. Thank you all for coming on such an amazing journey with me this past week. It's been incredible and I think you for joining me, coming along with me for the ride. This has been a special project of mine and I couldn't have done it without the help of my editor, @mystic-writes. Please reblog the series and I can't wait to show you all more of my work in the future. Thank you <3 Also, someone recently put together a playlist for this story, which you can use here. I didn't want to share it until the rest of the fic was out, but it has all the songs from this fic there if you want to listen to it as a playlist. (And yes, they got an early look at the chapter's songs so they could put the new songs on there). I will be updating the first chapters with this playlist so anyone who's just now reading it can use it to listen while they read.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here, but please still reblog and share.

[Prev.] <= [First]

Chapter 8: The Rise

[Now Playing: Break my Heart by Dua Lipa]

You stand on the second floor of Lux, overlooking the rest of the club, a drink in your hand. You glance over to your right and see a woman looking at you, smirking, and you smile back. She moves her way over to you, the air shifting around her and a chill goes down your arms. The simple white t-shirt you're wearing with your blue jeans aren't exactly the warmest clothes, but in Lux, it's hard to be cold with all the bodies packed so tightly, and as the woman leans up against you, you feel warmth radiating from her.

"What are you doing in a place like this?" She asks, her voice low and sultry.

You smile when you feel a body press up behind yours and a familiar voice say, "Sorry. They're not available."

The woman nods tersely and walks away, and you turn around, kissing Lucifer. He pushes you against the railing, and you smile into the kiss.

"We shouldn't do this here…" you whisper with a smile and Lucifer groans.

"But I want to show that you're mine," he says.

You smile and glance around at the people who are looking at you. "I don't think that's a problem, Lucifer."

He smiles and kisses you again, before pulling away and grabbing your hand. He drags you to the elevator, pushing everyone else out of his way, before hitting the button to go up, and the doors close behind you. Lucifer pushes you up against the elevator wall, moving his lips down your neck, and you groan with a smile, running your fingers through his hair and pulling.

"You're enjoying… that aren't you?" He asks between kisses and you lean into him more.

"It's a new feature I'm excited to explore," you say with a smirk, and Lucifer pulls away from your neck to look at you for a moment, before kissing you.

The bell rings and the doors open on Lucifer's penthouse. He pulls away and drags you into the large room, where you see Maze, her ligamented face smiling back at you.

You raise your eyebrows when she quirks a wry smile your way, and you catch what she tosses at you.

"Here," she says as you watch the silver, glinting handcuffs. "You'll need these."

You grin and pull Lucifer into his bedroom, your wings already extended.

[Now Playing: Never Knew Love Like This Before by Stephanie Mills]

"I think I'm actually really good," you say in Linda's office, sitting across from her.

"Oh, well I'm happy to hear that," she says, leaning back. "Why do you think you're feeling so good right now?"

You shrug. "I'm in a… relationship, well, as much of a relationship as you can have with Lucifer. I have friends, Chloe and I are… talking, and that's a start, and I got answers," you list, and Linda is smiling at you. Actually, genuinely smiling at you.

"I'm so happy for you, [Y/N]. You sound like you've really found yourself," she says, and you nod. "Now, that doesn't mean I want you to stop seeing me…" she says, putting a hand out, and you nod.

"I know," you tell her simply, and she leans back, a surprised and impressed look on her face.

"Oh! Oh, okay. Good," she says, nodding, and you smile.

"Thank you, Linda. Without you, I don't think I could have done half as well as I have," you say, and Linda smiles.

"You're welcome. Now, tell me more about this relationship with Lucifer?" Linda asks and you laugh.

"Well, I told him I loved him a few nights ago…"

[Now Playing: Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin]

You walk into Lux, making your way to the bar where you know Maze is. You're surprised, however, to see Lucifer and Chloe there as well.

"Ah! Angel!" Lucifer exclaims, waving you over. You smile and sit next to them at the bar. "How are you?"

You smile and nod. "I'm… good. I'm really, good," you respond.

Lucifer grins and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. You smile, but look around him at Chloe, who's sipping her alcohol, trying not to look like she's watching the two of you. She's failing miserably at it.

"How are you, Chloe?" You ask, and she looks up at you.

"Huh? Oh! I'm-I'm good. Sorry, I'm a little distracted. There's a lot going on with work right now," she says, taking another sip.

You smile. "No worries. I understand that."

She smiles at you, and Lucifer says, "Yes, there's quite a bit to catch you up on."

You smile and accept the drink Maze offers you, repaying her with a nod, which she returns.

And you sit and listen to everything Chloe and Lucifer did in the past week.

[Now Playing: Laughing With by Regina Spektor]

You look around as you walk down the street, watching people pass you by, on their phones, their hands on their purses and backpacks, talking to one another, or walking alone. You smile at the church where you met Father Lawrence for the first, and last time. Lucifer told you what happened.

You see a woman sitting on the steps, her head in her hands and her knees pulled up to her chest. You see her shoulders shaking. She's crying.

You walk up to her, sitting down next to her, and she looks up suddenly, wiping underneath her eyes. "What do you want?" She asks, snapping at you.

"Why are you crying?" You ask, and she glares at you.

"Why do you want to know?" She asks, frustrated.

You put your hands up and say, "I'm just curious. I mean, a woman crying in front of a church all alone. Not exactly a common occurrence."

She looks at you, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, before she sighs and looks away. "It's dumb," she says, wiping her eyes again.

You shake your head and smile. "I'm sure it's not."

She scoffs, but bites her lip, looking down at her hands. "In the middle of our sermon, I asked if heaven was really that good," she says, and your eyebrows shoot up. She looks up at you and scoffs, saying as she starts to stand up, "I knew you'd think it's stupid."

"No!" You exclaim quickly, and she stops. "I don't think it's stupid. It just surprised me. Because I have those exact same doubts."

Now it's her turn for her eyebrows to shoot up, and she slowly starts sitting down again. "Really?"

You nod. "Yup. I mean, what's so great about staying in one place for the rest of eternity? At least here on earth, there's things to do! Most stuff is banned in heaven. No music, except for gospel, no touching, no sex," you say and her cheeks darken.

"You sound like you know what it's like up there," she says, and you just stare at her. She laughs you off, waving her hand, like she's trying to dispel the thought.

You smile at her and place a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to stick with these doubts. Ask questions. And whatever you do, never doubt yourself," you say to her seriously. "No matter what people try and tell you, trust yourself." She nods, in shock slightly, and you smile, standing up. "It was nice meeting you…"

"Evie!" She says, and you smile.

"It was nice meeting you Evie. You take care now," you say, and you walk away from her, smiling to yourself. Proud of yourself.

[Now Playing: Angel Down by Lady Gaga]

You walk into the penthouse, peeling your hoodie off, and placing it on the coat rack next to the elevator. You smile at the familiar sight of the place you call home, the fully stocked bar, the living room with the very comfortable couches, the archway that leads into the bedroom. But you don't go towards any of them. Instead, you walk toward the balcony overlooking Los Angeles. The City of Angels. You laugh at that. An Angel, a Devil, and a Fallen Angel all walk into a city and wreak havoc, fall in love, and soar on feathered wings. What a bad joke.

But you can't help but laugh. Because, what a joke your life has been so far. At least it's funny, filled with irony and ridiculous situations.

You lean on the glass railing, the cool night air blowing across your face makes you smile. It's been hot these past few days. Never lower than 95 degrees. The cool air feels nice.

You extend your wings from your back, spreading them out to catch the wind, feeling the cool air blow through your feathers.

You think back to that first day you arrived, when your feathers molted off you violently and with a lot of screaming. You think of the bones, of your once beautiful white wings, of the scraping and clacking they made, and of what they've become, the white fading to black, doubt personified.

You think about Lucifer, his reluctance to help you, to take you in, before ultimately giving up and having fun with it. And you did have a lot of fun with Lucifer, as well as Maze. They taught you a lot.

You smile, happiness flooding your chest as you think of Linda, your hesitation when you first met her, and then your last session, where you thanked her for pushing you the way she did.

You think of Chloe, of the jealousy you felt towards her like she did about you, the two of you fighting over something you didn't need to fight over. You may not be friends, but at least she's talking to you now. And that's a start.

You remember Father Laurence, and your conversation that led him to Lucifer. You remember Detective Dan Espinoza, and planting those seeds of doubt in his head, which you and Lucifer laughed about later. You remember the woman and man who left you at the bar, all because Lucifer was there. You remember your parents, who Lucifer helped you stand up to. It all leads back to Lucifer, him being there when you needed him most, whether that be for a good laugh or a favour, for sex, or even just a good hug after a long day. He's always there for you.

And you love him so much for that.

You feel hands on your back, and you jump, but relax when you hear who it is. "Shh… it's only me, Angel," Lucifer says softly, running his hands around the base of your wings before wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chest to your back. "What are you thinking about?"

You smile and fold your wings in as you turn around to face Lucifer, before extending them again. "You. Me. How I was when I first arrived," you say, and Lucifer smiles.

"Yes, that was a… frustrating time, but I think I handled it quite well," he says and you roll your eyes.

"I think I recall you calling me 'practically a child'," you say and he scoffs.

"Excuse you, I distinctly remember calling you hot as well," he says and you laugh, leaning forward so your head is on his chest.

"It feels like so long ago," you say, looking up into his brown eyes. "And yet, it feels like no time has passed at all."

He smiles and kisses you lightly. "That's a perk of immortality, angel," he says, and you kiss him again.

He presses you up against the railing, but his kisses don't feel feverish, they're not lustful. Because while his body is pinning yours against the glass, he's kissing you slowly, deliberately, as if he's afraid he's going to lose you if he stops. You pull away, taking a deep breath in, and you smile at Lucifer, running your fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck, around his shoulder, before your thumb rests against his lips. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, and you smile.

"You saved a fallen angel, Lucifer," you whisper. "What do you want to do with them?"

He smiles and says plainly, "Everything."

[The End]

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