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thepremedthatwrites · 3 years

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Insufferable (pt.2)

request: Hi lovely, can you do Peter pevensie x reader imagine, please? The reader meets Pevensies in Narnia, but from the beginning she and Peter can't get along together, lots of arguments, while secretly and slowly developing feelings towards each other they don't want to admit, lot of sexual tension before smth happens but eventually they'll end up together. you can include some smut stuff. Thanks xx

part 1 | part 3

I woke with a start as someone pulled back the blanket. A pair of warm brown eyes were looking back at me, a soft smile on their face and their curly brown hair hanging down freely. “Who are you?” I asked, pushing myself up and away from the person. As I took them in, my eyes caught sight of two small horns sprouting on top of their head and just peeking out of their hair. “What are you?” I added, my eyes now wide in shock.

“I am Daisy, a faun,” she said, a soft smile on her face. “High King Peter has requested that I prepare you for breakfast today.” She put out her hand and I slowly took it as she led me out of my bed and towards another section of the room closed off by deep red curtains. My shock grew as I saw a pair of goat legs attached to Daisy’s human-like top, her hooves clicking on the stone floor. The faun grabbed a bucket of water that sat next to a tub that was already halfway filled with water. “Get undressed,” she commanded as she poured the rest of the water into the tub.

I hesitated, not wanting to expose myself to a complete stranger, especially a stranger that wasn’t human. “No,” I said, crossing my arms. The faun let out a sigh as she put the bucket back on the floor. “I can wash myself.”

“That is not what the high king wants. He specifically ordered that I wash and dress you.”

“Then I will take it up with him,” I said before turning around and making my way to the door. Daisy hurried to follow me as I entered the hallway, trying my best to remember the way to King Peter’s room.

“Miss, you don’t want to do this. The high king will be very upset,” Daisy started as I reached the double doors that were guarded by two men. The guards watched the scene unfold as I banged on the wooden door.

“I don’t care how he may feel. He has no right making me get naked in front of a complete stranger,” I replied. The door swung open to reveal King Peter who was only wearing brown pants, his top half naked. I did my best to avoid his toned body, but my brain still subconsciously noticed his strong arms and tight abs. I focused my eyes on his blue ones as I spoke, doing my best to concentrate on my anger.

“How dare you!”

“How dare I what?” he asked, an amused smile pulling at his lips as his eyes studied my face.

“Do you really think that I would be willing to undress in front of a complete stranger when I hardly even know where I am? I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“There’s no need to be so angry, darling. This is only routine for visitors of the royal family. And if your hair is any indication of how you take care of yourself, I do not think your claim is as true as you believe it to be.” My hands flew to my hair, combing my fingers through the knotted locks. King Peter let out a chuckle at this before leaning on the side of the doorway, his arms crossed. We were only inches away now and I could feel his body heat radiating off of his bare skin.

“Well I,” I started, getting slightly distracted as I felt his eyes watch me intensely. “I don’t need someone to help me take a bath. At least let me do that by myself.”

“Alright,” he said to my surprise. “You can do that by yourself. But let the faun dress you at least. You need to look somewhat presentable in public.”

“Fine,” I said. I turned around to face Daisy, taking a few steps toward her before stopping. “Daisy,” I said, turning my head to face King Peter.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“The faun’s name is Daisy,” I explained. “It might do you some good to know the names of those who serve you, your majesty.” I turned my head back around before following Daisy back to my room.

Daisy waited in the area of the room with the bed as I bathed behind the curtain. It felt nice to wash off the dirt and grime that had accumulated from the night before. As I got out, I grabbed the robe Daisy had laid out for me, tying it tightly around my body as I emerged from behind the curtain.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Daisy said as she brushed my hair.

“Do what?”

“Tell King Peter my name. I’m not important enough for him to know my name.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said as Daisy put down the brush, her fingers working on putting my hair into an intricate braid. She would pause every now and then to weave white flowers in with my hair before continuing with the process. “You are just as important as a guard or even King Peter himself. Without you, the castle wouldn’t function as smoothly as it does. Just because you don’t wear a crown doesn’t mean you’re less than.”

“Thank you, miss,” Daisy said.

“Please, call me (y/n).”

“Of course, (y/n).” Daisy stepped back, handing me a handheld mirror so that I could get a good look at her work.

“Oh Daisy, it’s beautiful,” I said, my voice soft as I admired my hair. Daisy only nodded, walking over to the wardrobe where I had grabbed the robe the night before and pulling out a purple dress.

“I’ll wait by the bath while you put it on,” Daisy said, already making her way towards the curtain.

“Thank you.” I waited till she was behind the curtain to take off the robe and put on the dress. It hugged my curves before falling down to the floor. The material was so soft and light that it barely even felt like I was wearing anything. I let out a small grunt as I tried, and failed, to tie the strings on the back. “Daisy,” I called out. She peeked her head from behind the curtain. “Could you help me tie the strings on the back?”

Daisy made her way to me, expertly tying the strings, her fingers brushing my bare skin every now and then. “Thank you,” I said as she stepped back. “Do I go to join the royal family now?”

“Yes, I’ll lead you to the pavilion.” I followed Daisy down the hall and out of a door that led out to a beautiful garden. Butterflies hovered over flowers and green foliage spilled out onto the stone path that led to a small pavilion where a round table sat. The table was small, only allowing around five people to sit comfortably at it. I saw Edmund and King Peter sitting there, along with two girls. Daisy led me down the path. We came to a halt as we reached the pavilion.

“Thank you for bringing her, Daisy,” Peter said. I felt my heart warm as I walked to the empty seat between Peter and the girl with long, brown hair.

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty,” Daisy replied, a large grin on her face as she curtseyed before turning around and making her way back to the castle.

“I was starting to worry you weren’t coming,” Edmund said, a large grin on his face.

“I would never offend his majesty like that,” I replied, matching his grin.

“I hope there weren’t any other complications with getting dressed this morning,” King Peter interjected. I felt my face warm as the grin fell from my face.

“No, there weren’t.” Edmund looked at both King Peter and I quizzically, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m Susan,” the girl I was sitting next to offered.

“And I’m Lucy,” the other girl said. “It’s so nice to see that you’re okay. I was picking flowers in the meadow to make flower crowns and found you laying in the grass. I was afraid you were dead and ran to get Peter who carried you to the castle. I apologize for not checking in on you last night. I was waiting with Peter for you to wake up, but it was getting late and Peter made me go to bed.”

“Thank you for finding me,” I said, offering a small smile. “And there is no need to apologize, I would hate to have been the reason for you staying up so late.”

“Peter said you are from Earth, is that true?” Susan questioned before taking a bite of a strawberry.

“Yes,” I replied, stealing a glance at Peter who was watching me. “I didn’t realize you were all talking about me.”

“You are all Peter has been talking about,” Edmund said. Peter shot him a look before turning to me again.

“I wanted to assure them that you aren’t a threat,” he explained. I nodded.

“Peter, the king of Telmar is visiting next month. I have been writing to him for a while, but it seems he does not want an alliance with us. Perhaps you could talk to him for us and convince him,” Susan said. I was thankful that the conversation had turned away from me.

“Yes,” Peter said. “I’ve been thinking of what to do with Telmar. Maybe a marriage would be the best chance of peace with them.”

“You mean an arranged marriage?” I interjected. I wanted to laugh at the idea. “Surely you are joking.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“Because marriage is supposed to be the joining of two people who are in love, not some political power move between two nations.”

“It’s politics (y/n). Not everything is going to be pretty in politics,” Peter said.

“It’s stupid is what it is,” I mumbled, playing with the food on my plate.

“Well then, let’s all be grateful that you aren’t a queen.” I glared at Peter who stared back at me. His bright blue eyes were slightly narrowed and a hint of amusement shone in them. Behind that amusement there seemed to be something else, though I wasn’t sure what it was. At first I thought it may be fear but that wasn’t it. No, it was curiosity. As a high king, nobody questioned him so now that there was a random girl in his castle questioning his every move he seemed intrigued, curious.

I looked away from his eyes as they had become too intense for me. My heart seemed to be pounding in my chest as my eyes flickered to his nose which was slightly flared, before traveling down to his full lips. They were a luscious pink and I subconsciously licked my own lips as I looked at his. I could feel his eyes tracing my own features as well, and I knew his siblings were still there but for a moment it was only me and him.

It was when I heard a fork clatter with a plate that I broke from the spell, ripping my eyes off of him, instead looking around the table to see both Susan and Edmund wearing large grins on their faces. “What is it?” Peter asked both of them. I turned to Peter to see his cheeks were a light pink. I then turned to Edmund and Susan, Edmund shaking his head as Susan took a long sip of her tea, her eyes darting between Peter and me.

“Nothing,” Susan finally said as she placed the teacup delicately onto the saucer.

#peter pevensie #high king peter #high king peter the magnificent #King Peter the Magnificent #peter pevensie fanfic #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x you #peter pevensie x y/n #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #william moseley

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years

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Only Human

Post 5x05. Angst. Riley POV. It’s sad.

*****

Only human. That’s what Jack was.

As a kid, Riley thought he was invincible. Nothing bad could ever happen to him. And if it did, he could always find a way out. Like when Riley busted him for picking flowers from her yard to give to her mom on their first date, or when he charmed his way out of yet another speeding ticket.

As an adult, Riley thought he was invincible. He and Mac pulled off crazy stunts Riley could barely wrap her head around, and they always came out alright. Whatever gods or forces of the universe were looking down on Jack Dalton clearly liked him and wanted him to stick around.

It took the sight of a flag-covered casket for Riley to realize Jack Dalton was only human.

The one man she thought would never truly leave her was gone. For good this time.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Until there was. Until Mac received that postcard—that last piece of Jack—and suddenly they were flying to Croatia to crack his final clue. Until they were the ones hunting a not-actually-dead Kovac. Until they were the ones stuck in a trap laid by the same woman who murdered Jack.

Riley would’ve snapped that blonde bitch’s neck if Mac hadn’t stopped her.

Rotting in a cell for the rest of eternity was too good a fate for the person who cut Jack’s life short.

Normally, Riley would’ve felt smart for catching a whole taped confession like that, but this time she just felt cold. Empty. No amount of justice would even begin to heal the Jack-shaped wound in her heart.

The flight home seemed like it would never end. Riley didn’t even feel the burn of the whiskey Russ handed her as she knocked it back like a shot. If she had the energy to get up, she would’ve drank the rest of the bottle.

Even Mac sitting beside her didn’t bring Riley any comfort. She wanted to scream at the universe until her voice was hoarse, cursing it for ripping the closest thing she ever had to a dad from her grasp. It seemed like just yesterday they made amends and he was her dad again.

But it wasn’t.

That was more than five years ago, and the few years Riley had with him were the best of her life. Even though half the time they spent together usually involved trying not to get killed.

Riley couldn’t help but think that if she had been there, had been part of that task force, hunting Kovac with Jack, she would’ve connected the dots Jack missed and realized the rescue op was a trap. She could’ve kept him alive.

Because as a team—Jack, Mac, and herself—they were invincible. But alone, they were only human.

Since that first drive with Mac, Riley drove the GTO every day. She drove it to work, to the grocery store, to the gym. She even drove it just for the sake of driving it, wasting gas with no destination in mind. On those days, she usually found herself ordering a brisket sandwich at Jack’s favorite Texas barbeque restaurant. Most of the time, she was so numb her body revolted at the idea of food, but Riley forced herself to eat the damn sandwich anyway, since she had to enjoy it for both of them now.

Driving Jack’s car was the closest thing to feeling like he was with her again.

She even stole one of Jack’s Metallica t-shirts from Mac to sleep in, but the GTO was where Riley felt his presence best.

Presence. Like all that was left of her invincible dad was a ghost, following her around quoting Bruce Willis movies and harassing her about leaving fingerprints on his car.

Soldiers died all the time. So did agents. That was part of the job. But Riley never thought her agents would die. Not really. Not when they avoided death so well. And if they were to die, they’d all go at the same time, doing something incredibly stupid. If you go kaboom, I go kaboom. That was Jack’s promise. The whole team’s promise.

“We were supposed to go kaboom together,” Riley whispered to herself, parking the GTO in Mac’s driveway. She blinked back the tears threatening to escape.

Her eyes caught the old basketball hoop. Mac and Jack used to spend hours playing HORSE right in this very spot. Jack usually won.

Mac had invited her over for dinner, but Riley couldn’t yet bring herself to go inside. A week had passed since Jack’s funeral, but since then, that first step into Mac’s house made Riley feel like she was permanently stuck at the wake, pressed against the wall and choking on tears as fate carved a gaping hole in her chest. Mac’s house—one of her favorite places in the whole world—was heavy with sorrow and guilt.

No matter how many times Mac repeated that they shouldn’t feel guilty, the what-ifs still stuck around like shackles around Riley’s wrists and ankles. She knew Mac felt the same way, even though he hid it for her sake.

Riley barely mustered the courage to go inside.

She made it two steps in when her gaze locked on Mac, standing in the kitchen, a folded American flag in his hands.

Riley thought of Jack's promise again. If you go kaboom, I go kaboom. And suddenly she was furious. Furious at Jack for walking into a trap alone. Furious at him for dying. Furious at the government—the same government she served—that sent a flag home in place of a man. Her hands shook.

Every minute she wasn't crying, Riley was angry. She tried to direct it, use it to make sure that woman never saw the light of day again. Riley refused to even call the woman by her name. She murdered Jack. She shot Bozer. She used her power as an Interpol agent to run a terrorist organization. That bitch deserved every ounce of hatred Riley spewed at her.

But sometimes Riley was just angry at everything, and she sat somewhere quiet and stewed so she didn't take it out on someone who didn't deserve it. Riley still owed Desi an apology after nearly ripping her friend’s head off when she tried to check up on Riley a few days ago.

Mac finally looked up, his expression raw and broken. It pushed Riley over the edge. Her keys fell out of her hand, and Riley’s breathing stuttered. The all too familiar lump in her throat returned, rendering her unable to speak, and the tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over, twin hot streams running down her cheeks.

Mac left the flag on the kitchen counter and strode to her, not stopping until his arms wrapped tightly around her. “I didn’t know what to do when I saw it either,” he murmured, clutching her to his chest like their lives depended on it.

Riley sobbed. She’d cried so much in the last week she didn’t think her body could produce any more tears, but they just kept coming. She weakly returned Mac's hug.

"The hole in my heart just keeps bleeding," Riley gasped. "And I don't know how to make it stop."

"I don't know either," Mac said in a rare moment of honesty. He'd been keeping up a strong front for her sake, she knew. Because if they both let go, there wouldn't be anything stopping them from drinking themselves into oblivion and hurling spite at the world.

A world that didn't deserve Jack Dalton.

Riley didn't let herself think about the fact that Jack died for nothing. Well, not completely nothing, since his death led them to the clues he'd left behind just in case. Jack's death led to Kovac being put away for good. But that would never change the fact that Jack died alone, in a trap.

Mac grunted softly. The sound pulled Riley out of her head enough to realize she'd dug her nails into Mac's back, hard enough to leave marks.

"Sorry," she whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

Mac whispered back. "It's alright, Riles."

Riles. That was Jack's nickname for her, long before it was anyone else's. Mac had picked it up after a year or so, and even Desi sometimes called her that, but above all, it belonged to Jack.

Her knees started to tremble, and Riley let Mac hold her up. Besides her mom, Mac was the only one she felt safe breaking down around. She didn't know why. She was just as close to Bozer as she was to Mac. Maybe it was because talking to Bozer still felt like sympathy and not just someone to be sad with.

"How's your mom?" Mac asked softly.

A new wave of tears, silent ones this time, rolled down Riley's cheeks. She’d spent the previous night with her mom. Riley finally told her about Jack, after receiving clearance to tell her mom everything.

It was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"We cried a lot." Riley sniffed. "I didn't know telling her would be so hard."

She knew it would suck, but finding the courage to squeak out "Jack's dead" was almost more than she could manage.

"I could've gone with you," Mac offered.

Riley appreciated the gesture. "Thanks, but I needed to do it on my own." She wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore, but she was sure of this.

They stood there for a little while longer before Mac asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Riley’s stomach turned inside out at the thought of food.

Mac’s hands got brave, roaming her body and feeling how thin she was after a week of barely eating. She could hardly manage one meal a day, much less three. Riley tensed at the intimacy of the gesture. His tone was firm. “We’re having tacos. You have to eat at least one.”

“Okay.” She knew it was pointless to argue. Mac would force-feed her if he had to.

Without thinking, she asked, "Can I sleep here tonight?" Realizing what she said, Riley quickly backtracked. "Or if you and Desi want your space I understand, and—"

Mac cut her off. "No. You can always stay here, for as long as you want." After a moment, he added, voice strained, "I want you to stay."

“Thank you,” she said weakly. Riley felt Mac’s strong façade starting to crack. She knew he couldn’t keep it up much longer, that he couldn’t hold her up forever.

Maybe then they could just lean on each other.

Jack may have left Riley and Mac behind, but at least he didn’t leave them alone. They had each other, and while they would never be able to fill the Jack-shaped hole in their lives, maybe each other would be enough to keep going.

Because as it turns out, none of them were invincible, and Riley had to figure out how to staunch the wound before she bled out on the floor.

#beth writes #macgyver #riley davis #macriley #drabble #I'M SORRY #macgyver fanfiction

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oikawaplssteponme · 4 years

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𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖

“It’s always been you. Has it always been me?”

pairing: Tobio Kageyama x fem!reader

rating/warnings: E for everyone :) [if there ever are warnings, they will be posted before reading]

synopsis: You liked him. He liked you. Easy right? Well, maybe not as easy as you thought.

a/n: hii💓 i can’t believe that im finally posting this. this is the first two chapters but it is in one post. ive been writing this for a while so im super excited to share it :)) enjoy XX

•

one: sweater

“You do realize you have to talk to her in order for her to notice you, right?” said Tsukishima. Kageyama turned to him and growled.

“Of course I know that!” huffed Kageyama. He couldn’t help but stare at you. You weren’t even doing anything. Just standing there, talking with your friend seemed to be interesting enough for him.

“I can’t just go and talk to her. What would I even say?”

“Just ask her out!” squealed Hinata. Kageyama rolled his eyes.

“No one asked you,” he said. Tsukki chuckled.

“Well I hope you enjoy staring then, because that’s all you’ll be doing if you don’t grow a pair and talk to her,” Tsukki chimed in.

Kageyama has liked you since he laid eyes on you. There wasn’t one thing he didn’t like about you.

“Give her your sweater,” said Yamaguchi suddenly.

The group turned to him.

“What?” questioned Kageyama.

“Look at her, she’s cold.” Kageyama turned to look at you again.

You were only wearing a short sleeve button up with a skirt and uniform socks. You rubbed your hands up and down your arms to warm yourself up. It was fall turning to winter and the school’s AC has been full blast all day. You didn’t remember it was going to be colder out.

“Uh...” Kageyama looked down at the sweater he was holding. It was his club one.

“That’s a great idea Tadashi!” said Hinita, practically jumping for joy.

“So what, I'm supposed to just give her my sweater and leave? That’s so stupid,” Kageyama grumbled, trying to think of any excuse possible not to go over to you.

“If you go over to her, I won’t bother you during practice,” Tsukki said. This sparked Kageyama’s interest.

“Just do it,” said Tsukki, pushing Kageyama.

He stumbled on himself, but surprisingly kept walking towards you. Your friend had already left so you were alone by your locker. He walked slowly, practically starting to shake in his shoes. He could hear Tsukki’s laughs behind him, only making him more nervous. Kageyama swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Uh... h-hi Y/N,” he managed to stumble out. You jumped, as if you were startled.

“Oh hi Kags!” You smiled.

You had the most beautiful smile Kageyama had ever seen. Kageyama was so tall, you looked small as he looked down at you. You were the only person in the world that called Kageyama ‘Kags’, and that made him like you even more.

“I saw that- well I don’t mean that I saw, I just happened to notice- that um, you looked cold. So um, here.” Kageyama reached out his sweater. You looked stunned. Your shock turned into a smile.

“Oh my gosh, thank you. I was so stupid and left my jacket at home,” you chuckled. You took the sweater with care, lightly brushing against Kageyama’s hand with your own. You put the sweater on. It hit almost to the end of your skirt and the sleeves passed your hands, so you pulled them up, holding them in the center of your palm, like sweater paws. Kageyama couldn’t help but smile. You looked so perfect in his sweater, as if it were made for you.

“I-I wouldn’t want you to be cold,” said Kageyama. Even he was surprised he could form a sentence.

“That’s so sweet of you,” you smiled. Kageyama started to drift off into his own world just by looking into your eyes.

*RING*

Kageyama snapped back into reality when he heard the final bell ring, signaling the end of the day.

“Well nice talking to you see you later,” Kageyama spoke, a mile a minute, as he rushed back to his friends as they headed to practice without him.

You stood there, with a confused smile on your face. You sighed, realizing you REALLY were wearing his sweater. You hugged yourself, smelling the sweater. You grabbed your backpack and headed to the locker room with an overwhelming smile.

two: backroads

“Aw, little Kageyama getting flustered over a pretty girl!” laughed Noya. Kageyama grumbled to himself.

“I never said I wouldn’t tell everyone,” said Tsukki, enjoying this torment of Kageyama most of all.

“I didn’t know Kageyama could like anything as much as volleyball, let alone a girl,” Daichi chuckled.

“Oh I’m pretty sure Kageyama is in lo-“ started Hinata, before Kags threw him across the gym with full force.

“Shut up Hinata, you moron!” The whole team laughed before getting shushed by Ukai to start practice.

Kageyama couldn’t focus at all. All he could think about was you in his sweater. He wasn’t in sync with Hinata, he couldn’t score with his usual line shot, and he even missed 2 serves.

When hitting lines started, he asked Suga to start. Kageyama went over to grab some water and outside for some air. Little did he know that right there was the cheer team practicing.

“Omg Y/N, isn’t that Kageyama?” said Koi, the friend you were talking to earlier. Your head did a 180, seeing that it really was Kageyama. He stood at the foot of the steps of the gym, drinking his water. You felt your face start to get hot.

“Uh yeah it is,” You said. You were still wearing his sweater, since it was chilly out, but now with leggings.

“Hey Ka-“ began Koi, before receiving your hand over her mouth.

“Say another word and I’ll kill you,” Koi laughed under the pressure of your hand. Kageyama looked up before spotting the scene before him. His eyes widened, before rushing back into the gym. You sighed.

“The last thing I need is for you to embarrass me in front of him.” You said. Koi smiled.

“Kageyama is so hard to read sometimes but one thing is for sure. He likes you.” replied Koi, giving you nudge. You smiled.

“I’m not so sure. I think he was just being nice with the whole sweater thing. I’m sure anyone would have done the same.” Koi shook her head.

“But not anyone did. He did.” Those words felt like a slight punch in the gut to you. Kageyama might be a scary and slightly unapproachable guy but he still was nice. You shook off the comment, putting your focus back on practice.

•

“Come on Kageyama! Get it together!” yelled Coach Ukai, after Kageyama shanked his second ball in a row. Kageyama has been off all practice. You clearly were the only thing occupying his mind.

“Sorry Coach,” said Kageyama, as he finally passed a ball right to target.

“Alright, shag up balls and go home,” said Coach. The team replied with a strong “right” and cleaned up.

“Wow Kageyama you really sucked today,” cheered Hinata. Kageyama sighed, knowing he was right.

“He was occupied with other thoughts-” Tsukki started before getting cut off with a punch from Kags.

“Whatever. See you guys tomorrow.” Kageyama grabbed his things and headed out the door. This was probably one of the first times he actually left practice early instead of practicing hitting with Hinata. Kageyama started to walk home. Now he was the one who was cold. His sweat cooled him off, causing him to shiver as he walked home.

“Kageyama?” He heard a voice call behind him. He turned around and there you were. His heart stopped.

“Oh, hi Y/N. What are you doing here?” He asked, trying to keep his cool. You ran towards him to catch up. You still were wearing his sweater.

“I thought I’d take this route to get home,” you replied. That was a total lie though. You knew that Kageyama always took the back roads to get to his house, which was on the street next to yours.

“Oh...” he smiled. You two walked together in silence for some time. Neither of you had the guts to say something. All your bubbly energy had left your body due to being so close to Kageyama. He was the only thing in the world that made you nervous. Suddenly you remembered.

“Oh Kags, do you want your sweater back?” you asked. You of course wanted him to say no. If you could, you would keep the sweater forever. Plus, you were cold.

“Oh uh, no, you can keep it for now. I don’t want you getting cold,” he replied. Kageyama didn’t know what else to say. He loved seeing you in his sweater as much as you loved wearing it.

“Thank you, I’ll wash it and give it to you tomorrow,” you said, unsure what else to say without professing your love for him. You could feel your cheeks getting hot, not just because of the cold breeze. Kageyama smiled, nodding his head.

You two walked for another five minutes in silence. It wasn’t an awkward kind of silence, you were just glad enough to be in his presence.

“Well um, this is my stop,” you said, pointing to your house. Kageyama gave you a shy smile.

“Oh okay. Uh, goodnight Y/N,” Kageyama said, giving a small wave. You smiled.

“Goodnight Kags.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #kageyama #tobio x you #hq tobio #haikyuu tobio #tobio fluff #Kageyama x reader #always you. 🌸

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cloudywriter · 3 years

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i never got to say i love you - 3

honestly no idea how this actually worked out but i did find it in me to pick it up where i had left off. i’ll keep working on this story and see where it goes but i think i have a few ideas. it’s not very long but it’s a start ya know. it looks nice right now too but don’t worry the angst will be there soon. xoxo

masterlist, main masterlist, AO3

~~~

From that fateful night on, Feyre spent all of her free time in the art building’s studio not even returning to her dorm until long after dark. Quite frankly, she was a little embarrassed. She showed up outside of Mor’s door fully prepared to ask her to please quiet down only to be reminded of how ridiculously dressed she was and then to top it all off after that all she did was stare at Rhysand until she ran off stuttering like a fool which was so unlike her.

She had a close call one afternoon in the dining hall but was able to make a speedy escape.

Of course, the one time she decided she should work and study somewhere that wasn’t the art studio she ended up in the library. It had been fine until they strutted in, strolling down the center of the library as if it it was a catwalk. A group of girls next to her looked up at them, giggling and blushing, and quickly averted their gazes when Cassian shot them a swift wink.

Feyre just kept her head down, trying to concentrate on the book of art history in front of her but just knowing he was in the same room as her, that she was in his vicinity had her mind unable to comprehend anything but that fact. Should she just stand up and leave? Would that draw more attention to herself?

She quickly deduced she could not wiggle her way out of this one.

Feyre propped up her textbook in hopes it would shield most of her face while she finished up the chapter and then she promised herself she could make her leave.

The scraping of a chair across the tile floor informed her she was not going to be so lucky. She zoned in on the words in front of her, she was not going to look up.

“Art history,” a voice read aloud.

Feyre looked up and arched an eyebrow at the man in front of her. “Congrats, you can read.”

“Are you an art major?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I could be or maybe I just enjoy a little art history. What are you majoring in making obvious observations?”

“Is that a new major? Because I’ll admit I’d love to take it up,” Cassian commented, crossing his arms and tucking his fist underneath his chin.

Feyre didn’t deign to respond instead she leaned further back in her chair once again focusing on the textbook.

That was until the remaining members of the trio wandered up to Feyre’s table as well.

Cassian turned around a little and gestured to Feyre, “Hey guys, I’m just hanging with my girl, Fey. You know, the one who came to yell at us last week and then drooled over Rhys.”

Feyre slammed her book flat on the table, “I did not drool!”

Cassian shrugged, “I don’t know I think I had to whip up a few drops after you left.”

Feyre just knew her bright red face betrayed her.

Rhys only laughed, a deep, sultry laugh that sounded the way expensive velvet felt. “It’s alright Feyre, darling, I’m used to it obviously.”

“Oh, don’t call me darling,” Feyre sighed, burying her face in her hands. Rhysand only smirked in response, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk.

Azriel and Cassian were hunched over, studying something on Cassian’s phone while Feyre desperately tried to pretend they weren’t there. Rhys kept on drumming his fingers, completely disrupting Feyre, to be fair she was dyslexic and she required quiet in order to sit and read.

Feyre reached out her hand, holding a pencil, and wacked Rhysand’s fingers. “Stop it!” She whisper-yelled at him.

“Feyre, darling, you wound me,” he purred, leaning back to slip his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. On almost anyone else Feyre would’ve thought the leather jacket looked stupid but it just worked on Rhysand.

Rhysand was quiet for a moment when he spoke back up, “What does one do with an art degree?”

Feyre lifted her eyes from the page in front of her, “Gods, you sound like my sister.”

Rhys cracked a smile at that, “I don’t mean it in a negative way, of course, just curious.”

“I just want to spend the rest of my life doing something I love and I happen to love painting. I know it's not the standard but I wouldn’t be happy in a 9 to 5 desk job,” Feyre explained.

Rhys nodded, he looked as though that statement had resonated with him.

At that moment both Cassian and Azriel stood up, “Hey, Rhys, Mor is texting us that she wants to meet at Rita’s for lunch. You coming?”

Feyre glanced up, making direct eye contact with Rhys, “No,” he says in a husky voice, still looking into her eyes, “I think I’ll stay.” Feyre concentrates on her book again, a small, secret smile poised on her lips. Cassian and Azriel make their exit with knowing glances passed between them.

Cassian and Azriel had only been gone for around five minutes, Feyre was trying her hardest to appear unruffled by Rhysand’s presence, her eyes glued to her book though they weren’t reading a thing. Rhys then broke the silence, “Are you hungry?”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“Famished.”

“Strange, pretty sure I saw you turn down an invite to lunch a few minutes ago,” she replied simply.

“I go to lunch everyday with Az, Mor, and Cas, but I don’t go to lunch with you, Feyre, darling. I thought I might switch it up.”

Feyre gave him her best unimpressed expression even though her heart was pumping in her chest. “You’re a shameless flirt.”

“Well, what do you say?”

Despite Feyre finding Rhysand annoyingly attractive she was hesitant to accept his invitation. She had just transferred schools, she was in the market for some friends, but the haunting memory of her failed relationship crept in like a spider knitting a web of doubt.

Feyre banished that spider, “Fine.”

+++

Rhys had taken Feyre to a cute little coffee shop that served the best sandwiches in Prythian as Rhysand had claimed. Feyre didn’t have any room to disagree. Their conversation came easy, it felt natural, not stiff like the beginning of most budding friendships. They argued, joked, and even poked fun at each other the entire time.

Rhysand continued with his brazen, flirty attitude and persistent usage of the endearment ‘darling’ much to Feyre’s dismay. It was irritating but charming, it just seemed to be wholly Rhys.

Now, Rhys and Feyre were walking side by side back towards the dorm buildings. The conversation proceeded to flow easily. When they were about to enter the courtyard adjoining the separate dorm buildings, Rhys flopped onto a bench just a little ways off the sideway. Feyre raised her eyebrow at him.

“Sit, darling. All this walking after eating and I’ll get a cramp,” he reasoned.

Feyre rolled her eyes, it certainly wasn’t that but she entertained him. She took a spot a little bit down the bench from him and leaned her head back, staring up at the tree overhead and the afternoon sun beaming through its leaves.

A question popped into Feyre’s mind and she pivoted towards Rhys, “What are you majoring in?”

Rhys’s beautiful face turned into a grimace as he turned his attention from the same tree back to her.

“Business,” he finally supplied.

“You seem disappointed by that,” Feyre commented. Rhysand looked away as his head bobbed in a noncommittal yes.

“I wanted to major in English, really. I love books, stories, even poetry as mind boggling as it may be sometimes,” Rhys let out a small chuckle, mostly to himself. “I love language too, the way you can manipulate and articulate it, it’s remarkable. I would be more than content to pour over books the rest of my life or share my passion for stories and language with others.”

“Then why do business?” Feyre knew she was probably prying but her curious nature always got the best of her.

“My father,” Rhys admitted. “He’s a businessman you know, convinced it's always the way to go whether you truly enjoy it or not. Doesn’t matter if you’re happy if you have a stable job and are making good money in his eyes. Not to mention, he demands I work with him at his company after school. I lost the will to fight him on it, just easier to appease him at this point. Books will still be there.”

Feyre let the words hang in the air between them. She knew, of course, the feeling of being unsupported but still her family hadn’t forced her hand. Feyre reached out, resting her hand lightly over Rhysand’s in silent support while still giving him the option to pull away.

He didn’t. He wrapped her small hand in his own and turned his head toward her.

The wind tousled his black hair back and forth with each turn of its direction. In the sun’s light his eyes were bright, framed by thick lashes. Feyre wished she could freeze time and pull out her paints to capture the image. The overwhelming desire to do so took Feyre by surprise. Since leaving for Velaris that deep yearning to paint a particular scene, a moment of inspiration so strong it paralyzed her, hadn’t been prominent. Truly, it hadn’t been there for a while. She usually had to force out a drawing or painting for an assignment.

Then Rhys gave her a gentle smile, it looked how Feyre imagined touching clouds would feel. It brought a funny feeling to her stomach.

“Do what makes you happy, Rhys, always,” she added so quietly she thought her words might’ve been blown away by the breeze before they even reached his ears.

Yet, Rhys squeezed her hand the smallest bit.

~~~

well this is for you @maybekindasortaace

let me know if you wanted to be added to my feysand taglist or my rowaelin taglist or both, ya know

#feysand au #feyre x rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feysand fanfic #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #acotar #rhysand #cassian #azriel #morrigan #feysand #feysand fluff #feyre x rhys #i never got to say i love you

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darthbecky726 · 3 years

Text

Bad Batch 1x01 spoilers

I've never done something like this before, but I figured I'd start. Reactions to the first episode of The Bad Batch. (This ended up being a lot longer than I intended, but whatever)

Spoilers under the cut

Red logo burning away starts strong

Yay narrator dude!!

Feels like clones wars

Animated rots scenes!!

And what grevious did after the rots beginning

HOLY SHIT DEPA!!!!!

And caleb right???

And we're in

Omg who voiced young caleb bc it sounds a lot like fpj but aged down and he def doesn't sound like the 14 I know he was when this happened

I like how we started out on familiar characters but not ahsoka or anyone from tcw. We started w young kanan and his master and we know what happened to them and all but if anyone watching hasn't seen rebels they wouldn't be lost as to who caleb and depa are, they'd just assume they're random jedi in o66

Good ol droid screaming as it falls off a cliff

Wow. Them.

I love crosshair

And wrecker

And tech

And echo

And hunter

B1's are so dumb

Lmao the salt from hunter

I feel like depas forehead pearls are a bit unrealistically large but I have no cultural standpoint to really know so...

Caleb's voice is too deep in the same way that jack frost from rotg's voice doesn't match his character model

Ah wrecker not really knowing what she means and echo, the one who has been trained to deal w people and hung out w ani and obi is just like 'thanks general'

Obes kenobes mention

Why is echo so pale

Depa and caleb feel a little too pale too tbh I wonder if it's the lighting or the whitewashing

Wow caleb is a lot like ezra, I can see why kanan wanted to train him lol

Is this what separates caleb and depa, leading to her telling him to run??? Do I need to read dume???

Oh no

Noooooooooo

Bb didn't get the order!

Oh caleb nooooo! Nooooooo they didn't receive that order, they can help you!!!

And he's gone

Oh I need an au where caleb stayed with bb and they helped him after depa died

Hunter sounds so much like rex it's weird like ik they're supposed to sound the same but it feels like wrecker is replacing rex or something. Even tho ik rex's story is over for the time being

Crosshair, no! Don't shoot at him! He's baby

Oh no did crosshair get o66???? It didn't seem to trigger anything in any of the rest of them, but is crosshair close enough to 'reg' for it to have triggered???

😭😭good soldiers follow orders

"sure thing, boss" "hey hunter got a sitch"

Crosshair acting sus

Oh I love watching padawans fight, they're so good!!

I hope that hit to the tree did a lil cognitive recalibration for crosshair, he was acting crazy

Caleb looks so scared!! He just watched his master get gunned down by his friends and now strange clones are trying to kill him/confusing him

Oh caleb

Oh no crosshair don't try to kill him!! Hunters trying to help!

Also hunter doesn't sound as much like rex w the helmet off, but it's weird bc most of the clones are distinguishable by voice even w helmets on. I guess it's the 'im in charge' voice

Star wars if caleb had gone w the bb

Oh hunter u sly dog lying to crosshair so he doesn't go after him. U gotta figure out why crosshair responded to o66 and no one else in ur unit did

Oh crosshair knows he's been lied to

I will always love coming-out-of-hyperspace shots

Ooh kamino, always nice this time of year

Echo is done w wrecker

Why hasn't crosshair taken his helmet off yet, lil bit sus

They better get his chip out on kamino, I don't wanna deal w this

Oof hunter

Oh who’s that, giving me cloud city vibes

Extreme cloud city vibes wow

Never realized how many clones are just on kamino

Coruscant guard?!?! FOX?!?!

The vibes here, omg

‘The war is over’ wow

Oh no who was that

A female jedi, doesn’t appear to be shaak, couldn’t see any montrals but never know, we don’t officially know how or where she died

Ok wow none of the bb has their helmets on except for crosshair, who got the order. The regs around kamino all have their helmets on. That scene in victory and death when ahsoka took rex’s helmet off-

And crosshair, he’s actins strange too

Oh tech, do u guys get bullied by regs a lot??

I love their barracks

Lol he finally took his helmet off only to stick a toothpick in his mouth, can he get anymore cliched?

Wrecker is seeming a lot more infantilized than he was in the s7 eps...

Yeah crosshair’s being sus

Ooh, he shifted his toothpick

Lmao ‘what programming’

Well documented my ass

Tech’s speech patterns are so stiff and robotic, it’s like he has to remind himself to talk in basic instead of binary or some shit

Tech throwing shade at crosshair

I can’t quite tell if we’re supposed to like crosshair at this point

Lmao we been knew

Oop ‘more machine than man’ the vader parallels are serving folks

Understatement.

Ugh sheev

Crusty ass bitch

Straight from rots wow

Who is the mystery child and why does he look mandalorian

Ooh he gone

Oh no, the beninning of the empire

Cheering?? Why?!?

That imperial march fade in tho

Thank you echo

Oh shit mystery child is female

Omega, I would not have guessed the pronunciation of your name by reading it wow

She def seems mandalorian

Ugh kaminoans

Oh the kaminoan pronounced it as it usually is, huh.

Omega’s character model def seems more masculine than female, I now headcanon her as trans

Ugh tarkin, I hate that crusty bitch

Empire politics ugh

I love how much shade is being thrown at tarkin and his stormtrooper proposal lmao

Why do all these clones have the standard haircut?? ik them boys like their variety, even if these boys are still under o66′s programming

Wrecker you’re being extremely loud

They’re all being loud in the mess, why

They remember, kid

Lol child

Oh my sweet summer children

The dad instinct was clearly passed genetically from jango lol all these clones got it

Why are background characters so mean? What about it, shiny? Why is ur hair regulation, reg??

The Sad Batchn omg the slander

Lol the food fight I’ve read about in the fics, its finally happening!

Is she.... australian??

The over-animation of character movements in this is reminding me of the looser style of rebels, as opposed to the more clunky style of tcw

Lmao he’s still got food on him

Food fight!!

‘Not again’???!!! Echo!! Wdym not again?! Food fights have happened before?!?? Wait. W bb or w torrent, bc I can see torrent having food fights on the resolute-

Crosshair’s just eating his food until someone messes

I like how echo still has his kamas

Oh no echo!!

Oh echo’s trauma, he doesn’t trust medical droids! Where’s kix when u need him, huh?

Lol, comically long name for a robot trope is alive and well, huh

Lmao the droid lowers his voice like ik this is a perceived bad thing, but I will not tolerate this slander, boys u need to get off kamino

‘The shock’ lmao whyyy

Lmao tech!!

Oh, echo recognized tarkin from the citadel!

‘When you blew up’ lmao

Oh they make me sad

Aaaaah fox!

Man the domino squad nostalgia

Those droids look cool

This is a neat scene, I like seeing them in action

Wrecker reminding me of hevy, but he’s got the training and success to back it up

Live fire???? No!!

Ugh I hate tarkin

Oh no wtecker

Did he just get shot!???!

Oh no crosshair, be careful!

Tarkin’s trying to kill them!!!

Lol wrecker I love you

Echo using his mech hand as a weapon, truly an arc

Now I wanna see what happened on felucia

I like how tech’s just sitting on the droid’s shoulders

And hunter just had a knife

These boys, I love them

Oh no tech bby

Hot damn that was cool

Wrecher things so too lmao

Tarkin’s like “why didn’t that work??’

Oh new baby clones

No tf they could not, they would never serve the empire and those bitches

I love that they have a window apartment lol

Ugh tarkin u shifty

They all stand at attention, only after glaring at tarkin

Oh no onderon

I hate tarkin, he’s a bitch

How quickly could bitch lord and darth sad have replaced the armory on kamino??

Crosshair still acting sus

Neither does echo, kid

No.

I like omega.

Crosshair, with the sassy hand on the hip-

What does that even mean?? Or elude to??

Lmao tech messing w wrecker, they rlly r bros

Its prob the vegetation

Oh, I missed onderon, but not this much

Lol the put-upon sigh

Its clearly saw and his rebels

Saw! Looking sharp, what’s w the hair....

That’s a very geometric beard, saw

They didn’t kill any jedi!

That’s not what happened, tech

‘The clones’ bitch that was rex and ahsoka, check urself

Aw, I’ve always like the design of imperial probe droids

Thank you, echo

It seems like crosshair’s o66 programming and his mutation are warring w his morals

Lmao the shade

I knew she was an enhanced clone!

Oh, so she is (at least on paper) trans! She’s a clone of jango, and yet she’s female! That must be her modification, but it makes me wonder why

Lol *flicks toothpick*

Aw, they have a picture of themselves! Recent-ish, too, its got echo!

Oh no, AZI!

The difference between them arriving earlier and now, the lack of escort...

Creepy how they had to open the hanger door themselves

Oh no! Everyone!

The coruscant guard, I wish they had gotten better

Tarkin u dramatic bitch

‘The brig’ this ain’t some tallship

Lol echo that shade

Their blacks are different from the ones seen in the past

Crosshair, stop being a bitch

Oh, I don’t like that phrase!! And the fact that crosshair screamed it in echo’s face makes me uneasy. Did rex fill echo in on why fives died?? I hope so...

Crosshair, ur chip hurting??

This child, I like her.

No! Don’t hit hunter!

No crosshair!!!!

I dislike this immensly

So they do still have inhibitor chips!

Tarkin you monster

Oh poor crosshair

ihatethisihatethisihatethis

Lol tech I love you

Wrecker you sweet pea

Lol that’s adorable

I love how they form a “wall” its so suspicious

He was about to say that, omega

Aaww, echo protective boi

Wrecker shut up tf

That was cool

Sneaky bois

This reminds me of rex and ahsoka sneaking around in v&d

Echo runs so stupid

Oh no they winter soldier’d him!

If he says who the hell is crosshar, I will lose my shit

Yes, he has. They took it from him.

The toothpick

I wonder how they’re gonna get crosshair back to normal

Not good that they nabbed the sniper

Oh, crosshair shot him in the same place he got hit during training!

Ooh, a kaminoan on their side!

I hope omega doesn’t die

Poor trigger etiquette, crosshair

Wonder if omega has any speciality training

They’re just gonna leave him there!?!?!?!?!

Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!

Omega reminds me of young boba

Oh, so its in her dna

Go back for crosshair!!

Holy fucking shit that was amazing! I didn’t expect it to be that long, but I’m not complaining! This ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but I don’t feel like cutting anything out, so sorry for the long post but at least I put it under a cut.

#bad batch spoilers #bad batch #spoilers #star wars #long post #play by play #sw #becky's fandom rambles

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much-obliged-timothy · 4 years

Text

I had so much fun writing Timothy/Axton for my fic that my stupid brain had an idea for another fic about these two chaotic idiots. Anyways, I have absolutely no plot to make this into a full fic, so here’s a little taste of the idea just to get it out of my brain.

It takes place before the events of Borderlands 2, something something Tim escaped Jack just to be forced to work for a bandit gang on Pandora, something something they capture Axton and the two end up forming a reluctant friendship and also idk how to plot for my life so experimental one-shot below the cut!

When Axton fled to the border planets, he found that he was quite good at bounty hunting.

The skills he’d honed in the Dahl military served him well to hunt and capture his bounties, dead or alive. And he found that, for a while at least, he enjoyed it. The pay was good and the challenge kept things interesting.

Whenever it became too easy, he’d move on to the next area and try to find tougher bounties. When that became too easy, he looked elsewhere.

It’s how he’d ended up on Pandora. He’d heard the bandits here were unpredictable, and some were strong. It livened up his bounty hunting again, though he knew he’d move on to the next planet eventually.

Or, at least, that had been the plan until the unpredictability of Pandora’s inhabitants led to his capture.

Currently, he sat bound tightly in a bandit tent, somewhere in their well guarded camp. He was frustrated with himself for ending up here.

But how was he supposed to know the bandit he’d been fighting had a digistruct watch? Hell, he didn’t even know what the watch had spawned, because as soon as it was activated, Axton found himself under a volley of fire, and then he’d been struck in the head.

And now, here he was, blood drying on the side of his face and a headache disrupting his thoughts of escape. He tested the bindings once again, but they were far too tight for him to slip. They’d disarmed him as well, so even if he did escape, he wouldn’t make it very far.

The opening to the tent was shoved aside. Axton looked up, realizing he’d been out for a while. It’d been daylight when he got in the fight, but now it was starting to get dark out.

In came two men. One was the target he’d been hoping to snag for a nice price, a bandit leader by the name of Deacon who apparently had a bodyguard no one had thought to throw on the wanted poster.

The bodyguard in question stood next to Deacon now. Axton glared at what little of the man he could see.

Really, it was just the man’s right eye. He had a hood pulled down to his eyes, and a gaiter pulled up nearly to his eyes. His left eye was bandaged, the bandages disappearing up into his hood and down into his gaiter. A scar cut dangerously close to his right eye, also disappearing between the hood and gaiter.

“Oh, you got us a nice one this time, Tim,” Deacon said, crouching in front of Axton and eyeing him critically. “Ex-military, I’d guess.”

“And not too out of practice,” the bodyguard, Tim, grumbled, rubbing his ribs where Axton had managed to roughly kick him during their fight.

“We can have another round,” Axton offered, tugging at his restraints.

“Nah, one and done for me,” Tim said. His voice was familiar, but Axton couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t help that it was muffled by the gaiter.

“We’ll see if they bring in a nice catch tomorrow to toss him into the fight ring with,” Deacon said, standing up. “Keep an eye on him through the night. Don’t wanna lose this one.”

“What?” Tim’s visible eye widened in despair. “Why me?”

“Because that was an order, and you always follow orders, don’t you, Timmy?” Deacon said, going right up to Tim and tapping his neck. Axton hadn’t noticed the collar fixed around it during their fight, but it seemed glaringly obvious now.

Tim smacked his hand away. “Fine. But I hate the mouthy ones, so I’m gagging him if he annoys me.”

“Do what you want. Just don’t mess him up anymore,” Deacon said, heading for the exit and clapping Tim on the shoulder as he went. “That’s a good boy, Timmy.”

“Oh, man, I wish I died in infancy,” Tim groaned.

“You could die now if you untie me?” Axton offered.

“Tempting, but no.” Tim sat down across from Axton. He held up five fingers. “Five more words. That’s all you get before I gag you, and yes, it’s because I’m still salty you broke my ribs. Health kits fixed me up, but it really freaking hurt dragging you back here with busted ribs.”

Axton was at least pleased he’d injured this asshole. Still, he wasn’t seeing a way out of this right now.

Even if he managed to get free of his restraints, he now had someone guarding him. And this guy was no joke as a fighter. Axton figured he was largely self taught by the way he handled a gun- familiar, but not exactly good form. Still, that made his movements hard to predict.

Axton might have the advantage in this enclosed space. Tim had tried to keep distance between them during the fight, and was pitiful at close combat fighting compared to Axton. It was after Axton had kicked him in the ribs and begun to aim at Tim’s head that he’d activated his watch.

That was the problem, though. Axton could see the outline of the watch under the jacket Tim wore. By the time Axton could lunge at him for an attack, Tim could activate it.

Plus, there was the matter of the other enemies. He didn’t know how large the population of the camp was, only that it had been well guarded when he’d scouted it out earlier. It’s why he’d attempted to follow Deacon when the man left on some errand, only to find himself confronted by Deacon’s...bodyguard? Slave?

“You could kill that dude and slip the collar,” Axton said, wondering if maybe he could turn Tim on his side.

“Nope, Deacon’s not the only one with a controller,” Tim said, getting up and kneeling in front of Axton. “Congratulations, you wasted all the words I’m granting you for the night on a failed attempt to win me over and aid your escape.”

He promptly gagged Axton before sitting back against the wall of the tent. Axton tried to maneuver the gag out of his mouth, but gave up before he could manage to choke himself. He settled for trying to loosen the restraints, and Tim let him have at it since they both knew it was hopeless.

A fight ring, huh? Were they going to use him as a fighter to earn bets until he burned out or was killed? He’d heard that fight rings were pretty popular on Pandora. Shit, this wasn’t how he wanted to have a challenge.

They sat in silence for hours. Tim flicked through an ECHO, looking bored. He occasionally glanced up at Axton, but never bothered trying to stop him from his meager escape attempts.

Finally, though, he sighed loudly and got up, yanking the gag out of Axton’s mouth and sitting back down. Axton took note of the fact that he was still favoring his ribs, despite claiming to be healed.

“I’m bored, but if you piss me off, I’ll gag you again,” he warned. “What’s a Dahl guy doing on Pandora?”

“Ex-military. Your master was right,” Axton said.

It was hard to make out his expressions since most of his face was covered, but Axton could tell his words had irritated Tim. He wondered if he’d be gagged again.

But Tim didn’t bother. “He’s your master now, too, kiddo.” He touched the collar around his throat, whole body stiffening at the feel. “Even if you don’t get to wear the expensive jewelry, you belong to him now. He’ll toss you into the fight ring over and over until you’re no use to him anymore.”

“Is that what he did to you?” Axton asked, nodding towards the scar he could see.

“No. I’m too valuable for that,” Tim said, his voice surprisingly bitter. He fell silent for a moment, collecting himself before speaking again. “Shouldn’t have picked up the bounty, kiddo. That’s how he gets ‘em. I either kill the ones who won’t last in the ring, or bring the worthy ones back.”

“How did he know I was following him?” Axton said. “I was careful.”

“He didn’t know. I did. I saw you scouting the camp, so I sent him on an errand to draw you out into the open. Once I was sure you were alone, I went for it,” he said. He sounded exhausted. “I’d pissed him off. Needed to please him before he got too mad. Just bad luck on your part.”

Slave, then. Definitely not a willing bodyguard.

Tim glanced at the opening to the tent, listening hard. Then he lowered his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and the waver in his voice shocked Axton. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I would’ve let you go any other time, but I needed to...he was going to...Shit. Doesn’t matter. Picked my own safety over you, and that’s that.”

Axton stared at Tim, but Tim didn’t look at him again. Axton weakly tugged at the restraints again, but it was no use.

He didn’t bother speaking again. He knew a defeated man when he saw one. Tim was in survival mode, and he wasn’t going to risk his life to free Axton, regardless of what he morally wanted to do.

They sat in silence until the sunlight crept into the tent. The entrance opened and in came Deacon.

He roughly kicked Tim in the ribs, Tim hissing in pain and jerking away. “Hope you weren’t sleeping on the job, Timmy.”

“Obviously not,” Tim snapped, gently rubbing his ribs. “God, you freaking Pandoran scum.”

His eyes widened a little at his own words. Deacon sighed heavily, pulling something from his pocket. Axton had just enough time to realize it was a small controller before Deacon’s finger pressed against it and Tim began screaming.

Tim fell to the ground, prying at the collar in agony, his body jerking in a way that told Axton he was being shocked. Axton could smell burnt flesh the longer Tim screamed.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill him!” Axton said angrily. He’d seen devices like that used on prisoners of war the Dahl military had captured before. He’d thought it inhumane even back then, some of them suffering like Tim was for hours before the shocks finally became too much and killed them.

Deacon pressed on the controller again and Tim gasped for breath, body shaking violently. He flinched as Deacon placed a foot on his ribs.

“Someday I’ll teach you to mind that tongue, TJ.” He spoke the name like a slur. Tim flinched again. “You’re lucky you brought me a nice catch, or else I might’ve shocked you right into another seizure. Get up and leash our new pet. I’ll be back for him in a few minutes. You’re on thin fuckin’ ice with me.”

He left the tent. Tim tried to push himself upright, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate and he fell back to the ground with a weak sob. He tried again, and Axton actually felt bad for the guy as he once again couldn’t get himself up.

Finally, he managed it. He shakily walked over to a box in the tent, digging through it and coming out with a black collar, like something Axton would’ve stuck on a dog. Thankfully, it wasn’t the complex device locked around Tim’s own throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tim choked out as he clasped it around Axton’s throat. “Oh, hell, what the fuck am I? I’m sorry.”

“Guess I should’ve known you were the type to restrain a man and stick a collar on him,” Axton said. “Not really my scene, but I guess I’ve gotta give it a try. What’s my safe word?”

Tim let out a weak, choked laugh. “Shit.”

“Huh, weird choice, but I’ll keep it in mind,” Axton said.

“If you play along for now, you might be able to get out down the line,” Tim said, his voice quiet. “Won’t blame you if you come after me when you escape. But I’ll fight back.”

Axton eyed the collar. Just the barest strip of skin around it was revealed, but Axton could see how badly the shocks had burned him and scarred his throat.

“Nah, not you,” he said. “Deacon’s got the bounty on him. Be a shame if his controller got broken when I killed him, huh?”

Tim turned away from Axton. “I’ll just get passed along to the next one. I’m...sorry. But I can’t undo what I did. Welcome to the fight ring, Dahl.”

“Axton,” Axton said. “My name is Axton.”

“Not anymore,” Tim said.

When Deacon came back, he found them sitting in silence. Tim did as Deacon ordered him, no hesitation as he helped get Axton up and moving to drag him to the fight ring and seal his fate.

Axton considered trying to flee as they transported him. But he took one look at Tim’s horrifically scarred throat and decided against it.

He’d get free someday. And when he did, he was going to kill Deacon and break that damn controller.

#borderlands #timothy lawrence #Axton the Commando #timothy lawrence/axton #borderlands fic #borderlands au #My writing #will i ever have a coherent idea in my entire life

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Colors Burst (Adore-Centric) - Candy Cane

A/N: sooooo this is the first fic for this fandom that im posting yay :D no, i am not used to this so i really hope none of my characterizations are awful dfdsfddfs anyways, this is 100% completely just self-indulgent do not mind me. i really hope you enjoy!! <3

It starts as a headache just something sitting in the back of her head, making her have to work a little harder for every word, every thought, every movement. Adore isn’t bothered by it, sometimes it ebbs away enough for her to think it’s gone completely, and sometimes it comes back strong enough to keep her down for an hour or so. Adore just takes a couple painkillers and moves on with her life.

It’s been a week now, though. The headache is persistent, and she hasn’t been getting enough sleep, and sometimes it makes her so dizzy or nauseous she can’t eat. She knows she can’t ignore it much longer, because her friends and her roommates are starting to notice and she really doesn’t think it’s that important.

When Courtney brings home dinner for everyone, and Adore can’t get out out of bed because of this stupid fucking headache, she almost feels broken. A week of sleepless nights and zero productivity fueled by a pain she doesn’t know the cause of and simply can’t control. It’s hell.

Courtney comes looking for her, of course. The bedroom door being opened sends in a wave of light from the hallway that makes Adore groan with another spike of pain. Adore brings the blanket up over her eyes to block the light out, and she tries not to feel bad when she hears Courtney’s little worried gasp.

She listens to Courtney come over to her bedside, then the blonde rubs a comforting hand along Adore’s shoulder, and whispers, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Adore rolls over and opens her eyes in a squint in order to look at her without making the headache worse. Her long-time friends looks as pretty and put together as she always does, and it feels good to know that at least someone’s doing well.

“My head…” Adore groans, and melts into the feeling of Courtney’s long fingers rubbing gently against her scalp.

“Oh dear…” Courtney frowns, “I’ll get you some water and panadol, maybe some food will help too.”

Adore just groans again and pushes her face into her pillow.

“Not hungry,” Adore mutters, but it’s so muffled she knows Courtney probably can’t understand her.

“What was that?” Courtney asks, sweet as ever. Adore hates being right sometimes.

She pulls her head back up and says again, “‘m not hungry!” and then promptly face plants back into her pillow.

Courtney rolls her eyes, “Well you have to eat, and an empty stomach doesn’t usually help a headache. Have you eaten anything today?”

Adore shrugs her shoulders, knowing that Courtney wouldn’t count a questionably old pack of skittles as real food. “Adore,” Courtney admonishes her, sounding almost exactly like someone’s mom.

“Hey, you guys good?” Katya says, and Adore realizes that now the whole fucking house is gonna be aware she’s acting like a baby. Again.

“Yeah, Adore just has a headache,” Courtney replies, and Adore buries her head deeper into her pillow.

“Oh, is that what’s been bugging her lately?”

“What do you mean?” And Coutney sounds concerned enough for Adore to feel a sense of guilt rising up within her.

Adore knows they’re talking about her, but she’s in so much pain she doesn’t even care. She just tunes it out. If they decide to kick her out for being whiney she’ll just go pout to Alaska and hope it garners enough sympathy for her to stay with her until she finds a new place. Maybe she can move into Bianca’s spare bedroom, or she’ll live on the streets singing for coins until she gets spontaneously found by a producer and lives in hotel rooms going on tour for the next three years-

“Adore?” Katya says gently, almost conspiratorially.

The younger turns her face over, and opens her eyes just enough to find herself practically nose to nose with the Russian.

“Uhhh… hi?” Adore whispers, knowing she should be used to this by now, even if she really isn’t.

“Hi,” Katya grins, big and goofy and it makes Adore feel a little better.

They stare at each other for a solid five seconds, Katya grinning and Adore knowing she probably looks like a stunned goldfish, and then Katya breaks out into a wheezing laughter that gets Adore smiling too.

“You’re so crazy,” Adore giggles.

Katya nods along with her, “Yes I am, but that’s not news.” Adore opens her mouth to say something silly, but winces when another shot of pain reverberates through her skull, and instead she whimpers out, “Fuck.”

Katya makes a sympathetic, worried sound that stresses Adore more. She hates worrying people. She hates coming off as a burden, as someone who needs to be constantly taken care of. Adore’s scared that that’s all she does.

“Oh, hon…” Katya grimaces, “Courtney should be back with something here in a second, okay?”

Adore nods, but pulls the blanket back over her face unhappily. Katya chuckles, and reaches around so she can lightly scratch her long, manicured nails along Adore’s scalp. They sit like that for a couple minutes, and even though it isn’t making Adore want to fall asleep, it’s still really nice. It’s nice to know her friends care so much even though she’s a hyperactive toddler (as Bianca likes to say).

“Okay, I’ve got just the thing,” Courtney says as she walks back in, all brisk steps and unshakable confidence. Adore will never not be amazed by her.

Two painkillers and a cup of warm lemon ginger tea later, Adore’s able to sit up and have a lamp on in her room. Katya and Courtney teased and joked with each other the whole time, and Adore was grateful for it. For everything.

She’s sitting in her bed, listening to those two crazies be absolutely perfect when they all hear a very sarcastic shout from the kitchen of, “I’m home! Thanks for the welcome party!”

…Causing all three of the other girls to break into uproarious laughter. Not a second later, Trixie, very clearly unamused, is leaning against Adore’s door frame, blonde hair tied up in a neat bun, lips pretty and pink, just like always. Consistency, normalcy, feels so good to Adore.

“Hi honey, how was work?” Katya asks with the world’s cheekiest smile, making Trixie roll her eyes.

“Ha ha,” Trixia says blandly.

The woman then straightens up and goes to give each of them a hug. Adore’s last, but she does notice that the one arm embrace lingers. She doesn’t mind.

“Bad day?” Trixie frowns.

“She’s got a headache,” Courtney says, squeezing Adore’s hand.

“Still?”

And oh shit Adore forgot she mentioned it to her earlier this week. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She doesn’t look up from the bottom of her empty tea cup, and wishes not for the first time she was invisible. Why does he have roommates again? She’s a loner, a lone wolf, an outcast, she does better alone. Fucking rent is definitely too high in this town.

“‘Still!?’” Katya and Courtney repeat in perfect fucking unison.

Three pairs of eyes turn to her, and Adore once again wishes she could just disappear.

Adore pouts and rolls the tea spoon between her fingers just so she has something to do with her anxious hands, “It’s two separate headaches. I think, maybe… I dunno!”

“Oh, honey, no…” Trixie sighs.

“Have you been getting enough sleep? Food? Water?” Courtney asks rapidly, her brow creasing in a way that alone serves to make Adore worse.

“Look, I’m fine! I’m not dying,” Adore says, trying and failing to keep the exasperation out of her voice, “Can we please go eat now? I’m starving.”

It must’ve been that last little bit of her usual self that got Courtney her roommates to concede, even if just begrudgingly.

Adore can’t deny how good it feels to sit around the kitchen with her friends, as if nothing was ever wrong, as if she isn’t incredibly pathetic sometimes. She loves watching Katya pretend to throw a noodle across the room at Trixie, she loves listening to Courtney babble on about her day, she loves Trixie’s excited laughter at every joke. It’s so… perfect.

Adore grins and laughs along with them, her headache ebbing away for now. She knows eventually she’ll have to face mother-henning and concern, no matter how awful it makes her feel. So for now Adore holds onto this moment, because it’s a really good fucking moment.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #courtney act #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #gen fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #caretaking #lesbian au #cisgirl au #colors burst #candy cane #concrit welcome

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Ride

[Rio x Reader]

Word Count: 3.2k

“Alright, alright party people! Coming to the stage now is your girl, Candiiii!”

DJ Thundercat announces a dancer to the stage who sends the house into a frenzy. Lights dance across her body giving you mere snapshots of what she had going on before the glowing red spotlight revealed her deviant frame. The deep tones of her skin set a perfect backdrop for the light to catch. Her smile looked like fangs as she snaked around the stage, eyeing the crowd through the hordes of money raining in front of her. She shakes her Diana Ross-esque hair around to rev up the crowd even more.

You carry your drink tray back to the bar and lean back, enjoying the view.

“She’s a fucking sight, ain’t she?” The bartender, Jules says to you while popping open a can of Coke.

“Always. I don’t know how she does it every single time…” your voice trails as she climbs the pole, leaning back into a move called the Eye Opener. A guy in the front row looks like he wants to eat his chair, he’s so enraptured.

“Practice and passion is all it takes. And when your money is up, a good doctor doesn’t hurt,” Jules says before tapping your shoulder. “You know a drop is going down tonight.”

“Really?” you say with worry. “Is it the same guy as before or someone else?”

“Someone new. He may be working with the guy from before but since he got his job back as a cop he has to keep his nose a little cleaner.”

You snort. “Yeah right. So what is this guy's deal?”

Jules leans closer to you. “So you know Aviator? Last I heard, he is behind on some payments, plural! How he is still breathing is anybody’s guess but some dude named Rio is coming in with his crew to set up a payment plan.”

“Well that’s nice...right?”

Jules looks at you like you shat an egg. “Are you kidding me? That’s just code for curtains. Sleeping with the fishes. Giving him a Colombian necktie. That’s why I’m telling you in case something big goes down. Get your ass far away from the action as possible.”

You thank Jules as she sets a couple drinks on your tray for you to serve. You adjust your red fishnet stocking rolling down your thigh and head over to table 8.

“Thanks honey.” One middle aged balding man says, holding out a $10 bill.

You smile nice and wide and take hold of the bill, but he won’t let go.

“Does this get me to see a little of what those cups are holding in honey?” He palms your breast over your pleather cups before you could even clapback. So instead you clapped the back of his shiny noggin.

With the $10 in your possession, you push in down your cleavage. “If you like it rough, just ask. But if you like it hard, try again. If swallowing glass is your kink.” His partner applauds, laughing at his friends mishap.

You briskly walk away, heart pounding in your chest. You hate confrontation, but you refuse to be walked over in this business. Certainly not by some cheap regular who tips to get his ass beat by women.

You notice some figures entering in your peripheral. The front is too dark to see but there are several heads standing by which you find odd.

You find Jules for another drink order. “Hey, do you recognize those guys?”

Jules squints at them as they come forward. A stray light finds the face of one in the middle.

“Shit. I think that’s him. Rio.”

You look over but Jules pinches you. “Don’t call attention to yourself! Be stealthy about it.” She sets two more Cokes on your tray and shoos you away.

You walk more carefully than you regularly do, nervous about the new guests. You set the drinks down for the patrons who thank you and send you off. When you turn around you almost bump into a figure.

“Shit, sorry,” you say before freezing in place. This Latino dude with a neck tattoo peers at you like he was expecting you.

“No, it’s no problem. Excuse me will suffice.” His voice sounds like when you strained your voice at a concert the previous night, raspy and low.. You wait a minute for him to laugh or smile to let you know he is joking but enough time passed to tell you that wasn’t the case.

“Well...excuse…” You couldn’t bring yourself to the end of that phrase as you turned to walk away. Is this fool joking?

“You didn’t take my drink order, Ms. Waitress,” he calls out to you. Amazingly his low, gruff voice is very distinct over Megan thee Stallion playing in the background.

You walk up to him, looking him straight in his eyes. You can’t lie that it is impressive how his eyes trained on your never wavered elsewhere. Especially in a skin tight strapless one piece that hugged every curve like a straight jacket, how could he be so focused on a drink?

“Sure what can I get you?” you ask sharply.

“Don’t you need a pen and paper?” He asks.

“I’ll remember it,” you say with a slight slip of attitude.

His smile somehow does not break his stone glare. It actually warms his features like a hearth in the dead of winter. He must’ve been adorable as a child, you thought. That smile would make anyone spoil him.

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Get me and partners some top shelf whiskey, straight. Matter of fact, bring the bottle and some shot glasses.”

“We don’t serve alcohol, only Coke products. Where will you be sitting?” you ask, mouth turning dry.

He walks beside you, stopping just inches from your ear. “Bring it to VIP.”

You let out a heavy breath when his crew deserts you and head for Jules at the bar who is steaming.

“What did I say?” she hisses.

“I know! But he walked up on me! Look, he asked for alcohol. A bottle of whiskey for shots. What the hell do I do?”

Jules reaches under the counter, pulling out a brand new bottle of Johnny Walker and some clean shot glasses.

“For VIP we do, we just don’t advertise. And he is as VIP as it gets. Don’t do anything stupid. Girls have come out of their having done shit they couldn’t even talk to God about.”

Your heart dips at the thought of what could happen and your usually steady hands tremble under the weight of the bottle and glasses balancing on your tray. The velvet rope in front of the heavy curtains that lead to VIP is unlatched by a bodyguard who doesn’t even look at you: stoic as the Queen’s royal guard.you push open the curtain and see Rio sitting on the purple lounge couch, legs spread and posture relaxed. Everyone is quiet.

He looks at you, and only you. “There she is. Thanks for pulling this favor for me Ms. Waitress.”

He motions you over to him and you obey, laying the tray down on the glass table in front of him.

“Would you mind pouring it for me? My wrist ain’t what it used to be and that bottle is pretty heavy,” he says, rubbing it for emphasis.

He doesn’t come off as weak in any sense of the word, but you oblige his request. You give him a small smile and crack open the seal, filling the room with the glug of the bottle filling five shot glasses.

“You accept tips, right?” He asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out a roll of bills.

You stand there with your hands folded in front of you trying not to stare. “Well, if it’s offered.”

He nods slowly pulling a couple hundreds off. “I’ll give you this if you take these shots with me.”

He lays down the money on the tray and looks up at you waiting. You stutter anxiously.

“I-I thought you and-and your crew were drinking?”

“If we were, we would. But I like to keep them sober on the clock, so I figured we could indulge.” He picks up a glass of the brown liquor. “Sit down for me.”

You do so hesitantly, keeping mind to leave space between you and him. He picks up a glass and hands it to you.

“I...don’t hold my liquor well,” you confess.

“I don’t mind.” He lifts the glass to his lips, knocking his head back swiftly and firmly sets the emptied shot on the table.

“Do I have a choice here? We are shorthanded out there,” you lied, trying to see if any mercy was in his heart but he just stares. You can see his jaw tighten over your resistance, fist balling on the couch. Could he tell this wasn’t truthful? Whatever it took to get out of there, you had to do. The alcohol rushes down your throat a little too fast and although it was smooth, your windpipe just doesn’t agree with liquid going in it. You go into a mad coughing fit and slam the glass down.

“Shit, you aren’t good with alcohol for real,” Rio smiles again, making you relax a bit that he is satisfied.

Rio bobs his head to the music bumping faintly in the background. “You like this song?”

You shrug. “It’s cool.”

“You can dance if you want to. I don’t mind,” Rio leans back to wait for your answer. You think back to Jules and what Rio can do to people who offends him, but you decide to test something out.

“That’s gotta be an extra $300 on top of that.” You point at the money, anticipating his reaction.

Rio smirks. “$200 for a dance and $300 is you take another shot with me.”

You didn’t hesitate for the drink now, picking it up confidently and holding it up to him for a toast. He takes his, knocking it against yours with a strong tink. You down the shot this time without mishap and get ready to move.

You stand up with your legs widened, letting your hips sway in front of him for a good ass tease, looking back to check on him checking you. He still only looks at your face.

“You know this outfit isn’t for modesty,” you say turning to dip low in a squat while holding onto his knees, sliding your hands up his thighs.

He looks cool as ever with a half naked woman climbing on top of his lap. “I get the most out of someone when they look me straight in my eyes.”

You straddle his lap, feeling his chest, gripping his shoulders. You work your hips on him slowly.

“Shows honesty. I like that.” You play with his ear, feeling his muscle twinge from being ticklish there.

He shrugs. “Honest or not, I can tell when I’m being lied to. Like if someone is trying to screw me or screw with me.” His arms rest on the back of the couch instead of on your body, making you feel cold and awkward.

“Is that why you’re here? To meet a dishonest man.” You whisper in his ear, which must be his thing as you feel some extra friction beneath you rising.

Rio ignores you. “You got one more shot left for the $500.”

You shake your head. “You can have it. You can touch me too, you know. Perks of VIP.” You slide your hand down his bicep to pull his arm around you but he pulls back.

“Take the shot.” He says firmly. You stop your dance, reaching for the glass and tipping it back. You set it down haphazardly with a clatter, running our hands down his chest again. You weren’t at all phased by his tone, if anything it excites you, makes you clench a little. The heaviness of intoxication is setting in and you feel loose staring into his eyes. Your fingers graze his beard, his neck, summoning you to his cologne, maybe he will let you taste him there...

“Rio! Enjoying the sights I see!”

The new voice snaps you out of your mode as you fly off his lap to the side of him.

“Aviator. Nice of you to fly in.” Rio says. He looks at you and motions his finger for you to come closer. You do a mscooch, however your leg pulled over his lap is an added touch you don’t expect.

Aviator guffaws. “Good one! I was gonna offer you a drink but I see you got one so no need. On the house, of course.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I haven’t seen you since November,” Rio says, massaging your leg lightly, like you’re his pet.

“Well the business is slower in the cold months so hey what can you do.”

“The weather? You think that’s an excuse here? Do you even own one of them anorak jackets or something?” Rio asks you as you shake your head no instantly. You can feel his anger mounting on your leg as his fingers dig deeper in your skin.

“Still, it’s holidays and shit. Look we can talk about this, but let’s lose the audience, ok? Send your guys back and let the girl work.”

“She is working, very well might I add. So you must think I’m dumb.”

Aviator pauses, looking around the room. “I said we can talk about this privately. I have a plan. You, go bus some tables.”

“Get my money Aviator. You’re overdue.” He looked bored by this back and forth and ready to end it. Your body temperature drops when he looks like this.

Aviator stood there aghast. “You’re new here, so let me tell you something. You’re not going to embarrass me like this in front of my employees. Get your ass up!” Aviator grabs you by the arm harshly, you twist your ankle trying to keep up, falling to your knees.

You hear the sound of a gun cock as your ankle throbs

“Aviator, you embarrassed yourself by not paying me. You’re not the first nor will you be the last owner here so take a guess on what you’re about to do.”

You look up to see Aviator’s hands up and a Glock to his chest.

“Help Ms. Waitress here up and take her to my car so we can have that privacy you want.”

You try to get up yourself but Aviator already has you. “Rio, I still have my shift.”

“Aviator’s got you covered, right Avi?”

Aviator curses under his breath before agreeing out loud. You limp with him out to the Escalade waiting in the alley. You get in without saying a word as you watch Aviator walk back in, flanked by two of Rio’s goons. You lean back, elevating your foot on an arm rest until Rio comes out. When he gets in he tells the driver where to go, looking at you then your ankle.

“We gotta put ice on that soon.” Rio says nonchalantly, laying his arm behind your head..

“What happened to Aviator?” You ask quietly.

Rio looks you over. “You don’t have to worry about that. Not your problem”

You stare at the city passing you all by, getting dizzy from the motion and drinks earlier, you see Rio once more looking at your body.

“You have my $500?” You ask earnestly. “I didn’t pick it up back there.”

Rio smirks, looking out his window. “This courtesy ride is nice, right?”

“I didn’t tell you where I lived.”

“Do you wanna go home?” He asks, piercing his gaze into you. They feel like they are daring you to say yes, go away, danger ahead and reroute.

“No. Is it because I didn’t finish the dance? Cuz that wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh yeah, about that. I was offering you an exit there. Go out on the floor, do what you gotta do but the lap dance was very nice.”

You laugh out loud. “What?! You didn’t tell me to stop! What’s wrong with you, so I did that for nothing?”

Rio licks his lips examining you. “Not for nothing. You’re wilder than I thought, and I don’t think that’s the whiskey.”

You cross your arms in a huff. “I wanted the money. And of course you never acted against it so…”

Rio wags a finger at you. “I appreciate that. Going for what you want. You got a business head on you. I like that.”

The ride grows quiet as you survey this man. He acts like an OG despite his age, running a tight operation with his goons. Even in this car not knowing where you are going after he pulls a gun on your boss, you feel safe with him beside you. But you had to know what made him tick.

You pull yourself on top of him, kissing him needily, tearing at his neck for his shirt button.

Rio talks through your kisses, gripping your curls in his hands. “Is this what whiskey does to you?”

You lean back, opening his shirt. “I want my money. And if I have to teach you to give it to me, I will.”

Rio’s hands feel across your back and ass and you shiver at the sensation. “I admit, I am a little hardheaded.”

“I’m very very strong willed” You lock onto his mouth once more, tasting the liquor you both shared, running your hands along the front of his pants to find the zipper. It felt so right as his hands guided your hips along his lap, pushing you on your back across the seat.

------

The next morning you wake up in a sea of blankets and pillows, head throbbing as you stare at the late morning sun.

“You get some rest, Ms. Waitress?” Rio stands at the doorway of the bedroom with his hands in his pockets.

You try to sit up but your head won’t stop rolling. “God I feel awful.”

“You look it too.” Rio says, walking up to your side of the bed. “Wore me out last night.”

You keep the sheets close to your naked chest with regret. “I can’t believe this. Did we…”

Rio pauses a little too long before saying, “Nah, you complained you were dizzy and puked all over my backseat. Taking your clothes was just part of the clean up. Had to dock that from your pay unfortunately but got some daytime looks over there if you need.” Rio points to a tshirt and sweats laying on a chair.

You weren’t about to argue with a gangster over money in his own house, especially if you fucked up his car. “Thanks, I’ll get ready to go immediately.”

“Ah don’t sweat it. Oh, and your cut is in the sweatpants pocket. Hope you get something nice with it.”

“Wait, did you...kill him?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Who?” Walking towards the door he says one more thing. “And, I would keep in touch if I were you. There’s more where that came from if you’re willing to go after what you want full time. I’ll see you around.”

When Rio leaves, you get up to put on the shirt and pants, reaching into the pocket. Magically your $500 became $5,000. You let out some choice curse words as you thumbed through the bills, thinking back on last night. Being on your best behavior never paid this good. And Rio piqued your curiosity enough to see what being bad felt like.

Masterlist

Tag

@chaneajoyyy

#rio fanfic #rio x reader #shakafic

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strikearose · 3 years

Text

Uncovering Passione's Underside (1/1) GIOMIS

What one can learn by listening to what the secretive Passione's staff have to say about their Don... One-shot, GioMis, Post-canon, Humor, G+ You can also read it on ao3 here!

For as long as many Passione members could recall, Agnese Bianchi had always been there, grumbling as she would mop the hall floor and nagging at fellow cleaning employees and ruthless gang members all alike. It didn't matter how long their felonious resumes were, she simply couldn't stand slackers. Years of working within that specific industry had forged her strong character - she was honest, hardworking, and probably a tad too outspoken too about her aversion for mobsters, but she still knew better than to ask silly questions like some other people did.

The housekeeper glared at the man who'd been chatting up the new cleaner (and therefore, preventing her from mopping up the floor as she had explicitly urged her to) for the last half hour. His name was Trado, Trattore, or something that sounded way too much like Tradittore anyway: he was one of the Don's many henchmen. Ever since he had started working there, he had taken that annoying habit of snooping everywhere, making idle chitchat with the household staff during rush hour.

The old maid cleared her throat, grabbed her cleaning cart handles, and pushed it unceremoniously between the pair. "Is that what you call cleaning the reception room? Signore Giovanna wants it sparkling clean: go fix it now or apply for another job already!"

Her harsh tone worked just fine: the young employee, caught red-handed slacking work, gasped in surprise and mumbled a brief apology before leaving in a hurry. The man, however, didn't seem the least concerned about her admonition. He simply smiled and raised his hands in self-defense - and lord if there was a way he could possibly piss her off even more.

Agnese chose to simply disregard his presence and rummaged through her pockets to find the key she needed.

Click.

As it opened, she began to push her cleaning cart over the door sill with some difficulty.

"Need some help?"

Agnese sighed when she realized he was still there. Who the hell was he taking her for?

"I don't. As always, I'm doing just fine on my own."

To her dismay, it seemed that her sharp answer didn't manage to get rid of the gangster. For God's sake, couldn't he just go bother someone else, literally anyone but her? There was nothing Agnese hated more than to have someone watch her every move.

...

Or perhaps slackers.

Slackers who intended on watching her every move.

"So, for how long have you been working there? They say you'll bury us all..."

Agnese rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get her cart through the doorway.

"Long enough to have seen my fair share of slackers come and go..." The cleaning lady truly wished he'd get the memo this time. She had seen it all: louts in suits with fake good manners and scarred faces, but also men that seemed to be way too nice and curious for their own good. To her, that last species was the worst: they were wolves in sheep's clothing.

But of course, Trado (or Trattore or whatever was his name) didn't appreciate the subtlety of her response, and he continued his questioning: "You've been there long enough to have known the former boss, right? The one before Don Giovanna, a real freak apparently... "

Agnese tensed at that: she didn't like where the conversation was heading. She was unfortunately all too familiar with those office gossips. A little over five years ago now, Passione had gone from having no official face, to Giorno Giovanna's gracing every streets' corners. Rumors had it that the young, brilliant, man had brutally murdered the Original Don in the span of a week. Others thought that Giovanna's was his son and that the boss had simply granted himself a well-deserved retirement.

She couldn't care less about what had truly happened: Don Giovanna gave her a monthly salary as well as direct, concrete instructions. And those were the two things that mattered to her. He was good at that, giving clear orders to the people to his service. And it was nicer to serve him than to obey blindly the weird requests she'd receive by mail like before.

"Don't you really have anywhere else to go?", the cleaning lady suddenly turned to the man she had heard approaching but was relieved to see that he had not dared to enter the Don's office. He was looking at her, peering at what she was doing, from the door's threshold. "If you want a piece of advice, stop being so damn noisy."

The gangster laughed and at that, Agnese wished she could just sweep him out of the room.

"Relax! I'm new here, I'm just curious. Don Giovanna's pretty nice, he won't murder us over some harmless chitchat."

The Boss of a criminal organization, a nice man?

It was Agnese's turn to snort.

Yeah, she guessed it was the kind of public image he was adamantly working on And some people seemed to believe it: newspapers were reporting less traffic, a decline in thugs harming citizens' and tourists' safety. The astounding sums of money he was giving to local shelters, hospitals, and public schools were also common knowledge: rumors had it that the city council was even thinking of naming the brand-new biological museum, founded thanks to his many donations, after him.

As a boss, Agnese considered him to be pretty decent - well, as decent as being the Don of a criminal organization could possibly allow him to be considered. After all, he was well-educated enough not to leave clothes and magazines scattered everywhere like the previous boss and some of his most favored underlings did.

But as a man, there was no way she could possibly tell if he was nice. Agnese was just an old, tired cleaning lady: she never pried into the Don's private life even though she guessed there were things that couldn't escape her lack of malicious curiosity. Details such as notes and silly doodles scribbled on his desk, scraps of paper (of extremely dubious content) discarded in the garbage can she needed to empty or sweaters which were at least two sizes too big for him lying on the normally spotless ground of his room...

Sighing, the old maid was about to close the door behind her when she noticed it: the stupid smirk on the gangster's face. The stupid knowing smirk they always had whenever they would bring up the one topic she had no desire to discuss.

How she wished she could just spray him with a window cleaner to wipe it out of his face.

"You know people say 'bout them, right? I'm sure it's complete bullshit but..."

The answer Agnese gave him was the same she would lecture her own underlings with: "One thing I know for sure is that the Underboss always carries his gun on him... And the Don sure doesn't need one to silence people. So just drop it and mind your own business."

With a last sigh, she finally shut the door closed and started her heavy work. However, even though the noisy snoop had left, Agnese felt her mind drift to her first encounter with the Don as she was dusting the ancient bookcase.

It had happened about four years ago, on a late December afternoon - was it because she had arrived too early or because he had stayed in his office later than usual, but the door had been left open so she had loudly pushed her cart inside. The old cleaning lady had instantly understood her mistake - after all, there was little mystery about whom that man was... Who else would dare to enter the big boss's office in his absence?

Golden locks, emerald eyes looking right at her with mild surprise: he obviously had not been expecting her.

"Oh, it's already that time of the day," his chin tilted high and proud, the mafia boss had flatly made that statement.

Not knowing what to say, Agnese had simply nodded and taken a discreet look at the massive clock behind him. 8:17 pm. He was definitely the one behind schedule, not her: she was just on time.

Not that she could say it aloud anyway.

"I didn't know you were still in there, Signore Giovanna," while her head was slightly bowed as a sign of respect, she had not apologized for her intrusion. She had nothing to apologize for: boss or not, he was the one messing with the established schedule. "I'll come back to clean your office later."

Don Giovanna had however soon dismissed her concern with a motion of his hand.

"It's fine, you can start working now. I was about to leave anyway."

The old housemaid nodded and was about to approach the bookcase when she had stopped right on her track, seeing the state of the ancient Victorian carpet. The boss had a rather keen hearing as he almost instantly turned his attention away from his papers to peer at Agnese, understanding what the problem was right away.

The blood hadn't just spattered on the carpet - there were traces of it on the sofa. And on the cushions. As well as on the desk's marble border.

And of course, the Don had to insist on furnishing his office with pristine white furnitures - even the smallest stain could be spotted from miles away.

Well, at least to look at the bright sight, Agnese realized that she wasn't the one who had to take care of the body, to each, his own mess: scrubbing out the carpet was already going to be a real nightmare.

"I apologize for that," the voice of her employer was surprisingly gentle, and it had taken her off guard. "I'll make sure the floor is covered properly next time."

As unbelievable as it might sound, the Don had kept true to his word: she hadn't been able to find a single drop of blood in his office ever since.

And she had even gotten a raise in the following week.

Rumors had it that Don Giovanna was capable of prodigious deeds that a rational mind could not possibly explain: that dazzling smile of his could enchant things and bend them to his will. Some prominent figures from all parts of the world, whose identities shall remain hidden, had apparently come out of his office miraculously cured. But rumors also had it that the reason why his public appearances were becoming more and more scarce was because of a growing sensitivity to daylight.

So Agnese paid very little to no regard to them. Most of the time, like Tradutti had stated, it was indeed complete bullshit.

However, later that night, as she undid her bandages to observe the state of the burn on a forearm (a stupid domestic accident involving a boiling teapot), Agnese was amazed to find her epidermis completely smooth. There was no more blistering or dead skin: her forearm was of a softness that contrasted with the rest of her body:the astronomical amount of tiger balm and aloe vera used could not possibly explain that. So as much of a skeptic as she was, the cleaning lady was forced to admit that it had to be somehow related to her earlier encounter with the Don.

As soon as she had stepped outside his office after tidying it, she had spotted the mafia boss in the hallway. He was accompanied by five or six men dressed in equally expensive suits. Among them was a face quite familiar to her: the city mayor who was making it to the news because of yet another corruption scandal.

The last thing she needed was to get involved in this ugly mess, so the cleaning lady kept her head high and bravely pushed her cart forwards. What she wasn't expecting however was for the Don to stop her.

"Did you injure yourself?"

She had had no choice but to peer down too at her bandage and lie through her teeth: "It's nothing, Signore."

His face showed no emotion, but he took a step towards her and delicately grabbed the injured arm before she could protest. His grip was somehow gentle but tight: there was no way she could escape from it. It was a literal iron fist in a velvet glove.

Agnese could still recall feeling the gazes of the Mayor and his bodyguards on her, they had also stopped walking to stare at her. Her heart rate had momentarily quickened when the Don's hands had brushed over her wound, his emerald eyes never leaving her confused expression. A sharp pain had set her wrist on fire... And then nothing.

She no longer felt a thing - it was as if it had never happened: Don Giovanna had taken a step back and addressed his subordinates, and they all had resumed their walk, any concern about the poor old maid definitely forgotten. The only one who had graced her with something (a strangely amused smile) before leaving was Guido Mista.

The Underboss truly was something. He often reminded Agnese of her own son: way too careless and untidy. His room was a literal nightmare to clean: most of his cashmere sweaters (which he had no problem leaving on the floor for all that mattered) needed to be hand-washed, and he also had the specificity of returning several times a month completely riddled with bullets.

The fact that he was somehow still alive despite his many injuries was as much a real blessing to him that it was a curse for her.

After all, Agnese was the one who had to clean up after him: and there was nothing easier than to track him because with Underboss Mista came blood everywhere.

Everywhere.

From the pavement outside to the sheets of a certain person whose name shall remain unknown.

...

The kitchen timer rang and Agnese was brought back to reality.

She couldn't say for sure if the Don was responsible for this miracle, but she still wished he could have also helped with her rheumatism too.

━━━━━ ༻🌱༺ ━━━━━

Unlike Agnese, Rolfo Giardino was still fairly new at that whole managing-not-to-get-mixed-up-in-mafia-mess-while-working-for-them dilemma. This gardener may have had twenty years of experience, nothing could have possibly prepared him for what was about to come.

The headquarters' gardens themselves were very pleasant - they were spacious and ideally located. Starting from scratch, that is to say from an austere backyard where some pathetic trees were beginning to wither to this authentic example of Giardino all'italiana, adorned with classical sculptures, flowering shrubs, fountains and ornamental parterres, had not been easy at first but Signore Giovanna had agreed to pay the price without thinking twice and the result was worth it.

Now that it was done, now that Rolfo and his team only had to maintain the garden (meaning watering the flowers and cutting the hedges one or two times a week), he guessed the job would be pretty nice if it weren't for all those mobsters who, for some reason he still couldn't gather, enjoyed watching him work. That, as well as those dreadful echoes of gunfire and screams which would shatter from time to time the peaceful atmosphere of the garden.

The rustling of water, the birds' chirping, a loud explosion from within the building... A nice sunny day overall.

Some of his employees were still refusing to work there despite his best attempts to reassure them: for as long as they would stay away from the actual building, it was not like something could happen to them, right? Still, they were places where even Rolfo himself did not like to approach, near the window overlooking what he thought was the Big Boss's office for instance. He had been forced to come close (way too close) to it because of his client's special request to have ivy and white roses gambling along this wall.

He had started working on it on a day when the weather was so mild that the window had apparently been cracked open for once - and the uncanny noises and groans that had escaped through it had scared the gardener to death. He hadn't dared to peer inside to find out what was really happening: the last thing he needed to know was what the Don of Passione's private torture sessions consisted of. Ever since that unfortunate incident, Rolfo had not ventured any closer to the damn white rosebushes. The branches were becoming too long, they were clearly starting to block the path of light, but as long as the Don didn't make any complaint, Rolfo would leave them be.

But on that day, however, the poor gardener saw red as his eyes fell on the figure loitering near that damn window: who was that son of a bitch was stepping on his flower beds!

"Hey you fucking moron: Move! Can't you see you're ruinin' my work?" Rolfo's shout managed to hit the bull's eye. The criminal was startled by it and half a dozen of armed men (probably criminals too) suddenly burst out the building to see what the hell was happening. He sprinted in the direction of the jerk and threw his pair of pruning shears at him. The gardening tool narrowly missed him - it crashed against the window instead (which, thank lord, did not shatter after the impact), but still made him leave. The stern face of Giorno Giovanna soon appeared, his head comically peaking out the building.

The Big Boss frowned when he realized that five of his men were gathered outside, frantically looking for someone, and took a deep breath: "Did one of you just threw a rock at my window?" He sounded confused, and to his credit, that was quite understandable.

Rolfo felt all adrenaline leave him abruptly - he could feel on him the murderous glares of literal murderers, who would have probably murdered him on the spot were it not for the presence of their Big Boss. He had no choice but to come clean: "Uhh, I do believe it was my pruners, Signore. I apologize, I swear they weren't aimed at you. It was for that damn...- uhh, I mean, that employee of yours!"

The Don didn't seem the slightest taken aback by the choice of weapon. He ran a hand through his braided locked and motioned for the others to go.

"You're saying that someone was eavesdropping on me just now?"

Rolfo looked down for a moment before answering: "Uhh, probably? I mean, he was stomping on my rosebushes near your window, that's for sure. They're Blanche Moreau's you know? They took weeks to arrive from France, weeks to finally blossom in Italy's sunlight!"

The mafia boss frowned at that, and Rolfo just knew he understood how valuable these roses were. After all, the Don seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about plants and lots of stuff: rumors had it that they were going to name that new museum after him so...

Signore Giovanna looked behind him and seemed to be addressing someone in the room: "Make sure to find him."

Curiosity overcame his initial reserve: standing on tiptoe, the gardener finally peered at the window to see what was happening inside. The office seemed incredibly spacious and clean: a dark-haired man, behind the desk, was adjusting the position of his cap on his head.

"Kay, I'll climb down the window to catch him faster! The fucker must be hiding somewhere close!," as soon as the man finished speaking, Rolfo couldn't help but react straight away.

"No, you can't do that! You'll ruin the other bushes!"

Both mafiosi looked at him for a moment and the old gardener realized he might have spoken out of turn, but the Don settled the matter for them anyway:

"He's right, I do like these Blanche Moreau's: go around my office Mista. And please, your zipper." That last part had been uttered quietly, but Rolfo had still managed to pick up on it. His devout Catholic mind would probably have been offended by it were it not for the sudden realization which left him quivering.

How on earth was he able to peak so clearly at the window now...?

"That fucking son of a bitch!", at that the mafia boss frowned and looked at him quizzically, but Rolfo couldn't halt the stream of profanities coming out of his mouth. It was too late. "He chopped it off! The whole branch!! It's all gone!"

Rolfo had promised his wife he would never get too close to the mafia, even though those paychecks sure were quite weighty. And yet as he was now, comfortably sitting in a well-made leather seat, a cup of coffee in his hand, he thought that for a first time within the shady building he had tried to avoid entering for so long, things were actually looking pretty normal. A week had passed since the unfortunate roses incident, and he had been surprised to receive after a subsequent sick leave a call from the Don's office. He didn't really have much choice, so he had shown up on time and was now patiently waiting in the lobby.

"Don Giovanna will now receive you."

Rolfo followed without a word the pretty secretary - she too looked way too customarily pretty to be involved in that kind of business. It was only when he passed under the massive arch of the door that he became fully aware of what was happening: the head of the Italian mafia had summoned him here.

As expected, it was the Don's spacious office, the one he had managed to catch a glimpse of through the window free of rose branches. The room appeared to be spotlessly clean - hell, it even smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and fresh lemon. Definitely not what he was expecting it to look like. Oddly enough, the very first thing he noticed was the tarp on the floor: that gaudy blue plastic was seriously clashing with the rest of the pristine white furnishings.

"Good afternoon, Signore Giardino. Is that the man you spotted by my window the other day?," Rolfo met the gaze of the mafia boss who was calmly standing to what soon turned out to be a man in bad shape, feet and fists bound onto the chair.

On the other side of the suspect, nonchalantly propped against the desk, was the gangster who had wanted to hop out the window.

All three of them were looking at the gardener expectantly, and he heard behind him the sound of the door closing. Of course, the pretty secretary couldn't stay.

"I can't say for sure Signore. See, I was so focused on the combat boots trampling my bushes that I didn't pay too much attention to his face..."

He hated the bastard who had wrecked his work, sure, but to rush him to such a tragic fate...

"Cool, then check it out!," the underboss had spoken with a casualness contrasting with the cruelty of the angle in which he twisted the poor man's leg. Rolfo had no choice but to look at the sole of his boot.

...

The fucking bastard.

There were still manure and rose petals stuck to it. And those were no common rose petals - they were large, fluffy and creamy white. They had been violently snatched away from a Blanche Moreau's sepal.

The gardener hardly needed to speak up to convince the mafia boss - the lethal look he was giving the tied-up man was already enough evidence.

Umberto Tradduto's fate had just been sealed.

Rolfo couldn't say what prompted him to look outside, but after that he only overheard bits of the conversation whispered in front of him: what was he was seeing right now was far more chocking anyway:

"I leave it to you for now Mista. I'll dispose of him later."

"Another donation to the museum?"

"Not this time. I think he'll make a fine aphid instead, that way our gardener will be able to settle his score with him."

Rolfo wasn't even pretending to be listening to what was being said anymore. He couldn't believe his eyes. He took a step towards the window and the two mafiosi, deep in their discussion, didn't notice it immediately.

"Keep your evening free, we'll be paying a visit to the mayor tonight. I'm getting tired of the spies he keeps sending here."

"Tonight? Hey, do you know how much it cost me to book the entire restaurant?"

The Don cleared his throat as if suddenly reminded of the other two's presence: "The sooner the better. I'm sure she won't mind. You'll reschedule your date later."

Mista was about to protest, but he fell silent as he realized where the gardener was standing: "Hey man, what the...-"

But Rolfo overstepped his role again to cut him off. His eyes shining with emotion, he turned towards the mighty Giorno Giovanna and addressed him as if he was a true deity.

"How...- How did you...? This is prodigious Signore!"

Behind him, blocking the light from the window, were proudly standing three beautiful unscathed roses branches.

━━━━━ ༻ 🚗 ༺ ━━━━━

Alfredo waked up completely startled as he heard someone bang on his window: dozing off at the wheel was a rookie mistake, he was well aware of that - but still.

"Hey open up!"

The underboss' voice was agitated - something very rare for such an easy-going man, so Alfredo immediately unlocked the doors and got out of the vehicle to assist him. Mista was backing up the big boss, a hand wrapped under his shoulders to help him stand.

The driver shot a panicked look at the small cottage they had just come from: what the hell had just happened in there?

Alfredo glanced at the Don's patent leather shoes - he was dressed as reverently as usual - and then at the underboss' worn-out leather jacket: even though they were clothed as if they were going to very different events, they had asked him to drop them at the same address: the mayor's private country hous. He had followed the itinerary scribbled on the paper an informer had given him a few hours before. It was the driver's special talent: being resourceful. Even without a precise address, he always knew how to bring his customers to the desired place.

His clients never asked him how it worked, and in return, he never made any remark on the state they would return to the car in. Or to question why they seemed so keen to surprise the mayor at such a late hour of the evening.

Alfredo was even willing to give an extra hand if needed, occasionally overstepping his role of a simple driver if the client was likely to be a good tipper.

He opened the passenger door for the mafia boss, but to his great surprise the latter stopped him right there:

"I'm fine. Just open the trunk instead."

Alfredo tensed up but said nothing as he went back to his seat to retrieve his leather gloves.

It was another kind of extra service: helping them to get rid of incriminating clues. Well, it wouldn't be the first body dumped in the back of his precious vehicle, and certainly not the last. As long as they would pay for the subsequential cleanup, he didn't mind.

"How many bottles have you stolen?," The underboss had ushered that question to the boss not discreetly enough, and the driver allowed himself a relieved sigh.

No bodies on the horizon, then?

No scandal of the mayor's disappearance making the headlines on the next day?

Great, he'd be able to go back to bed sooner.

As he passed next to the two mafiosi to open the trunk, Alfredo noticed the two bottles of prestigious champagne that the Don was clutching tightly against his. chest. Oh wow. The underboss, on the other hand, was eyeing Giorno with a bewildered look, as if it had just occurred to him that the mysterious gigantic box he had been forced to carry from the cottage contained more bottles.

"Guido please, go fetch me a last one," the Don was less assertive than usual - you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Alfredo awkwardly stood next to them in silence as he waited for his next instructions. Charcoal and emerald eyes were engaged in a long, fierce battle of dominance, neither of them breaking contact. Hell, it even seemed to Alfredo at some point that the Don fluttered his lashes - but that could also be exhaustion talking.

Years of working within that specific industry had taught Alfredo how they would inevitably settle that growing tension between them.

Once again, for as long as they would pay for the subsequential seats cleaning, he didn't care. It wouldn't be the first indecent make-out session to happen at the back of his precious vehicle, and probably not the last.

A partition wall was always between Alfredo and his clients. Until now, he had never managed to catch them red-handed, but he had heard of those rumors. And he, better than anyone else certainly, knew for a fact that the Don had never sought to have good company brought to him. He'd always travel to his secondary residence alone while the underboss was the kind of man who preferred to drive there by himself.

Apart from the occasional names slips, he had never witnessed any tender gesture, he had never overheard anything remotely ambiguous. The details that had tipped him off were more subtle, or well usually at least they were. They would simply sit a little too close to one another, with no free seat between them - the pair was never five feet apart so that to speak. But right now, unless he would turn off the parking lights, there was no way Alfredo could pretend he wasn't seeing the Don's right hand slowly lowering far too low along the other's back. It was clearly no longer a question of keeping his balance.

"Fine," the Don let out a dramatic sigh and the driver nearly said hallelujah - now that he had admitted defeat, they would be able to leave at last! "If you won't do it, then fine I'll ask our driver instead."

Holy shit, what the hell was going on that night?

Alfredo quietly took a step back to exit the scene but it was too late - both mafiosi were already looking at him. If they were seriously intending on making him break into the mayor's house, he sure hoped they were ready to give a real good tip.

Fortunately, the underboss shook his head and rolled his eyes (had they just swapped personalities?), before reluctantly talking: "'kay you win I'll go. But then, we're outta here." Mista put the box inside the trunk and headed back to the cottage, leaving the driver in the company of the big boss who didn't seem quite inclined to enter the car yet. So Alfredo had no choice but to stay with him outside, on the chilly night and very awkward silence.

It was only after the third hiccup of the Don that the realization came down to him: he wasn't injured by any means, he was just completely drunk.

"Umm," Alfredo knew he wasn't supposed to question his boss, but the silence between them was becoming seriously uncomfortable. "So were you celebrating something Signore?"

The mafia boss looked at him for a long moment - god, the poor driver sure hoped he hadn't made a mistake, before shrugging: "Not really. I simply like Champagne, especially when I'm not the one paying for it."

Who could have thought that someone who spent so much on luxury clothes could be stingy?

Alfredo decided to politely answer. "Yes, I've heard you own several vineyards in Europe Signore. It's clever, I'm sure you never run out it..."

At that, the mighty Giorno Giovanna ungraciously hiccuped again, and the driver had the decency to pretend not to notice it.

"Mhhh.. You don't get it," had the mafia boss just snorted in contempt? "It's not so much about the Champagne itself as it is about the pure satisfaction of having taken possession of it... The mere contentment in knowing that the stupid mayor will never be able to savor it now that it's mine, you know?"

No, of course, not. There was no way Alfredo could possibly relate to that: it must be one of those crazy rich people whims.

Not that he could say it out loud, of course. The night was getting colder and colder, so he hoped the underboss wouldn't take long to be back.

"Would you like a bottle?," the Don's question took him by surprise so the driver, out of reflex, shook his head.

"Good, or you would have had to convince Mista to go back."

The stingy rich bastard.

Alfredo couldn't believe he was thinking that of him, in any other situation he would never have allowed himself to think that of Giorno Giovanna, but there were at least eight bottles in the trunk, he had seen them. And the Don knew that.

Fortunately, the underboss chose that exact moment to reappear and slam the trunk door shut after charging it with two other bottles.

Discreet much?

But whatever, the Don seemed rather pleased with that and finally agreed to go inside the car - his customers' satisfaction was what mattered the most to Alfredo.

After all, with good service came good tippers.

And that night, in exchange for the obvious promise to keep his mouth shut about what he had witnessed, the underboss sure went overboard with the tip.

━━━━━ ༻ 🧹 ༺ ━━━━━

It was now 8:20 a.m.: even though the day had started way earlier for Agnese, she had had to wait for the mobsters living upstairs to rise and shine, so she could proceed to clean their rooms. It was by far the task she hated the most: grabbing her heavy cleaning cart, she pushed it towards what had to be the cleanest place of them all. The Don's private quarters, starting with his excessively large bathroom: since the fancy tiles there took the longest to dry, she would then continue with his connected bedroom.

However, as soon as she stepped foot inside, Agnese almost fainted at the horrible sight that met her eyes.

Clothes, confetti and popped balloons were scattered everywhere, pieces of glass were covering the soaked floor, and an astronomical amount of what furiously smelled like Champagne had been dumped into the bathtub, splattering the walls and the carpet- hell, it even seemed like some of it was still fizzing inside.

Up until now, she had thought that she had seen it all, that nothing that the most wicked mind was capable of, could possibly surprise her. But that was a whole new level of a mess.

Thankfully, the inscription on a balloon (the survivor, the only one that had not exploded yet) was what prompted her not to hand the culprit her immediate resignation letter.

The Don's birthday would only happen once a year.

And with some sheer luck, she'd be able to negotiate her well-deserved retirement before the next one.

That morning, Guido woke up because of a cuss word that reminded him very much of his native Italian countryside. He had no idea what time it was: Giorno's expensive alarm clock having been inadvertently smashed the night before. He yawned gleefully and stretched out his arms before turning to face the lumpy shape beside him.

The mighty Giorno Giovanna, drool on his chin, was muffled in his blanket, and it didn't seem from the look of it that he'd be getting up any time soon.

He was probably dealing with a hell of a hangover right now - served him right for the astronomical quantity of Champagne in which he had literally bathed and drowned. Giorno would decidedly never learn from his past mistakes. Well, he was very much looking forward to taunting his lover for years about that unfortunate late birthday episode.

There was no way the mafia boss would be able to conduct his meetings of the day - changing the planning wasn't something to worry about even though it would piss the hell out of Fugo for sure. Feeling compassionate about what was awaiting Giorno, he gently patted what he thought was his head (?) and smiled as he heard him grumble in return. How cute.

Guido finally stood up to start his day, he would smuggle him some Ibuproben later but first thing first, his much-awaited morning tinkle. And a long hot shower. Yeah, that way he would perhaps find a ploy to avoid dealing with Giorno's responsibilities instead of him. While he was not hungover, the late night's events had completely drained him of his energy.

Giorno's bathroom truly was something: it was way more spacious and tidier than his own. To him, it was a literal spa: cool extra-powerful water jets, a gigantic glass shower cabin AND a massive marble bathtub, a myriad of bottles of heavenly-smelling shampoo, conditioners, shower gels and body lotions everywhere - hell, there was even a housekeeper politely handing him a towel.

...

Holy shit.

Trying his best to cover his naked glory, Guido Mista could only stutter pitifully:

"Uhh.. Yeah, so about that new raise of yours we were discussin' the other day..."

This would only be the fourth time of the year, so at this point...

#giomis #misgio #misgio fanfic #giomis fanfic #misgio fic #giomis fic #giomis fanfiction #misgio fanfiction #giorno x mista #mista x giorno #one shot #giomis oneshot

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athenaquinn · 4 years

Text

Strong Hand || Frank & Athena

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Soul on the Rocks PARTIES: @frankmulloy and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: A fae and a hunter walk into a bar... and then there’s Hughie.

Frank heard the reactions, born from her entrance alone, before he even saw her. Now that he looked up it was clear from his usual view from the bar that within the dim-lit picture that spanned out in front of him, something did not belong. A head of long yellow hair, to be specific. One, she was young. Two, she looked much too clean, too put together, to properly belong in the typical crowd that Soul attracted. Of course, that wasn’t to say that they didn’t take a liking to her. Frank watched as quiet fascination graduated to bold introductions; offers to buy her a drink, or bum her a smoke. Creepy-Joe remained stationary in his usual corner, watching but doing little else otherwise. Nothing offensive enough to warrant intervention so Frank returned his attention to the tasks at hand, cleaning and filling drink orders, all while keeping his attention outward for anything unseemly--or at least, by Soul’s standards. He didn’t notice how long time had passed or how long the girl had been sitting at the bar before she had flagged his attention. She was close enough for him to get a good look at her now and his suspicions were confirmed: much too young. Frank threw his towel over his shoulder, the usual distance of 6 feet maintained, “you got an ID for that order?”

She wasn’t stupid. Athena knew full-well that Soul on the Rocks was not her crowd. She’d lived in town all her life - which was certainly long enough and knew that of all the places to sneak into, that was usually the last on her list. The Bullet was where she preferred, and even though many of the people there had known her since she was a child they were alright with turning a blind eye and letting her order a proper drink. Sometimes, at least. However, she also knew that she was stubborn and that meant taking her fake ID and borrowing a leather jacket from one of the girls in her sorority and driving over to the bar. Part of her regretted the decision the second she opened the door and she felt all eyes on her - and though she loved attention, this was not exactly in the way that she typically preferred. Especially since most people in the bar were well-over the age of twenty-one and even over twenty-five or six. However, Athena was not one to back down from any challenge and so she tossed her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the offers to drink or smoke. “You know smoking kills you, right?” She bit back at one man. Before she could register his response, she felt her body tense up. Fae. There was a fae here and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the fae was just yet because there were far too many people backed into the bar. Taking in a deep breath, she made her way over to the counter. There was only one man behind the bar and she felt her skin crawl. Which meant he had to be the fae. Or at the very least she was in closer proximity to whoever the fae was. She pressed her palms against her thighs for a moment, grounding herself before she responded. “I do.” She flashed him a smile. Athena found that she regretted choosing a thin layer of lipgloss over the darker lipstick that Julia had offered her. She knew that she looked young, but usually a little flirting with a bartender made them forget that. Not yet willing to hand over her ID, she twirled her hair around her fingertips and leaned onto the countertop. Her skin was crawling, but she wasn’t going to give in. She was stronger than that. “I am admittedly newly twenty-one. Well, newly as in a few months ago.” She could feel the eyes of some of the other patrons on her. “Do you really need to see my ID? What’s the harm in a little trust?”

Frank recognised the lip-glossed smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but if you tried hard enough you might be able to convince yourself that it did, artful twirling of her finger around her hair, the honey sweet tone that coated every word that came out of her mouth. Jake would have melted. Perhaps Frank would have too had he been younger, known less about what he was, what he could do. Before he had his good nature beaten out of him, not that there was any evidence on his skin as proof to the claim. The proof was ingrained in muscle memory and instinct, which manifested outwardly in carefully trained behaviour; like keeping his distance, and his hands, to himself—along with drinking himself into stupor in the hopes that it might dull the effect of any…influence that might have slipped past his guard. Which happened a lot more often than he liked to admit.

As she smiled up at him and Frank…well, his face was smoothed of any emotion to assume one of patient indifference. He was older now...and he wasn’t Jake. “Sure you are.” His arms were crossed over his chest, his finger tapping patiently against his side. While he might have let slide the little game she thought she was playing if they were at the Perfect Pint, the fact was, they weren’t. While it was of no fault of her own, Frank was also not oblivious to the eyes she attracted. “Look at where you are kid, you think this the sort of place that breeds trust?” He had half a mind to send her home now, though experience warned that- that was a sure road to a bad ending, one way or another. Then again, what did it matter? She wasn’t his responsibility, what the fuck did he care? He shouldn’t care about Ariana either but alas—he did care, and he cared now. Fuck. “Look, if you ain’t got an ID, I’m gonna send you home. Next time get a fake one or something.”

She noticed him watching her. Not that it was hard, being in such close proximity, but she felt uncomfortable regardless. Uncomfortable but necessary. Athena knew that she couldn’t very well kill this fae in the middle of a bar - though if there were a bar to do it, Soul on the Rocks seemed like just the place. Unfortunately, as unresponsive as he was to her hair-twirling, a man just down the bar was not - and he had to be at least in his late thirties. Athena rolled her eyes, adjusting her position - learning her arms further onto the bar, chin resting in the palm of her hand. She knew that she was attractive, and although the last thing she wanted was for a fae to be attracted to her (though how wonderful of an advantage would that be - what a way to get them all alone), if it got her something she needed, she could deal with it. It only further proved that she was good at masking her identity.

“I am.” She said, voice even. Her eyes narrowed at the kid remark, “well, I don't know, but can’t you just trust anyone?” Athena fought away the urge to smirk, instead letting her eyes grow wide. She was good enough at people watching to fake naïvety when the situation called for it. To fall into who she might have been if she and her brother shared more personality traits. “I do have an ID.” She slid it out of her wallet, handing it over to him. Joan Parrish, it read - not a total lie, though far from her real name - after all, she couldn’t have her parents getting in trouble, as they were upstanding members of the community. “Told you.” She tapped her nails on the countertop. “So, do I get a drink for free? I heard that sometimes if you’re lucky, that happens. I’ve already been offered that from other people here!” She could feel the cold iron of one of her knives against her hip, but she couldn’t use it. Not now. She could consider this a recon mission of some sort.

Frank answered her question with silence and a pointed look, his brows raised, as if the answer to the question seemed obvious enough that it needed no response. The word trusting and Frank could not be further opposites, anyone who knew him knew this, and even those who didn’t learned very quickly. He waited, watched, for the younger woman to produce her ID. When she does, he doesn’t take it from her hand, but waits until she puts it on the bar top. Joan Parrish. It was her face on the small card, and the date of birth proved that she was of age—if one was in the habit of trusting everything they read. Frank was not. Even if it didn’t, he seldom poured any great effort into inspecting anyone’s IDs, it was just a matter of doing his due diligence. Still doubtful of its authenticity, he returned the ID anyway (returning it to the bar top before stepping away for her retrieval). Her apparent confidence prompted an amused grin to crack over his lips, a chuckle building first in the depth of his chest which then formed the beginning of his words, “that might have worked on Jake kiddo, but I ain’t Jake. So I guess that means you ain’t so lucky tonight. Think about what you can afford and then get back to me, yeah?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a particularly eager patron broke through the throng and claimed an empty seat at the bar. He’ll pay for whatever the little lady wants, he said and he smiled and he turned that smile to her, and then Frank wasn’t smiling anymore. “Fuck off Jerry,” the word sliced through the noise and he said them without hesitation. “If you think she’s gonna go anywhere with you, you’ve got another thing coming, so walk on.” The man—Jerry’s mouth opened as the beginning of a retort was forming, Frank turned his gaze on him again, and wisely, he thought better of it and slinked off. Frank’s height and general aloofness afforded him an influence that was untouched by any sort of supernatural advantage, this served him tremendously in a place like Soul, while it didn’t help him back any friends he’s convinced himself that he liked that just fine. He turned back to the younger woman, Joan Parrish, a little apologetic, he did just rob her of a free drink. “I mean, do whatever the fuck you want. You can call him back if you really want that drink, he’ll be more than happy to come back if he thinks he’s got a shot.”

Athena watched the man inspect her ID. The rumors that she’d heard about Soul on The Rocks tended to imply that she wouldn’t be asked for her ID, but considering she’d accidentally walked into a place of employment of a fae, she figured that luck was not especially on her side tonight. “I don’t know who Jake is,” she responded, giving a shrug. “This is my first time here.” First and last, probably. Though she wanted to find out more about the man - find out as much as she could. Even though she knew her parents would frown upon her being in the bar, if she could learn more about the fae, then perhaps all would be forgiven. That was, if they ever even found out what she was up to. She hid very little from them, which meant that they very rarely suspected that she did anything but what exactly she told them.

However, as another man came over and began offering to buy her a drink, looking her up and down, she twisted her lips into something of a half-frown. Even if he wasn’t way older than her, he was entirely not her type. This might have been a mistake, Athena was starting to realize. Continuing to realize, if she were more willing to be honest with herself. If nothing else, the dim lighting and completely not her style music were signs that she probably shouldn’t have even bothered coming. He was defending her? The thought practically made Athena’s blood boil. She didn’t need defending, particularly not from a fae, but a small part of her figured that in any other scenario, she would be at least a bit grateful. It just had to be a fae, didn’t it? “Are you kidding me?” She practically spat. “No way ever. I do in fact have a solid head on my shoulders, and that means I don’t go off with strange men.” She was always deeply fascinated at how unaware fae could be when it came to who she was. Not that it was something she’d ever dare complain about, but it amused her all the same. “I think I’d like a hard cider though, and I can pay.”

“Clearly.” He said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, closed lipped and crooked, but still with its soft edge. Despite what his appearance, and his general demeanour even, might suggest, Frank was never very good at playing condescending or deceitful. Everything about him was always painfully honest. He was private, and liked his privacy, but was always truthful. Some might suggest the latter was the unfortunate side effect of his supernatural inheritance, but that was all Frank. While anyone’s introduction to Soul was a source of amusement, especially someone inexperienced with the bar’s particular crowd, a quiet wariness always hummed beneath the surface, ready to spring to action at a moment’s notice. “Ah—yeah, don’t worry about Jake. If you’re lucky you won’t have to know him.”

The cute coy-school-girl routine dropped for a moment, and the little tiger showed her teeth. A consequence of instinct and character rather than anything so superficial. People were always infinitely more interesting than the mask they put on for others. He wasn’t sure if she thought her little flirting game would work on him—and then he wondered whether he should be more concerned if he gave her an impression that it would—but if she failed to catch his attention before, she’s certainly got it now. “Kudos to you kid. You might actually survive this shit hole.” He said as he reached for the glass and began filling it with the question. Of course it’s a fucking cider. Soul wasn’t exactly known for its extensive cider collection, most opted for any option that got them the most drunk at the lowest cost. Cider was not exactly the bar’s drink of choice. “Your hard cider, Joan Parrish.” With the practice of one who’s done it a hundred times before, Frank slid the cider across the bar, the glass coming to stop at her hand with a gentle tap. His distance rule strictly obeyed. Ducking his head into the kitchen, Frank called to one of the workers there, one hand already in his jacket pocket to produce a little white box of cigarettes as he called for someone to get their ass out here while he takes his fucking smoke break. To Joan, he said, “you can pay Hughie for that cider, Joan Parrish.” To Hughie, he said, “Joan Parrish still needs to pay for her cider,” and added in a hushed tone, “and do me a favour, keep the creeps away from her please?” And then he was out the back door, a lone cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Not that obvious, mister.” Athena wanted to bristle. Did, internally at least. If he was so damn keen on calling her kid then she’d fire right back. That was all she could do, right now. She wondered for a moment if there were any hunters in the bar. “Why, is he so much more boring than you are?” There was a giggle that followed her words, one that was likely too light and airy - more carefree than she usually found herself. One that drew a few more eyes as she finally resorted to covering her lips with a hand, refocusing back on the man. Apparently, acting overly calm and eager could do something of a wonder to stop her skin from completely crawling, though a certain part of her wanted to pull at it, just as she did whenever there were fae around, and particularly the ones who looked human.

“Trust me, I’m good at surviving a whole lot of things.” He seemed clueless enough to what she really was that she doubted that he’d take that remark as anything beyond a perhaps overly-confident co-ed, and that worked just fine for her. She wasn’t afraid to bite back if some creep thought they had half a chance with her. Athena had to admit she was a bit impressed the bar had a cider - though she knew it was a decently popular drink, this bar seemed far more the type of place to just have mediocre beer - though she supposed the same could be said about any number of the frat parties she went to. She caught the glass easily, curiosity piqued at the fact that he was staying away from her, potentially from any possible contact. She filed that away in her mind for later examination, for later when she was away from the bar that was practically buzzing. With a certain energy that she found herself equally repulsed and intrigued by. Incredibly unlike the life she was usually a part of, and for a moment she found herself feeling naïve - at least to a certain level. I wonder if that’s what my brother feels like all the time, Athena pondered for a moment before looking back over to the man, who was now leaving. “You’ll be back, won’t you?” She called out, before focusing on whoever else the fae had sent to babysit her. “How much do I owe you?” She asked Hughie, looking him up and down before pulling out her wallet and pulling out a twenty. “This should be enough, right? When’s my friend coming back over? Can’t believe he left right in the middle of our conversation.” A small pout formed on her lips. “So, Hughie? Name or nickname?” She took a sip of her drink, not quite focusing on him, but instead on the direction where the other man had gone, as if daring him to come back.

Mister. Frank noted a hint of derision that was lent to the word, a childish retort that was probably meant to rebel against the label he had given her. It was precisely something a kid would do, and it prompted a faint smile to curve at the edge of his lips. Then she giggled, and it was an uncommon enough sound that it attracted even more curious glances, thirsting for the pretty young flesh that had so generously presented herself to them at the bar. This time however, the boldness stopped at the glances; no one seemed particularly interested in following in Jerry’s misguided footsteps, or at least as long as Frank was still working the bar. So business went on as usual, at least for now. “Nothing stopping you from finding different company,” he raised his eyebrow in a kind of challenge, leaned forward just slightly, while still keeping respect to his six feet rule, “let’s just say, you giggle enough times and you can probably get as many free drinks as you want outta him.” That alone, Frank thought, spoke volumes about his particular…character. There was a reason Frank and Jake didn’t get along. Although Frank’s insistence that he was a slimey asshole (usually to his face) probably burned any bridges they had for reconciliation, which suited him just fine.

“Are you now?” There was something about Joan Parrish that Frank had come to enjoy—almost endear. Or the very least, found to be a source of light amusement. A certain battle-hardened naivety about her that appealed. No normal person was so quick to declare that they have survived things, and it spoke to something that she did. An unknown history that Frank was not privy to, and was still debating on whether he cared enough to want to be. Or maybe she was just a kid who said things she didn’t mean. Either way, that was a little note he tucked away, to be revisited later. She was drawn to him, for whatever reason, that much was obvious, or she wouldn’t have called out to him. He was suddenly very self-conscious of his abilities, one that seemed to operate of its own volition, sometimes even without him knowing. He spared a glance back at her but didn’t answer, and found himself that much more eager to get out and get himself back together. “He’ll be back,” Hughie answered for him, “he takes a lot of those…his smoke breaks. But he works harder than anyone here, and closes up after everyone and throws the assholes out, so the boss lets him.” He was not as tall as Frank, and was a skinny looking thing that could have a few years over Joan, but was definitely younger than Frank. Not a fae, but charming enough to be, certainly a lot more forthcoming than Frank was. He took the money from her and busies himself with getting her change, “plenty, thanks—and no, Frank hasn’t got any friends. I don’t know if you’ve met the man but he doesn’t exactly scream friendly. And god forbid he comes within a mile of you, literally. The day that man actually hands you a drink, will be the day hell freezes over. Oh, name’s Hugh, but everyone calls me Hughie which I think sounds a lot more…” His eyes look between the girl and the door, and then he laughs, “that son of a bitch. A little old for you isn’t he?”

She could feel the eyes on her and she shrugged it off. Even if they tried something, and something about the fae behind the bar seemed to be keeping them away, but even if they tried something Athena had no qualms dealing with them on her own terms. If anyone asked, it was easy enough to say that she’d trained at her mother’s gym - or rather, Linda Quinn’s, since she wasn’t Athena, not right now. Soon enough she wouldn’t need the fake, but it was working overtime to her advantage right now. Both for getting her into the bar and for keeping her proper identity secret from the fae behind the bar - though her face would remain the same - but if it came to that - when it inevitably did, unless someone else got to it first - it wouldn’t matter. “Mm,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder before she refocused back on him, watching as he leaned just slightly closer to her. “Well, he seems like a skeevy kind of guy, then, though I appreciate the tip.” Her lips curved up into a smirk. “Good to know how to get free drinks if I feel a need for it.” She adjusted the jacket, a sudden chill rolling through her body, though she couldn’t tell if it was due to someone opening the door or the continued presence of a fae so very close to her.

“I am.” She replied. He didn’t reply much beyond that, didn’t ask probing questions that could have so easily come along with it. That sometimes did, if she happened to off-handedly mention it to anyone else. Which she usually didn’t, or followed it up with how tiring being pre-med was - which wasn’t a total lie. It just wasn’t as tricky to figure out as some of the creatures she’d studied. Studied and dealt with, though Athena didn’t find any of that too difficult in the end, either. She gave a small huff at his utter lack of response, but allowed herself to refocus on Hughie who was, thankfully, not fae. She let her gaze flick up and down, taking him in, letting a smile settle on her lips once again. “Well, hard work should be rewarded.” Athena had half a mind to follow him outside, because then they would be all alone - but it was too obvious, too easy to point to her, and besides, Hughie seemed certainly more willing to talk to her. She pocketed the change, not looking back behind her again - any of the other creeps in the bar were at least maintaining their distance, whatever else they were doing mattered little to her. Inconsequential, in the end. “Well,” she began, biting her lip in false shyness once again, “his tricks are something.” He didn’t like to touch people. Her mind was spinning, narrowing down to what he might be. Of course, there was always the chance of being an overly-cautious fae, but she also knew there were certain ones for whom touch played a role. “Hughie’s a nice nickname. I -” she couldn’t fight back another laugh of her own, still light and carefree, at his next remark. “Oh him?” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, she weighed her options. “I mean, I guess? He seems to care so much though, and what’s not appealing about that? He is old though. Well, comparatively speaking.” She permitted her gaze to focus on the door for a few moments more - a few moments beyond what might have been typical, before refocusing on Hughie. “Nice of you to stick around and keep me company though, I do appreciate that.”

A light blush coloured his cheeks, but he never shied away from flattery. Hughie blossomed under praise and kind words, a stark contrast to his co-worker who bristled at them, and guarded himself against them with a defensive word or cold silence. A sure way to sever any ties before it had even a chance to form. That was Frank. Hughie threw his head back and laughed, and if the word honest could be attributed to any laugh, it would be his. There was nothing derisive or sarcastic, not even a waver that might suggest jealousy. “Trust me Joan, you would not be the first, or the last person, to think that—or the first or the last to try. That is if you’re into the whole tall, quiet, mysterious and stupidly good looking types.” A stroke of luck with his god-given genes, some might say. Though ‘lucky’ was not the word Frank would use, and despite being raised Catholic, Frank didn’t believe in God. “Although to his credit, I think he does care, like genuinely. He looks out for people, he breaks up fights—well, I say ‘break up fights’, but he mostly just gets his ass handed to him. And then he goes and pays for their cab so they can get home. I mean Frank can be an ass, but it’s hard to hate the guy.” Hughie noted once more her wandering gaze back to the door, for a split second too long, and a hint of pity was found in the smile that now shaped his lips. “He is old—comparatively speaking. Although I should probably also tell you that he hasn’t shown any interest in anyone. Not once, not as long as I’ve worked with him anyway.” When her focus shifted back to Hughie, he was all mush in her hands. His grin was all teeth, both stupidly sincere and shamelessly pleased. “I think you’re real sweet, Joan. I mean it’s not exactly saying much considering the types we get in here, but you’re a lot nicer to look at for sure.”

Hughie wasn’t the only one to think so. The bold gazes found new courage in Frank’s absence, and more of them were suddenly very keen for a drink at the bar, and their generosity extended to the young woman that was already there. “Come on man, she’s minding her business, leave her alone.” His warnings and protests were silent to ears that considered rejection a challenge. Hughie was kind, and to those whose language was aggression and violence, his kindness was taken as harmless. Frank was not harmless, and his return was marked with a brusque, “fuck off Jerry,” as he grabbed a towel from under the bar and threw it over his shoulder: smoke break was over. “I’ll call a fucking cab next, I won’t ask again.” Hughie, visibly relaxed by Frank’s return, dipped his head to whisper something conspiratorial to Joan, a barely concealed laugh colouring his every word, “calling them a cab is Frank’s way of a threat.” Frank, who’d heard the hushed exchange, did not find it equally amusing. “Fuck off Hughie.” If you knew him just enough, which Hughie did, you could hear a ‘thanks’ in there.

There was something certainly satisfying about knowing that she could get a reaction out of the other bartender. Athena settled into a comfortable smile again, letting her hair fall over her shoulders as her fingertips tapped against the cider glass. “Try?” She said, tilting her head. She supposed it was comforting - to a degree - that her recon was easily dismissed as a childish crush. She wondered about Hughie - wondered if he felt secondary to the other man - the one who was, apparently stupidly good looking. “Maybe I am, who knows, really?” She let one finger tract the divots on the counter stop, making eye contact with Hughie as she did so. Though she had no interest of a romantic sort in either of the bartenders, a little extra attention to the one that was quite possibly ignored for favor of a fae who could trick and manipulate those around time couldn’t hurt. Besides, there was something incredibly endearing about him. Hard to hate unless you know what he is. She shrugged. “He seems real noble, huh? Besides, I’m not that young, but I understand your point. It’s all comparative, hmm?” Hughie turned back to her and he had a similar look on his face to many of the freshman boys who she sometimes saw around campus. “I think I might be terribly offended if you thought I wasn’t nicer to look at.”

She made a face at the other men who had decided that now was the time to return to the bar. Well, the rumors about this place certainly hadn’t been exaggerated. It was sweet that Hughie was doing his best to fend them off, though Athena had half a mind to turn around and deck one of them herself. Particularly that Jerry character. Turned out that she didn’t have to, given that she felt her skin crawl again before she saw him, and watched Jerry slink away, another laugh - though a bit more biting this time - escaped her lips. She turned to Hughie, running her tongue over her teeth and raising an eyebrow at his words. “Well, hey, at least it means the general public doesn’t have to deal with them.” Athena settled back, offering a shrug. “He’s just helping me, and since his name isn’t Jake I figured it’s safe, isn’t it?” She winked at Hughie before taking another sip of her cider. “You know cigarettes can kill you, right?” A repeated remark that she’d given to one of the patrons, earlier. This time however, there was a hint of amusement that would suggest a certain playfulness. Not that I’d mind, even if you have kept these creeps away. “Will you drink with me, at least?” Her gaze flickered over to Hughie. “Either of you.”

Hughie answered her with a pursed lip and a pensive expression. He didn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, Hughie was all heart. He had enough heart in him to give to every pretty smile and every kind word he received, and he gifted them freely and in earnest. And he needn’t bribe anyone with promises of free drinks to convince them he was charming, he just was. Perhaps it was this charm or his naivety or a combination of both that had endeared him to Frank. With the knowledge of the world that existed beneath Hughie’s mundane one and the creatures that lived within it (creatures like him), the latter had warned him of his habit, though Hughie never took much notice of it. That was just Frank being Frank, he thought and Frank’s warning had been abandoned long before Joan smiled at him. “Noble is a strong word. I mean, the guy’s still an asshole.” He grinned, and did not mind saying it aloud considering how often he’d said it to Frank’s face. Frank just grunted, which means it must be true. And it was. “Don’t be. You look very nice.”

His hand operated entirely on its own accord as Frank made drinks that he’s done a hundred times before, for patrons he’s seen just as frequently. He was still technically on the clock, and Joan wasn’t the only one at the bar. Even as his hands worked, his mind was elsewhere, he spared a glance, and an ear, at the two as they laughed to themselves (“Ew—yeah, Jake is his own brand of asshole. Definitely do not get free drinks from him,” Hughie chimed). He recognised instantly that wretched hand of envy as she grabbed his inside and twisted it, giving rise to the ugly feeling. He envied their distance, the literal closeness as Hughie lent over the bar to reach her ear. He envied that they can joke and Hughie could be charming and pleasant and have his company be enjoyed and know with complete certainty that the reciprocated amiability was a result of him, because what else could it be? The simple, magnificent, connection between two people. Truth was, Frank was all heart too, he was just always too afraid to use it. For good reason. He answered her words with a raised brow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth; this was not the first time he’s heard this. Judging by her tone, it was not the first time she’s said it. “It can try,” he said, and it was casual enough to be taken as a joke, though the downward turn of Hughie’s lips showed that only Frank thought it was funny. That was because Hughie didn’t know that cancers don’t kill Gancanaghs, though Frank certainly smoked enough to test that theory. “I don’t drink on the job.” Frank said, just as Hughie answered, “yeah, sure!” He turned to Frank, eyes silently begged for permission, and Frank hadn’t the heart to say no. Oh what the fuck. “You are paying for every fucking glass Hughie.” As if the kid had the tolerance to go for more than a couple of pints. “No one hears of this, or you’ll hear from me.”

“Eh, still seems noble to me.” Athena grinned. “I mean, I don’t think it’s best if I say anything about the second part, because he’s been nothing but more than civil to me.” She could comment, if she wished, about the fact that he wasn’t human, that his niceties could easily be a front to whoever he really was - but perhaps that was another discussion for another time. If she ever got Hughie alone, to poke and wonder just what he knew, though she knew that she’d have to be delicate in her questioning, given how entirely oblivious the vast majority of the town was. It meant she’d have to find some way to see him again that didn’t involve coming to a creepy bar that smelled far too much of tobacco. “Well, if you say so, I’ll acquiesce, I suppose I do look good and a compliment from you is better than the others out there.”

Athena kept her gaze trained halfway on Frank even as Hughie whispered in her ear. If he was one of the species that she figured he might be, she had half a mind to say that she was safe, that he couldn’t harm her. But instead she bit her lip, gaze torn between the two of them. “I’ve got no plans to get any drinks or talk with Jake, don’t you worry - but it is sweet of you to look out for me.” It was part of a game, because people usually based their opinions on how someone looked, and she knew that she didn’t exactly look tough. She let her grin turn open-mouthed, running her tongue along the bottoms of her teeth. “Well, it can, and I could tell you about the damage it does to your insides, but maybe that’s not proper bartop conversation, hmm?” Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged at Frank’s refusal to drink. She hadn’t expected either of them to agree, but she supposed that she ought to not have been very surprised when Hughie was jumping to agree. He reminded her a bit of a puppy dog, in a way that she did admittedly find a bit charming. Maybe the factor of comparison played a role, too - what with being compared with a literal fae and a much of thirty and forty-somethings who remained far too eager to steal glances at her, though a good number of them were at least somewhat ignoring her now that she was focused in on the two bartenders. Athena took another careful sip of her cider, the playful and somewhat coy grin from earlier returned. “What will you be drinking first, Hughie?” she giggled. “Will Frank at least talk with us? I know I can provide better and more enlightened conversation than, well…” she waved her hand behind her. “Them.” She let her lips form into a pout. “Please?” Even if batting her eyes proved mostly fruitless on the fae, it didn’t hurt. Provide him with the sense that she was anything but a threat.

Hughie’s smile was wide, positively brimming with a lightness that did not belong in Soul. He’d tangled himself in the vines of Joan’s apparent loveliness and seemed to be in no rush to get himself out. Such was the romanticism of youth. Frank looked at the world through the cracks of the rose coloured lens, and it warned him to keep his distance; so he does. Hughie was too trusting, incredibly so. His smile said that he would throw himself to the wolves to ‘look out’ for the young woman sitting next to him, and Frank knew that he would sooner be ripped to shreds before he got a chance to save anybody, and if Hughie knew what was good for him, he would already be on his way back into the kitchen. “Thanks doc but I know what it can do,” to most humans anyway. “Don’t mean I’m gonna stop doing it.” Hughie turned to Joan, a resigned look on his face, and simply shook his head, “don’t bother. I’ve already tried. Many, many, times.”

Before Hughie could give an order, a pint of beer had travelled the length of the bar and stopped at his hand. He took a tender sip at first—nobody came to Soul to sample their most favourite drinks and the beer that Frank handed (or more accurately, slid across the careful distance of 6 feet) to him was far from his, but it was pleasant enough that the sip became a mouthful. “House lager,” he said, and after another mouthful, added, “it’s alright.” Frank, who was not attached enough to anything, much less the drinks at his least favourite bar, was not offended enough to give a reaction and continued fussing over some glasses for some more drink orders. Joan Parrish was a picture that resembled everything exquisite and delightful about youth. She was all play, with her pout shaped mouth and batted lashes, and the glimmer of something more secret behind pretty blue eyes. It charmed both the Hughie’s and the Jerry’s of the world. It might have endeared itself to Frank too had he let it, but true to form, he remained distant and detached, and answered with a simple: “Hughie can keep you company. He loves to talk, the trick is to get him to shut up…” Hughie launched into his objection at Frank’s accusation, but the latter’s attention was already lost. He was looking past them and out toward the middle of the bar, where the root of a brawl was beginning to take shape in the form of loudly traded words that graduated into a shoving match. “Fuck me.” He muttered under his breath. Frank doesn’t miss a beat, and tossed the towel aside as he carved a path out into the storm. The first fist of the night was thrown, and it cracked across Frank’s jaw with enough force to knock his head to one side. In fairness, the target was not Frank but the man behind him whom the bartender had pulled out of the fist’s trajectory at the last possible moment. Hughie winced, but didn't move from his seat. This was not his first fight at Soul, or the first time he’s seen Frank take a punch. He calmly reached over the bar, found Frank’s phone (punched in his passcode) and dialed a number. “I guess I’ll be calling the cab then.”

“Well, can’t say I didn’t warn you then,” Athena shrugged. She held a certain sort of delight with how much Hughie was smiling. It was almost enough to distract from the fact that there was a fae in this bar who was helping her and who she couldn’t kill. Almost. “Well, it’s good he has someone like you.” She didn’t laugh this time, but instead let her smile do all the talking. It drew less attention she found, and that was for the best, at least here. She was good at keeping secrets, keeping herself toned down when need be, though she did prefer to be more the center of attention usually.

Either these two did truly know one another in a way similar to how Athena knew Amanda, or Frank was just good at guessing orders or wanted Hughie to shut up. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it, which was a bit of a source of frustration for her, but she had gotten better about dealing with her frustrations as she’d grown up. This wasn’t some chess game when she was little, when she’d get terribly annoyed every time her brother took too long choosing the next move when they were playing chess. How she’d once gone through nearly an entire box of colored pencils in kindergarten, snapping each one as she tried to color in a picture all while sensing that one of her classmates was fae, but when the feeling was still new and entirely consuming so much so that she couldn’t pinpoint it. Regardless, Hughie had his drink now and Athena didn’t drink beer, but she had half a mind to reach out and ask if she could try some. Perhaps she would, soon, but not yet. “The cider’s great, if you want to try that.” She replied instead, unable to help herself. “I don’t have any germs, I like to keep myself clean as possible.” She glanced back over to Frank, watched as he meticulously cleaned the glasses (though, Athena had to wonder, would the clientele here really care if one was a bit smudged with a questionably cloudy mark?). If this was to be counted as recon, and she had to count it that way - and learning any sort of habit was beneficial in the long run. “Well, I love to listen, so it works out just fine.” Except before she could do more listening of the man near her, she heard a fist collide with someone’s jaw and then Frank was moving over and apparently what Hughie had said was true, because he was trying to break the fight apart and Athena sat with quiet fascination, though outwardly she shifted her expression into one of concern. “I guess you will.” She said, turning back over to Hughie. Palms pressed against her thighs, she let her eyes grow wide. “Can I help you?” Tongue held between her teeth, she blinked just how she knew she was supposed to whenever something terrible was going on. “We can get drinks another time.” That much permitted a shift to a teasing smile. “I just - is Frank going to be okay?”

Frank doesn’t swing but sidestepped every throw hurled at him. For one as tall as he was he moved with remarkable grace, although it was probably very easy to look graceful when one knew what he was doing and the other two were flinging their fists around in desperate, drunken, Hail Mary attempts at hitting something…anything. To their credit some of those blind throws landed, others merely clipped him, though neither had enough force to do any real damage. Which was just as well. He has yet to have a conversation about broken bones that healed overnight that did not end terribly at worst, and very awkwardly at best. “Oh don’t worry he’ll be fine.” Or he was until one of those Hail Mary throws saw Frank’s cheek at the end of a fist. He stumbled, but recovered quickly enough before the second Hail Mary found him. “Yeah…He’ll be fine.” Said Hughie, more to himself now. “Walk it off Frankie! That’s a lad!”

It was a battle against time at this point; more energy was required to throw a punch than to avoid it, and they always tired themselves out in the end. It was a sort of dance they’d watched him do enough times that one would think they would eventually catch on. Alas, anger made for poor decision making and with intoxication at its right hand the outcome was a predictable one, although they always seemed very surprised when Frank outlasted them. And he always did. This time, he caught one by the scruff of his shirt, and the other by the arm (his hand on the sleeve of the other’s jacket), which Frank had pinned up against his back as he pushed them both forward toward the door. Moans and groans and a chorus of general dissatisfaction ushered them out; the fight was over though not many were very happy about that. Hughie who was watching the unravelling of the events very closely, Frank’s phone still held up to his ear, let out a breath of relief as he finished the last of his instructions into the receiver. “Yeah, for two people…separately. If that’s okay?…okay? Okay. Thank you.” Frank was already out of the bar at this point, he’d just caught a glimpse of him throwing the two (barely) fighters to separate ends of the curb as the door closed behind him. Hughie pocketed the phone and turned to Joan with an offer of a small apologetic smile. He’d wanted to impress her with a pleasant time, in a hopeful bid to get her to come back so he might see her again. He had liked her, and you don’t find girls like Joan Parrish in places like Soul on the Rocks. Although after what had just happened, he decided that it might just be as well. “I’m sorry, I have to go make sure he’s okay.” He had half a mind to tell Joan to stay put. The last thing Hughie wanted was to put her in the company of two men who, only moments ago, seemed bent on tearing each other, and Frank, apart—although the alternative to that option offered him little comfort. “Do you want to come with?”

Even Athena had to wince at the fight breaking out in front of her. She was used to training, used to fights designed for the purpose of bettering oneself and not for the purpose of trying to - well, she didn’t even know what the fight had started about. Only that it now involved two drunk men and a fae who she watched more carefully - that part held in certain fascination, watching his movements and the way he held himself. Just in case, she reminded herself. It was always important to understand how others worked - their bodies and minds. Particularly people like Frank. She glanced back over to Hughie, who seemed incredibly willing to cheer on his - friend? - Athena was not quite sure, but his eagerness continued to be fascinating to observe.

She bit her lip as the other men in the bar groaned as the two drunks were ushered out. This place really was something else, though Athena found that she did not entirely regret coming, if only because she had now discovered a fae who she had never found before. There was always the chance that she would have run into him elsewhere in town, but here she got the chance to be not herself and that permitted her a certain level of power. Though she very much doubted that he thought of her as vulnerable entirely (she could read his facial expressions well enough to know otherwise), he certainly had no idea what she was properly capable of, given an opportunity. She let her gaze shift back to Hughie. She almost felt bad for how much her lips turned to pouting around him, how much of a thrill she got out of his reactions - though at the same time she wasn’t entirely opposed to them either. She listened as he ordered cars for whoever was out there, drew designs in the water that had fallen from the condensation on her cider glass, both their drinks now long forgotten. “Don’t be sorry.” She let her gaze fall to him again, all softness and caring. Besides, she’d lost track of Frank as well - though she presumed he was outside with the drunks. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.” She hopped off of the stool and wrapped her jacket around herself. “That is, if you’ll have me, of course.”

Frank turned at the sound of the bar’s aged hinges groaning, a sharp word taking shape on the tip of his tongue, poised to command any over-zealous spectator that followed them out to take their sorry behind right back in. Alas the words never became more than a thought long forgotten as a mop brown-curly head emerged from the bar, a smaller blonde one following close behind. Frank’s surprise was not for Hughie, whom he’d already expected to come check on him, as he usually does, but was reserved for Joan Parrish. She was apparently not the little flower that shrank from a fight but rather a woman of firmer constitution that followed it out. Perhaps she was neither of these things, and was simply another over-eager spectator with the difference of a pretty face and a more expensive outfit. Although the way she regarded them, regarded him, Frank suspected that it was the former—either way, there was more to Joan Parrish than a pretty smile and a cute glass of cider, and he filed this little piece of information away. Maybe he would see her again, maybe he won’t, either way it didn’t hurt to know. Not that it made any great difference to Hughie of course, who perhaps did not realise the same caution Frank did, or he did and simply didn’t care. Even with Frank minding the two drunks, Hughie kept himself firmly fixed between them and her. “Your phone Frankie.” Hughie took a step forward, the phone in hand, but Frank stopped him and gestured to him to throw it over instead. Unknown to Hughie, he was edging much too close to Frank’s 6 feet, but he didn't question it (although the prospect of closing the distance between himself and the two violent drunks could have something to do with it) and did as he was asked. “And don’t call me Frankie.”

“Cab should be here soon,” Hughie casted an apprehensive eye on the two shadows that sat at opposite ends on the curb, Frank standing firmly between them. “You look…good.” You could practically hear the wince that seeped from Hughie’s face and into his words. The street lamp did him little favours on his split lip, and the dark purplish shadow that sat prominently against his cheekbone. Alas, Frank wasn’t looking at Hughie but rather past him, at the woman that had not said a word in this entire exchange. She didn’t look afraid but rather fascinated, and so was Frank. “Sorry about that ugliness back there.” He said. Hughie, as if realising that Joan was still behind him, a new development as far as Frank was concerned considering he hadn’t lifted his gaze from her since it found her, said rather sheepishly, “oh, yeah. I didn’t want her to be left alone with that lot back in there so I thought—” Frank didn’t give him the chance to explain, and went on as if he had not said anything at all. “Are you leaving too?”

She could feel Frank’s eyes on her, but it did little to bother her, to knock her off balance. Athena wasn’t so easily moved, even if he could practically see his mind working, as if trying to figure out who she was. Even if she never returned to Soul on The Rocks, she fully intended to run into him again, either purposefully or on accident. There was far too much that she was curious about, so much so that her curiosity seemed to have alleviated the chills under her skin. Which was something else she filed away - if she turned everything into work for the sake of curiosity whenever she could, then perhaps she could more easily work to stop feeling on edge every time she came near anything fae-related. She focused her attention back on the matter at hand, watching Hughie as he gave Frank back his phone, and she watched to see how much he would react to being so close. She had half a mind to try it a bit herself - and perhaps she would have, but the two now rather dejected but still fairly drunk men were not something she wanted to deal with.

She continued to watch the exchange between the two of them until she felt Frank’s eyes on her again. “I mean, I guess I should’ve expected that.” She shrugged, eyes growing just slightly plaintive. Athena realized then that perhaps Hughie had been a bit too focused on the phone return to notice her. Or remember that she was there, and she offered him a smile that said thank you for caring, or at least, she hoped that it did. “He was just trying to look out for me, I think.” Pursed lips and a shrug followed that. “I might be leaving.” She let her gaze focus back on Hughie. “Unless I was given reason to stay - but I think that given the experience with the patrons,” she looked back at the door, “given all that - you two have been real kind to me,” she forced a blush onto her cheeks as she looked between them, “maybe it’s best if I do go.” She pulled out her own phone. “Though,” she turned to face Hughie, “if you wanted to hang out without creeps hitting on me and without your boss having to break up bar fights, I’d be down.” She looked back over to Frank, “you should probably get some ice for that to reduce the swelling, though you took that better than I imagine most would’ve.”

“I’m not his boss.”

“He’s not my boss.”

Their words were said at the same time. Hughie, because he liked Frank too well to ever think to form an association between him and their actual boss. Frank, because—simply, he didn’t care to be anyone’s boss. His aversion to telling people what to do could be credited as a consequence of his supernatural abilities. It was also just as likely that it was just Frank being Frank, or maybe a combination of both. He watched as Hughie positively lit up at her invitation, his heart pumping a light dusting of pink to colour his cheek. “Yeah? I mean—yeah, yes! Of course!” He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, and with visible effort to keep it from trembling, proceeded to put his number into her phone. “Christ…” Frank’s eyes turned heavenward, desperate to look at anything else that might spare him from further witnessing Hughie’s love-sick bumbling routine. He caught Joan’s eyes, and her remark prompted his hand to absently nurse the sore on his cheek. “I’ll live,” he said and tried not to think about the pain that was emanating beneath.

Sweet relief took the form of two cab cars as they pulled up against the curb, one after the other. Frank took the first of the drunks by the arm and stuffed him into the back of one cab, deposited some cash into the driver’s window and did the same for the second offender. He tapped his hand against the roof of the cab and the last car pulled away. Just like that, the night came to a sudden stillness and all seemed quiet once more. Alas, silence was a delicate glass and in the hands of drunken idiots, it could do little else but break. In the case of Soul on the Rocks, it quite literally shattered as the sound of glass breaking could be heard from inside the bar. A reminder to both Frank and Hughie that they were still on the clock. Dutifully and without a word, Frank stepped away from the curb and headed for the bar. For a brief moment, he met Joan’s eyes, and he didn’t falter but came to a deliberate halt in front (but still distanced) of her. “Don’t take this the wrong way Joan Parrish, but I really hope I don’t see you here again.” He said and ducked back into the bar, the door creaked open, bleeding sound into the night, and then closed behind him, and then quiet. This time it was Hughie who broke it, and he did so with a grin that he turned to Joan, “I think he likes you.”

#wickedswriting #c frank #chatzy #strong hand #// jt is a gift to us all #frank is literally the best #this chatzy was one of my favorites ever #and it accidentally turned into being uhh 14.5 pages #don't @ us pls #we got carried away

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hellzeldagirlsfanfic · 4 years

Text

Cost of the Throne - Chapter 2

[Pervious] * [Next]

It had been thirteen years had passed since (Y/N) had come to Prildo Ira. Fino had her taken to the country’s second-largest city, Ckville to work at Saint Mirajane Hospital as a doctor’s apprentice. After eight years working as a doctor’s apprentice, (Y/N) finally graduated into proper doctors.

And being only one of three doctors she was a very busy person.

So she chose to spend all of her spare time in the children's ward.

“(Y/N)!!!” The head doctor, Vilho yelled.

Said woman flinched slightly at her name being yelled.

(Y/N) sat on a bed belonging to a now five-year-old Zeck. The boy had been in the hospital since he was two because of breathing problems and had stayed since. Zeck was a happy boy despite his condition especially today due to it being this fifth birthday. His mother and father had stopped by in the morning to give him a little present and lots of love.

(Y/N) had stopped by the ward to read him and the other children a book of his choosing instead of doing her paperwork.

It was obvious to (Y/N) what had happened. Vilho had gone to her office to get her opinion on a patient’s diagnosis but didn’t find her there doing her paperwork.

(Y/N) could hear the nurses of the children's ward giggling at her situation that she had gotten herself into, again.

The woman turned to the large entrance arch to wand to see Vilho standing there with an unamused look on his face.

“Hello Dr. Vainamoinen, how may I help you?” She asked innocently.

Vilho walked into the wand then to Zeck’s bed which was surrounded by other children.

“Yes you could Dr.Lace, I was wondering why you aren’t in your office filling out patients’ files?” He question.

“Cause it’s my birthday!!” Zeck exclaimed. “Dr.Lace promised to read to me Gawain and the Green Giant!” he added on with a big grin.

(Y/N) gave Zeck a smile and pat on his head.

Vilho sighed and shook his head.

“Well once Dr.Lace is done, could you ask her to go and do her paperwork,” Vilho said to the children, who altogether agreed to the request.

(Y/N) gave him a malicious smile which he returned with his own innocent smile.

It took two hours for (Y/N) to read through Gawain and the Green Giant. Once finished the children reminded her to go and do her paperwork which she did.

It took half an hour for Vilho to come to visit her in her small office.

“Can I help you Vilho?” (Y/N) asked, not looking up from her work.

The elf stays at her door watched her work. He had watched the somewhat shy and quiet girl turned into a head-strong and outgoing woman who didn’t take anyone's shit.

“I wish you would take more care of yourself as you do with the patients,” Vilho told her.

“What d you mean?” (Y/N) asked.

“You’re going stay here until you’re done with all these patients’ files and miss dinner and sleep, again,” he said.

(Y/N) briefly stopped writing for a moment the looked up at her teacher.

The woman was now to pushed herself far past her limit. Most days she would only eat a loaf of bread for breakfast and maybe the soup and a small loaf that hospital serves at lunch. It was rare for her to have dinner, choosing to focus on paperwork or patients late into the night. She would get about four or three hours of sleep a day. And only took days off when she was really sick.

“It’s not like you don't do the same thing,” (Y/N) shot back at the elf.

“You take it to the extreme,” Vilho sighed as moved from the door to her desk.

He pulled the patient’s diagnosis that he wanted to talk about earlier to her. Once they finished talking, (Y/N) was left to work through her paperwork.

When she was nearly done with work her shift came to an end. She decides to stay until all of it was done but it seemed that someone had another idea.

“(Y/N)!!!” Debbie called loudly into her office. “Come drinking with us!”

Debbie was the head nurse of Saint Mirajane for the last twenty years. The older woman had made sure that (Y/N) was well taken care of and helped her get her room at the boarding house* a couple of streets away. She was very mother duck.

“Did Vilho ask you to take me?” (Y/N) sighed.

Debbie didn’t reply to the question but just pulled the young woman out of her chair and dragged her to Crue’s Cellar, a pub a street way that everyone from the hospital went to drink at.

The pub always lively, filled with laugh and singing. The pub was normally full with labourers, mercenaries, and demon hunters. It was a nice place to have dinner.

(Y/N), Debbie, and two other nurses Marie and Leanna walked to Cure’s Cellar. The pub was already in full swing.

Debbie’s husband was Ryan was already at the pub.

It was clear that he had already had too much to drink due to the red tint across his cheeks. He stumbled to his wife with open arms. Debbie pulled a face at the state of her husband. She met him halfway. She lifted her hands up to his face and pulled his face and pulled the redden cheeks.

“How dare you start without me! Did you have anything to drink?” Debbie said in an angry tone.

(Y/N) sighed at the couple then headed to the bar. She slotted herself next to a familiar face at the bar. (Y/N) leaned her body against her friend’s, locking her arm around their and resting her head in the crook of their neck.

“How has my M’Lady been doing?” (Y/N) asked, with a smirk on her face knowing how much the woman beside her didn’t like that nickname.

“I’m fine, a little bored since I’m not getting enough jobs of late and a little bit annoyed by someone calling me by a stupid nickname,” Lady said as she reached up to pinch (Y/N)’s cheek.

Lady signalled to the barmaid so she could order a drink for them. It took a moment for them to return to the women with a pint of local ale. Both women took a gulp of their alcoholic drink. They both released a sigh of delight.

“Talking about annoyances, where is he?” (Y/N) asked Lady while looking around the pub for a mop of white hair.

“Don’t know,” She told her as she took a sip of her drink. “Morrison told me that some woman came crashing into his shop, destroying the front. He then took off with her,” She explained.

(H/C) stared at the demon hunter in disbelieve. It was very out of character fro their mutual friend to run off like that.

“She must be very beautiful,” (Y/N) commented.

“Or it’s really good money,” Lady said.

The two of them continued to drink and chatted about odd topics until Debbie came and joined the women after she had dinner and a drink with her husband. The women got around each with (Y/N) ordering some food for herself.

It was about eleven when the doctor parted from the pub to return to her room at the boarding house.

(Y/N) quietly opens the door to the boarding house as she didn’t want to wake up the owner of the boarding house Mrs.Hudson.

“Been out drinking again?” Mrs. Hudson's voice echo through the entrance hallway.

“Good evening Mrs.Hudson,” (Y/N) greeted. “I thought you would be asleep by now,”

“I was just about to but I heard someone coming in,” The old woman said. “What did you have for dinner?” She asked.

(Y/N) paused for a moment trying to remember what she had for dinner. “Seeing that you cannot remember what you had come, and have some leek and potato soup,” Mrs.Hudson ordered, opening her door to her apartment.

The apartment’s living room was the same size as her room. Sitting in centre of the back was fireplace with a dyeing fire in the hearth. Over it was large iron pot. Sitting in this was Mrs.Hudson’s leek and potato soup that (Y/N) loves.

There was nothing special about the soup. It was a soup that Mrs.Hudson that made every two or three months. It was the first proper meal in Ckville after living there for four months. It was the testiest meal she had ever had in her life. It had become her favourite meal.

The two of them sat together at Mrs.Hudson’s table eating a bowl of soup and talking about their day.

Once the meal was finish (Y/N) insisted that she washed the bowls before heading up to her room to sleep.

(Y/N) finally reaches her room immediately stripped herself of her clothes.

She first removed her girdle then tugged the ties of surcoat, not fully undoing but enough so she pull green article of clothing over her head. That left her in off white shirt, trousers and dark boots, there were all quickly removed as well. There were replaced with old work shirt of Ryan’s that only came to her mid tights. (If court could see her now most if them would be dead.)

(Y/N) throw her clothes over footboard but kept her girdle tying it to her headboard. She jumped into bed after tying her girdle. (Y/N) lays in bed running her hand over faded yellow girdle until she fell asleep.

When morning came, (Y/N) was woken up by knocker-upper* Pete. She got up the wented to the window and open it.

“I’m up Pete. Thank you,” She called softly to the man on the streets below.

She close the window and got dressed.

On the way to the hospital (Y/N) stopped by a bakery to grab a roll for breakfast.

The roll was finish by time she got to hospital.

(Y/N) was greeted by the night curses that were still on duty on her way to Dr.Sabaya’s office.

“Morning Viji,” (Y/N) greeted.

“It’s that time already,” Dr.Sabaya greeted back.

“Long night?” (Y/N) asked.“There were two deaths,” Viji informed the younger doctor. “It was Elaine and Old Jason,” She clarified.

Elaine was a first-time mother who had a very difficult labour and Jason was just old.

“This the paperwork done for them?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yes. I just have to file them away,” The other doctor replied.

“Leave that to me, I’m sure Shoko would be happy to see her mother before she goes to sleep,” (Y/N) smiled.

Viji returned the smile with her own tried one.

The older doctor gathered her things as (Y/N) took the patients’ file and filed them way.

Once the files were put a way (Y/N) started her rounds the wands. And when the rounds were done is when (Y/N)’s day actually started.

“Dr.Lace!!!” A nurse shouted from the entrance hall.

She darted from the second floor to hall at front hospital. At the door to the hospital was a group of people were filtering in. By their dress (Y/N) could tell that they labourer that must have been working on Ckville’s cathedral restoration. And judging by the state of the group there was large incident at the site.

“How many?” (Y/N) asked as rushed over to help the nurses.

“Five bad ones!” Debbie shouted from outside the hospital. “About seven minors! We can handle those one!” She continued on as lead the patients into the hospital. “The worst of them is in cart at the back. I’ve ready sent someone to get Vilho,”

(Y/N) rushed to the house pulled cart to see how bed the patient was. The man was laying his back, groaning in pain. It was quite clear that his right side of his body had been crushed. The doctor claimed into the cart so she could examine the injury more closely. She summoned her magic to examine the arm.

‘No use, the arm is completely destroyed it must be amputated off,’ (Y/N) thought as she moved down the body. ‘Ribs are crushed but none are broken and the organs are just bruised, nothing that a healing magic couldn’t fix. His leg isn’t that bad as his arm but it would need a lot of time and magic,’

“Debbie!” (Y/N) yelled. “Prepare for an amputation! Right arm!” She clarified.

(Y/N) jumped off the cart once it was stopped at the hospital’s door. She order the able body men that came from cathedral site to help unload the man from the cart to a room on the bottom floor of the hospital. The room was far at the back of the hospital so other patients couldn’t hear the screaming.

The room was already prepare for the amputation. The men place their colleague on the operation table. Some stayed once their colleague was on the table so they could help hold him down when the amputation started.

(Y/N) tear off the man’s shirt so she access his right arm better.

“Hold him down!” She ordered as she tied a piece of string to cut off of the man’s circulation.

All of the me nodded and stepped closer to the table. (Y/N) grabbed a saw from the desk beside the operation table. She began to cut through the flesh of the elbow causing the man to jerk up and scream out. The men die their jobs and held down the patient.

It took four hours to saw of the man’s arm and to close the cut. It took a further two hours to heal the man’s torso and leg. Once she was finish the man was transported to a bed in a wand.

(Y/N) was tired but there were still patients to attend to. It was night when she finished with all the patients. Vilho ordered her home since she did most of the work today.

For once (Y/N) didn’t argue with her teacher and left the hospital. Though she didn’t go home but inserted she went to Crue’s Cellar for a nice meal.

As normal Lady was sitting at the end of the bar drinking as she waited for a job.

“Evening (Y/N),” Lady greeted. “God, you look tried,” She commented.

“I feel it,” (Y/N) replied.

A plate was placed in front of her with a tankard. (Y/N) look at the plate in confusion.

“I haven’t ordered anything yet,” (Y/N) stated in confusion.

“It’s on the house,” The bar maid said. “We’ve heard what happened at the cathedral and you’ve earned this,” She added on.

“Thank you,” She said before digging into the roast dinner.

Lady pouted at her friend before ordering her own meal.

“Good evening ladies,” The voice of Morrison greeted them from behind them.

Both women turned to face the old info broker.

He strolled over to the bar where they were sitting. He removed his cigar from his dark lips before talking more.

“It’s a rare site to see you here, Dr.Lace,” He said.

“Vilho ordered me to go home,” She told him.

Morrison looked around the rowdy pub.

“This strange home,” He said as took another puff of his cigar.

The ladies laughed at him.

“Do you have any jobs for me?” Lady asked.

The old man became strangely silent for a moment as he took a long drag.

“There hadn’t been any demonic jobs for the last week or so,” Morrison said. “I’ve heard from other that demon attacks across the world have stopped,” He explained.

The women looked at him in shock.

“A lot of them have gone to Mallet,” He added.

“That’s strange,” Lady stated.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“Let’s hope whatever party they having it ends soon so my business doesn’t go under,” A voice said from straight behind (Y/N) causing her to jump. The person that voice belonged to, wrapped an arm around her neck. “How’s my favourite doctor?” He asked softly into her ear.

“Dante,” (Y/N) sighed.

She turned to her head to see the infamous demon hunter lending his head on her shoulder, with a big grin across his face.

“You asshole!” Lady yelled at the man, jumping up from her chair. “Where did you disappear to for two weeks!? And don’t you dare ask me for money to fix your shop!” she added.

Dante held his arms up in a surrender.

“I won’t be needing to borrow any money from you and I will be you back the money I own you,” Dante said.

Lady looked at him like he had grown a second head.

“What?” Lady replied.

“I got a lot of items from the job. I’m going to sell them in the next week?” Dante told her.

Lady sat back in her chair grumbling ‘I like to see that day’.

The demon hunter returned his attention back to the young doctor sitting in front of him.

“It’s surprise to see you see, (Y/N),” He said.

“Just stopping by for some dinner before going home,” She told him.

A cough came from behind Dante.

“Oh yeah,” He mumbled. “Everyone this is Trish, my partner,” He introduced her.

He lifted his arm up so the blonde woman could step under it.

“Hello,” Trish said.

The woman was beautiful. Her long blonde hair ended around her waist and she had bright eyes. Her clothes were the most thing that made her stand out. A black corset that left nothing to the imagination and low riding tight trousers.

‘I thought what Lady wore was revealing,’ (Y/N) thought.

“It’s nice to meet you Trish,” (Y/N) said. “I’m Doctor Odette (Y/N) Lace but I prefer to be called (Y/N),” She introduced herself to Trish with a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you too, doctor,” Trish said, returning the handshake with a smile.

Morrison and Lady stayed quite as the both noticed eerily similarities between Dante’s new partner and the drawing of his mother on his desk.

“And this Morrison, a info broker, he’s also like agent to me,” Dante introduced Morrison himself. “And this is Lady, a fellow demon hunter,” he introduced her as well.

“He owns me a lot of money,” Lady stated.

Trish laughed that Lady’s comment which cause Dante frown.

Then the door of the pub was flung open, silencing the whole pub. Stood in the doorway was a young city guard, Joe. He was a good kid, he tried his best to stop fights and keep the peace . He was out of breath.

“What’s wrong Joe?” A man asked.

“Mun… M-Mundus…” he puffed out.

“What about that bastard?” Another said.

“H-he’s dead!”

The pub became silent again but this time for another a reason.

“Mundus is dead!” Joe repeated. “Mundus has been killed by Nelo Angelo in coup d’e!”

The room was stunned.

“And it turns out that Nelo Angelo is actually Sparda’s eldest son!” Joe stated.

Mumbling started through out the room. No one could believe what the young guard had just said but everyone knew that he wasn’t one to cry wolf.

“Well then,” Dante raised his voice. “I guess it’s time to celebrate the death of Mundus!” He shouted raising a drink.

Everyone followed with cheer and raise of their own drink. The pub owner yelled that drinks were on the house for the night. Everyone started to drink, sing and dance.

But it just wasn’t the Grue’s Cellar that were celebrating. All across Ckville, Prildo Ira and the world were celebrating the death of Demon Emperor. All a part the royal court of Quebel. They knew that they would be next.

#devil may cry #vergil x reader #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry x reader

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mysticperfectionbird · 4 years

Note

For the promps, maybe something with angts with 15 and Jesse and kix (it could take place after umbara or not)

Jesse/Kix

15. Please, can you just hold me? (post umbara)

When I was younger a trainer told me that there would be a day when I found the one person who can make me laugh when I want to cry; that changes my view on the world; that would make me feel loved when I’m at my lowest. He said that this person would be a shoulder when tears are falling down my face and a crutch when I am broken. He said that they would never let me go a day thinking I was unwanted and that they are the one who makes you the best you can be. He said that person would be my soulmate and if I were lucky enough to find them not to let them go.

His words gave me hope and I spent many sleepless nights wishing that this person would make themselves known. I looked for them in every person that I met and started losing hope after I got deployed… I had already spent years searching and now my life was going to be in constant danger.

***

The medic for the 501st thinks that I am reckless and spends much of his yelling at me to take better care of myself on the battlefield.

***

I lost a bet with some of my brothers and ended up spending several hours as one of them gave me a tattoo… I’ll let this serve as a reminder not to mess with the Commanders when they are on leave.

I came back to the barracks to receive a million questions about my new ink… but, I didn’t really want to talk about why I decided to get the Republic cog tattooed on my head. I was in too much pain and wanted to get some rest.

Kix walked into the room and shouted “Everybody fuck off and leave the poor guy alone. The head has a low fat, muscle and skin content. There is a very small protective layer between the artist’s needle and the customer’s skull… making it one of the most painful places to get a tattoo. Let him get some rest and annoy him about it in a few days.”

I turned to him and smiled. “Thanks. Any chance you know anything about tattoo aftercare? This wasn’t done professionally and I want to make sure it heals properly and doesn’t get infected.”

Kix blushed and told me to follow him into his office.

***

Rex was shot.

Kix told him that he needed to get some rest in order to heal and we thought he should stay behind for a little bit.

Rex didn’t seem to agree with that plan and tried to leave until Kix pulled rank saying that he was in charge when it came to the health of the men and that he was ordering Rex to rest. Rex seemed pissed and I was tempted to excuse myself because that was the hottest thing I had ever seen.

***

The 501st barracks were louder than usual because we were celebrating our victory on Kamino and two of our own being promoted to ARC trooper. I was sulking quietly in the back corner.

Kix sat down next to me seemingly unaware that I wanted to be left alone. “They seem so young to have so much responsibility thrust onto them. But, they fought valiantly and were able to encourage the cadets to stand and fight when it seemed like the battle was already lost.”

“I heard once that fighting a war tests a soldier's skills, but defending his home tests a soldier's heart. I am proud of Fives and Echo, but ashamed of myself because I didn't fight as well as I should have.”

“Jesse, you are one of the strongest brothers that I know and you fought courageously. Don’t be disheartened if you weren’t at your best… Many brothers struggled on this particular mission because it was our home and it felt personal.”

“I have been serving with the 501st for a long time and know that so many brothers look to me for guidance on the battlefield. Today when I was out there I felt weak and helpless - we were losing and I didn’t know what to do or say to rally those around me to fight. I let everybody down.”

“You don’t need to feel like you let people down or feel responsible for the people around you. Your insecurities showed everyone that you aren’t as strong as people think that you are and it showed them that you need them as much as they need you. And it allowed someone else to have a chance to show strength and valor.”

“But, nobody else stepped up.”

“Maybe no one that was with you. But Commander Cody faltered today and he depended on Rex and his men to inspire the others and to come up with a strategy. He needed someone to step up when they were in a tight spot, and Fives and Echo did. They earned his trust and respect… and they were rewarded and promoted as a result.” He paused for a minute. “I guess what I am trying to say is that you don’t need to be strong all the time.”

***

Krell was wrong and his tactics deserved criticism because they almost always caused us to suffer heavy casualties.

Rex agreed with us. But his position (or fear) forced him to remain loyal to the Jedi and he was able to convince us to go ahead with Krell’s orders.

Fives spoke up and almost got himself killed… he didn’t seem to care. He knew that something needed to be said and couldn’t just sit down and watch things unfold.

He came up with a plan that Krell shot down…but, he was going to go ahead with it and was looking for volunteers. And I stepped up.

We succeeded in destroying the supply ship. But, our disregard for the general’s wishes resulted in us getting sentenced to be court-martialed.

Change of plan: Krell has decided that we should be executed instead. We were led by Appo and some other troopers to our execution. Dogma was in charge of leading the execution. I looked down the line to see Kix and Tup among the troopers holding weapons that were about to shoot us down... Fives appealed to them and they dropped their weapons.

I am glad Fives was able to speak up and appeal to them… I didn’t hear a word he said because my life was flashing before my eyes.

I heard my trainer telling me to hold onto hope because someday I would find my soulmate, I saw Kix yelling at me for being reckless and telling me that I needed to learn to take care of myself (which I now interpreted as I like you and don’t want to see you hurt again), I saw him coming to visit me after every tough mission to check up on me, I felt that heat rising in my cheek as I thought of how hot he looked pulling rank when he was in that barn when he was yelling at Rex, I saw him standing up for me time and time again, I heard him tell me how strong I was (and realized that he made me feel wanted everyday) and I remembered how he always made me feel better when I was feeling my lowest.

***

When the ships came to pick us up, I didn’t want to talk about the mission and tried to head straight for the sleeping quarters.

Kix was sitting on my bed by the time I got to our quarters.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Too many brothers have lost their lives in this stupid war. Too many lives were stolen because we put our trust in the wrong person. And too many lives were taken far too soon because of a traitor that was parading around as a Jedi. I don’t think things are going to go back to how they were...”

“I know…”

“Jesse, I need you to know that it is our actions that define our legacy. You, Fives and Hardcase were the ones that had our best interest at heart and you will always be remembered for what you did.”

“It was mostly Fives… it was his plan.”

“The wise man leads, the strong man follows.”

Jesse chuckled. “Kix, where do you come up with stuff like that?”

“Books or movies… I always like to have inspiring words of wisdom in case the perfect opportunity to use them arises.”

“Cyare, I know that we probably should talk about everything that happened… but, that mission was a shitshow that made me realize how fragile life was and I just want to get some rest.”

“Did you just call me cyare?” Kix inquired with a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Please, can you just hold me?” Jesse mumbled.

“Yes, I will gladly hold my cyare until he falls asleep.” Kix said in a teasing voice.

“Stop teasing me, Kix. My life flashed before my eyes when I was staring down the barrel of several blasters and I realized how much of my life centered around you and that you were my other half.”

#star wars #the clone wars #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #jessix #captain rex #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #commander cody #general krell #my writing

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jennygirl2014 · 4 years

Text

Just Deserts- Chapter One

Chapter Summary: Tawney has the misfortune of having to work Linda Drysdale’s birthday party. Her luck doesn’t get any better when some careless driving results in her meeting the trust fund playboy. He offers a deal she can’t refuse, mostly because he doesn’t give her the choice to.

Warnings: language, some aspects of racism

July

The heat of the kitchen was worse than usual that day, in fact is was downright oppressive. This event was thrown together without much thought at all, and with little time to spare, but of course the client expected a tall order. Oh, to be on the other side of things, the most effort the client put in was dialing the number and reciting a rather large order, and now there was a ten-person team roasting their assess of in a cramped kitchen, working like elves. For the event to be set up and food to be placed for serving by six, everyone had to be in by ten in the morning. It didn’t sound like an early morning, but considering that some of them had only been away from that kitchen for a measly eight hours, it was early. For Tawney, it was early.

Sweating to death in her apartment while trying to sleep the night before proved impossible. If only she had the money to repair that damn air conditioner, and it wasn’t even that old. What was worse was that she had been in that same stupid kitchen until almost two in the morning, cleaning after another long day and prepping for this big event ahead of time. She wanted to turn down working the event in the first place, having to bake a two-layer cake and five dozen matching mini cupcakes in three days, among other orders and filling in for a cook while they were out with an injury was silently eating away at her sanity. She bounced back and forth between icing the desserts and chopping vegetables enough times to make her go mad. An who would order enough cake to yield seventy servings when there were only thirty odd people present? People with money, that’s who.

The thin layer of sweat under her chef coat was starting to nag her, but the bandana tied around her forehead did the trick to catch the sweat as she tried to maintain the intricate piping details on the side of the cake. Her wrists were starting to kill her, her feet were aching, she wanted nothing more than a shower, and for a little silence to concentrate on her piping, but that kitchen was loud enough to wake the devil himself. At the moment, she was wondering why she had even decided to become a pastry chef. All that money she was paying back in student loans could have easily afforded a new air conditioner, among other things.

“How’s it going over there, Tawney?” her concentration was interrupted when her coworker, and friend, shouted to her from across the way.

“Damn it, you almost made me mess up!” Tawney complained back to her over the noise of the kitchen. “If I have to fix any more mistakes on this cake…” she warned.

“Why are you making mistakes to begin with?” her boss’s voice rose from in front of the stovetop. “Do you need a refresher class already? Do we not pay you enough?” he sounded angry, or course. He always sounded angry, because he really was always angry. He was the typical pig-headed chef, and to him a recent graduate was nothing but a grunt, and women didn’t really belong in the kitchen. Tawney fit both of those roles.

“You don’t pay any of us enough!” Tawney’s friend spoke up in her defense.

“Watch yourself Kira!” The chef warned her. This was Kira’s usual attitude and banter that she somehow got away with. Kira had been in that kitchen a whole year longer than Tawney had, so she had earned the right to have a voice. She often used that right to stick up for Tawney. Being the only two women in the kitchen had them bonded pretty strongly already. “Shit!” the chef leaned back as the flames from his pan shot up and narrowly missed his face, unfortunately.

“You better stick to watching your own mess, or we’re all gonna enjoy watching you singe those eyebrows off, Chef!”. Kira piped in again before giving a heart laugh.

“I want all of the food on the van in half an hour, are we clear?” the chef asked the kitchen.

“Yes Chef!” all of the cooks replied in unison, except Tawney who simply muttered under her breath. It was unfair, she was expected to get the dessert done ahead of time and then she had to lend a hand in the main course once she was done. Then all the men would sit outside with cigarettes in their hands once the meal was done and she would be left the clean. She was starting to really feel shit on, and she wondered how much more she would be able to take of it. This isn’t what they told her life would be like while in school.

“Oh, and Tawney,” the chef spoke up again, “We have a pick-up order for the same time we leave. Four crème brulees. I trust that should be no problem for a pastry chef.” His tone was nasty, and she caught on right away to his bitterness.

“You tell her an hour before we have to go?” Kira spoke up for her, again.

“She can manage.” The chef shrugged it off.

“Yes Chef.” Tawney couldn’t hide the defeat in her voice. It felt like her boss was out to get her.

The crème brulee was whipped up in record time, luckily she knew the recipe by heart, and the cake and cupcakes were finished and loaded into the van. She thought her work would be done, but when the chef asked her to tag along to present the dessert, her heart dropped. Tawney insisted on driving herself, not wanting to be anywhere near the chef or the other men who worked in that kitchen. Especially after hearing how one of the cooks was talking about her, she wanted to keep distance there. She knew going to the chef with a complaint of sexual harassment would only backfire, even Kira agreed. She could hear the chef now saying “that’s why women only belong in kitchens at home”, as if it were her own fault somehow.

Her car puttered along behind the catering vans, making noises that had her worried, but she didn’t have the funds to figure out what those sounds were. She simply turned up the music. She had no idea where they were headed, someone had referred to it as the Thrombey mansion, so she expected a big house, but once she pulled up that long driveway her breath was taken away. This place was massive, but it wasn’t bright with a giant water fountain like she had pictured. Instead it was dark with richer tones, brick with black shingles on steepled points, like something right out of a mystery novel. She followed the van towards the far back end of the driveway and parked, taking a second to get out. It wasn’t that she was nervous, she was actually more annoyed. Clearly these people had money, which meant they had high expectations and demands, in translation, they would be pains in her ass.

It turned out the place was owned by a famous writer; Harlan, someone Tawney had never heard of. The party was for his daughter, she only heard the woman’s name here and there; Linda. While she and the cooks took over the enormous kitchen, the catering staff showed up a few minutes later to start placing things. They wore these gaudy red vests with black ties and large black buttons, she pitied them really. She was lucky enough to be in a chef coat, meaning she wasn’t going to be running around like a pet monkey with a mission. The air was stuffy, likely from the tension and aggravation of a long evening to be spent sucking up to those with silver spoons in their mouths. Tawney could have been counting the minutes, if she knew when to count to. The hors d'oeuvres were to be passed at five and dinner was supposed to start at six, but Harlan’s housekeeper let the chef know family was running late. Which meant maintaining food temps longer, dealing with congestion in the kitchen, and worrying about the buttercream on the desserts sweating too much.

“Rich people really have no idea how much of headache they are.” Kira leaned in and spoke to her as she placed more herbs atop the bowls of dips. “At least show up on time to eat the damn food we just busted our asses to make.” Kira wasn’t quiet in the slightest when it came to her opinions, and she had one very strong opinion; fuck the rich.

“I expected it.” Tawney replied quietly as she chopped more parsley.

“I mean, yeah, I grew up broke as a joke on the wrong side of the city, but at least I have common decency.” Kira sighed before continuing, “You ever wonder what they think of us when we go to fancy places like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do they see a couple of black girls and assume because we’re the only ones in the kitchen with tits and melanin that we’re the house maids?”

“I think you’re giving them too much credit, Ki.” Tawney replied as she grabbed a head of garlic and smashed it. “I think they don’t even notice us.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Kira gave in, “Hell, I hope you’re right.” Then the chef walked in, “What the hell is going on, Chef? What is the hold up?”

“I don’t know, the woman is out there complaining that her son is never going to come. I guess that’s who they’re waiting on.” The chef replied as he looked over the food.

“You have to be one entitled prick to keep your mama waiting on her birthday.” Kira snickered.

Dinner didn’t start until seven, and there was only a total of 27 people that actually showed. While the family wouldn’t consider it, asking the catering company to put on such an elaborate dinner in such short notice, to be missing guests, and to start late was greatly disrespectful. Kira made a point to openly discuss it while on a cigarette break, which of made the chef jump on her case again. But she was right. After the dinner had been cleared away, the cooks ate some of what was left, feeling tired and hungry and just needing some food to get through the rest of the night. That was the part nobody talks about when entering the industry. You couldn’t help but to feel like mice, sneaking in to grab what was left after the cats had their share, and hoping not to get noticed. Tawney refused, not only on the principle that eating on the job was wrong, but it felt like another act to establish the difference between the haves and the have-nots. She would wait. Besides, it was time to present the dessert, this was her time to shine.

Kira helped her place the cake, carrying it out on a big silver board, and then strategically placing the cupcakes around it, creating a visual appeal before it was even eaten. It was those times that Tawney felt pride in her work, and it reminded her of why she decided to become a pastry chef in the first place. There was something magical in that moment when someone sees how beautiful a cake can look, or how cute a cupcake is, or how perfectly browned a pie can be, when they admire the work done before getting to the good part. She beamed with joy when people told her that her desserts were too pretty to eat, but that rarely happened anymore. And this time was no exception. The family pretty much ignored her as she set up the dessert and didn’t even take a second after the candles were blown out before cutting into it.

The night wasn’t a failure, but it wasn’t pleasant either. When the chef finally gave them all the okay clean up, Tawney pulled him aside and said she wanted nothing more than to go home and go to bed. The chef agreed, but made her promise to come in early the next day to clean up the kitchen and start a new order. It was a never-ending job, especially after already working ten days in a row, but she needed the money, at least that’s what she kept telling herself. She said goodbye to Kira and climbed in her car, fought with it to get it started for a moment, and then pulled out of that driveway with gusto. With the windows down and the radio up, she would try to shake off the aggravation and get home to finally take a shower. She was cruising down the highway when her phone started lighting up in her passenger seat, diverting her attention from the road. Knowing she shouldn’t be doing it, she still reached over and grabbed the phone to read the text message.

This family is ridic! I hope we never see them again!

It was from Kira. She got worried and wondered what was going on, now feeling bad for leaving her friend behind to fend for herself. She checked back on the road, and the her speedometer, making sure everything was okay, and then balanced her phone in one hand against the steering wheel to text back.

What happened?

She put the phone on her lap, and it chimed again in only a matter of seconds.

One of them asked Luis if he was here on a green card! Can U believe that shit?

Tawney gasped and couldn’t contain herself from texting back right away, taking her eyes off of the road, again.

Wtf? Who does that?

Just as her finger pressed the send button, her car started vibrating and making a loud screeching noise. The shock caused her to drop her phone and grip the wheel with both hands, panicking while searching the road in front of her. For a split second she saw nothing, and then the sound of a horn right next to her made her practically jump out of her skin. She looked to her left and saw that she had swerved into the other lane and scraped the side of someone’s car. “Shit!” she cursed and swerved as she tried to regain her bearings. The little car sped ahead and swerved in front of her, still honking and hitting the breaks, making her stomp onto hers and grip the wheel in fear. The sound of screeching rubber carried over the music as she swerved onto the shoulder and came to a skidding stop. “Shit!” she cursed again as she tried to catch her breath. And then the saw the little car pull onto the shoulder just ahead of her.

Oh fuck.

She smashed her fist on the radio button, silencing it, and turned her car off. This was not good. Her adrenaline was pumping and her stomach was in knots. She had to remind herself to take deep breaths to avoid hyperventilating. She had never been in an accident before, she hadn’t even gotten a ticket before. How could she have been so careless? A man climbed out of the tiny car and slammed the door shut before inspecting the passenger side of his car. Her one working headlight did little to illuminate his figure, but she could make out enough that he was tall, and broad.

Double fuck.

The man angrily stomped towards her vehicle and pointed a scorching finger at her, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. “Get out of the car!” the man’s voice bellowed. Still she sat in shock, and in fear, not moving. “Get the fuck out of the car!” he repeated. Her trembling hands finally made way to the door handle, pulling on the lever, only for it not to open. Had the damage been that bad?

Triple fuck.

She yanked it harder and the door finally released, creaking open with the sound of metal scraping metal. Yes, it was damaged. As she leaned to move her legs of jell-o, she noticed she was still buckled in. “Get the fuck out of the car!” the man yelled again. She unbuckled and stepped out into the nighttime air with no grit to even keep her on her feet, she could have crumbled to the ground if she wasn’t holding onto her car. The man got even closer, now close enough for her to see. His face was red with anger, his jawline was sharp as a knife, and his eyes were like daggers. If she wasn’t scared for her life, she could have thought he looked rather good. But this was not the time for that. This man was more likely to be a wild lunatic than a Calvin Klein model.

“Are-are you okay?” her voice cracked, and still came out weak. She was shaking like a leaf.

“Look what you did to my car!” he shouted above the noise of passing traffic. He pointed a blazing finger at his car. “Go! Go take a look!” he demanded, but she was too scared to move from where her feet were planted.

“Is it scratched?” she peeped, twisting her fingers and fidgeting. He gave her an astonished look.

“Scratched?! It’s more than scratched!” he paused, and she watched his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how much this car is?! You couldn’t even sell your sorry soul to pay for it!” Ouch. She cringed and looked down at her feet. If this man wasn’t going to kill her, he was going to verbally assault her until there was nothing left. “Give me your information!” his voice somehow caught her off guard, and she flinched. “Give me your damn insurance card!”

Quadruple fuck.

“Come on! Give it to me!” he commanded as he held out his hand. She gulped. “Hello?” he snapped his fingers impatiently. There was no way to get out of the bind she was in, she had to be honest.

“I…I uh…I don’t…” she stuttered.

“Oh my God,” he huffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t have insurance.”

She didn’t. She did, a few months ago, before her rent went up, and before she had an unexpected medical bill after slicing into her own finger at work. Going to urgent care and getting three stitches was expensive. She just fell behind on the payments.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t afford it!” she admitted.

“Couldn’t afford? Jesus!” his anger grew again, “You shouldn’t even be on the road!”

“I know! I just fell behind in the payments! I’ll get it back!”

“That’s not much help right now, is it, dumbass?!” he shouted again as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. “I’m calling the police.”

“Wait!” Tawney panicked and held her hands out in protest. “We can work something out! Don’t call the police!” that was the last thing she needed. He cut his eye at her, contemplating her offer, before pulling his phone away from his ear.

“What did you have in mind?” he raised a brow. Tawney caught on quick and her eyes widened.

“God, not that! Not like that! No!” she shook her head and quickly dismissed any perverted idea he had in his head.

“Wait a minute,” he interrupted her before she could say anything else and nodded at the patch on her chef coat. “You work for the catering company that just did my mother’s party.”

“Linda Drysdale?” she somehow recalled the woman’s name, “You’re her son?” Was this handsome jerk the guy that held up the entire night?

“Yeah,” he tucked the phone back into his pocket, which relieved her at least a little bit. “I didn’t see you there putting out any of the food.”

“That’s because I’m the pastry chef, I don’t set up the food. Only the dessert.”

“You made that cake?” he questioned her. She nodded, curious as to what his next insulting statement would be. The man put his hands on his hips and inspected her. “Can you cook? Or do you just make fancy cakes?”

“I can cook. I mean, I specialize in desserts, but…” she drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves, “Yes.” She replied as she sighed, “I can cook.”

“Fine. I mean, it’s not like I can’t get the car fixed myself. But you’re not going to get out of this that easily.” he spoke almost like Tawney was irrelevant in the entire conversation. “Tell you what…” he rubbed his strong chin, “I need a new cook. My last one walked out on me.” He squared up to her, almost like he was trying to intimidate her in some way. “If you can’t pay me the money outright to fix my car, you can work it off, save me the expense of hiring someone else.” From the looks of this guy, and his car, and his family, expenses weren’t something he had to be worried about.

“You want me to come cook for you? To pay off the damage to your car?” Tawney was skeptical. She didn’t even know this man.

“You just said you wanted to work something out.” He sounded annoyed, “And clearly you can’t afford to pay for it.”

“But I also have to work at my job, I mean…I’m going to have to fix my car.”

“That’s not my problem.” He waved off her concern. “What do you say? Or do I need to call the cops?” he stared her down, almost daring her to give the wrong answer. Tawney stayed silent, not knowing what to say, or what to do. The man gave a smug nod. “I thought so.” He paused, “My address is 10 Canoke Drive. I want you there at least three days a week, lunch and dinner. Got it?” She still didn’t respond, instead she stood there chewing on her lip, distressed by how quickly this was all falling into place. “What’s your name, kid?” he raised his brow and leaned in, like he was trying to get some sort of response from her.

“Tawney…” she finally replied, “Tawney Winters.”

“Well Tawney,” he spoke her name as if it tasted funny on his tongue, “Come by tomorrow.”

“I-I don’t even know who you are.”

“Hugh,” he stood up straight and tilted his head some, and then a slight smirk appeared across his lips, “But you can call me Ransom.” The smirk grew, “Consider it an honor, usually I have the help call me Hugh.”

“Um…okay…” Tawney didn’t know what else to say. The man, Ransom, eyed her once more before turning back to his car and walking off. He didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t wish her a goodnight, he didn’t even bother to ask her if she was okay. She watched as he climbed back into his little BMW and drove off into the night, leaving her standing on the side of the road with her own car to worry about. Of course the thing was still drivable, as far as she knew, but it would be a matter of getting that driver side door to work properly. A gentleman would have made sure she was okay and that she could make it home, but this guy clearly wasn’t a gentleman. On the contrary, he was an asshole. And now he was her boss. Maybe she gave in too easily. But what other option was there that didn’t involve the cops? When she eventually found it in her to get back in her car and fight with the door to shut it, she grabbed her phone, having a mind to call Kira to tell her all about the ordeal, but she had already sent her another text from their last conversation.

Fuck the rich.

Next chapter here.

#chris evans fanfiction #knives out fanfic #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfic #hugh ransom drysdale #hugh ransom drysdale fanfic

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bipabrena · 4 years

Text

Regret (AO3 Eruri fic)

After the Battle of Shiganshina, Levi is desperate and can't come to terms with his exceedingly strong feelings towards Erwin, and he drinks himself stupid. He tries seducing him, and things don't quite go as planned.

Erwin walked past Levi’s door, but stopped in his heel when noticing the light was still on.

He’s still up?

Erwin knocked on the door, unsure of whether he should. Perhaps Levi was asleep, but left the light on.

“Who is it?” he heard from the other side of the door, instead of the usual “name and business.” Erwin furrowed his brows. There was something distinct about Levi’s voice.

“It’s Erwin,” was his response.

He heard the sudden scraping of a chair, and slight ruffling. “Come in,” he responded.

Erwin opened the door gently. He peeked his head, and saw Levi sitting at his immaculately organised desk. There was an open bottle of whisky, and an empty shot glass in Levi’s hand.

“Levi,” Erwin muttered, brows rising in surprise “What are you doing drinking at this hour?”

There was something oddly endearing about the way Levi looked right now. His cravat was slightly undone, and his hands now cupped the small shot glass.

He paused and looked up, trying to find an answer.

“I don’t know.”

Vague but honest answer.

“I see,” Erwin closed the door behind him. “Is it okay if I join you?”

Levi’s tired eyes bore into Erwin’s. He then looked down at the way his hands cupped the small glass.

“Why not,” he shrugged.

Erwin sat across him. Something was off.

He grabbed the bottle of whisky, and his pinky accidentally brushed against Levi’s hand. This made Levi perk up and look at his hand.

His heart accelerated slightly.

Erwin was about to pour himself a shot, but looked around Levi’s desk to find no other glass.

“Ah,” Levi slid his own to Erwin. “I don’t have another one. Sorry.”

Erwin smiled at him.

He did so with frequency. He smiled at Levi when he saw snow for the first time, he smiled at Levi when he first drank high-quality tea—he smiled at Levi whenever he exceeded expectations.

But it just felt different to Levi. Not just his smile, Erwin in general just made him feel something weird, something that made him nervous and worried at the same time. A feeling in the pit of his stomach, which expanded to his chest and throat if he thought about it too much.

He observed Erwin as he drank the shot and squeezed his eyes shut, observed him as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb—the way he smiled at him when he noticed him staring. That stupid fucking smile again.

He suddenly felt the reflexive need to put his hand on his chest. As though it hurt.

“Levi?” Erwin leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

He gripped his cravat tighter. He didn’t notice himself breathing faster.

His heart felt out of control, he was lost in a trance, and moments later his reverie was interrupted when he looked up and met Erwin’s concerned face, a hand holding his cheek.

“What?”

“You’re burning up,” Erwin said.

He was about to let go off his cheek to place the back of his hand on Levi’s forehead, but the moment the skin contact ceased, Levi held Erwin’s hand and put it back on his cheek.

Where it belonged, he thought.

He closed his eyes and sighed, pressing Erwin’s hand tighter against him.

Erwin could only stare in confusion. He tried to get his hand back, but Levi immediately strengthened his grip.

He grabbed Levi’s wrist with his other hand and put it down. “I think that’s enough for you.”

He stood up and put away the alcohol, while Levi’s eyes never stopped following him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Erwin holding him again.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

“Yes,” he responded. “Well, no. I’m going to put you to bed first. I’m not sure what’s going on, Levi, but I’m worried.”

“You’re worried about me?” Levi perked up, leaning forward.

“Yes,” Erwin stopped to look at him, holding a sweatshirt and pants. “You’re not being yourself lately. I want you to take the day off tomorrow, and, before you reproach, that’s an order.”

“But—“

“I said that’s an order,” Erwin said sternly, approaching him. He handed him the fresh clothes. “Take a shower and put these on. I’ll go brew some tea for you meanwhile, alright?”

The tingly feeling in Levi’s stomach started to make him nauseous.

“I also want you to visit Dr. Adler tomorrow. Right now it’s probably the alcohol, but I just want to make sure you’re not ill.”

“No, I…”

No, he wasn’t ill. Well, yes. In theory, he should be ill.

Racing heart. High temperature. Tingly stomach. Nausea.

But it was a different kind of ill, one Levi wasn’t familiar with. One that worried him immensely, but he also liked a little.

“Just go,” Erwin commanded. He handed him the clothes again. “Now freshen up.”

Levi looked up at him.

God, he was so…

He was just so…

He grabbed the clothes.

“I’ll be back. I won’t take too long.”

Erwin held the door handle, waiting for Levi to reply.

“Okay,” Levi mumbled.

Erwin smiled at him then shut the door.

Levi stared at the door for a full minute. He then looked at the clothes on his lap, and brought them to his face. He smelled them gently.

He had only held them for a moment, but Levi just wanted to know if they smelled like him.

They didn’t, of course.

He placed the folded clothes on his bed and headed to the bathroom. He unbuckled the straps, undressing slowly. He put a hand over his chest again, grunting.

God, he didn’t understand what was happening to him. He felt so distraught, but he didn’t understand why. He had never felt like this before.

He knew Erwin was the one making him feel this way, but he didn’t know why.

He looked down at his naked body and slowly ran his hand up from his iliac region to his pectorals. For a moment he wondered whether he was attractive, and if Erwin had ever imagined how Levi looked in this vulnerable state.

The possibility that yes, he might have, sent shivers down his spine.

He took a quick shower, hoping that perhaps when he went back to his room, slightly wet and with nothing but a towel wrapped around him, Erwin would be there.

Maybe he would feel something. Something he didn’t feel for anyone else.

He decided to stay in the bathroom for a little longer, to wait for Erwin; for him to knock and ask if he was okay.

And less than five minutes later, his expectancy came to life.

“Levi?” he heard two knocks.

“Yes, I’m done,” he said. He ruffled his hair, slicking it back.

He opened the door. As expected, there was Erwin, holding a tray. It had a cup of tea and a glass of water.

Levi was wet—his muscular and taut abdomen, every indent of his muscles glistened and his hair stuck to his face despite having slicked it back moments prior. He strengthened his grip on the towel, just to highlight his arm muscles a little.

Deep down, he felt pathetic for what he was doing.

Erwin simply looked down at him. He placed the cup and glass on the night-stand, then looked back at Levi. “Goodnight,” he smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Levi’s lips parted, and he leaned forward in slight desperation as he saw Erwin’s back turned to him.

T-that’s it?

“Wait,” he called to Erwin, taking two steps forward. Erwin looked back.

“What’s wrong, Levi?”

Levi just stared at him, heart still racing. Erwin looked down at his stomach, noticing how it quickly rose. He was merely concerned, but Levi felt victorious at the feat, taking it the wrong way—thinking his plan had worked.

“Don’t go,” Levi took another step forward.

Erwin instinctively leaned back.

The shorter man just looked at him in expectation, awaiting a response, awaiting a signal, something.

“Okay,” Erwin said after a moment. “I’ll be at the desk while you get dressed.”

Levi grit his teeth in desperation. “That’s not a problem, I can get dressed quickly. So, you don’t have to leave.”

At this point, Erwin was just crept out. He couldn’t stop asking himself what Levi was playing at. This wasn’t his Captain.

“Levi…” his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in slight… suspicion? What was it, really? “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

Levi took another step, now very little distance between their bodies. Erwin could almost feel the heat radiating off him.

Unsettledness? Yes, that’s exactly it.

“You don’t have to talk like that,” Levi’s expression softened fondly, much to Erwin’s horror. Since when was Levi capable of looking like that? “Is it okay if,” “Wish to,” “May I,” Levi perked up to break distance between their faces. Damn his height, he thought. “You don’t have to be so formal around me.”

Erwin opened his mouth to take a big inhale, then held his breath, looking down at Levi.

Then, the Commander broke. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously.

Levi took it as a good sign, and grinned at him hopefully.

“I-I guess I am too formal,” he smiled nervously at Levi. “We have known each other for a long time, after all.”

Levi didn’t respond, he just fondly smiled at him.

“Regardless, I don’t want to invade your privacy. I’ll be right outside your room while you dress.”

Levi wanted to hold his arm the moment he spun to leave. Why didn’t he stay? He just said he didn’t mind Erwin staying.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance when the door to the room shut. As he got dressed, Erwin sat on the desk, pulling his shirt back and forth to fan his neck. He had no idea what was going on. Levi wasn’t being himself lately, he had been strange, but tonight trumped his previous behaviours.

But Erwin felt terrible for feeling so unsettled around his Captain, someone dear and of trust to him who had served him so well. He figured he had drunk too much, and that perhaps the weight he constantly carried on his shoulders got to him this particular night.

Levi, too, was human. Erwin knew it. Where everyone saw the scary, ruthless looking Captain, Erwin knew better. He knew that, despite the appearances, the sass and snarkiness, Levi valued each and every subordinate, he valued life more than anyone—Levi was kinder than anyone.

The tiny man he picked up from the underground, the one that trumped Mike back then as humanity’s strongest soldier, who had lived in filth and violence—was kinder than anyone he had ever met.

Where everyone saw Humanity’s Strongest, Erwin saw Levi Ackerman, the man.

His invaluable Captain and dear friend.

But this didn’t make him immune from the unsettledness he was putting Erwin through right now, even if he felt guilty for feeling this way.

The door opened. Levi peeked his head, embarrassed. “I… I’m done.”

“O-okay,” Erwin replied. He went back to the pristine room, awkwardly holding his hands behind his back.

And his mouth hung when he saw, for the first time in his life, the great Levi Ackerman furiously blushing. It was as though steam was emanating from his cheeks.

“My God, Levi,” Erwin bolted to him. “You’re burning up!” he rose his voice. He sat him on the bed, alarmingly concerned. “Just what is going on with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Levi closed his eyes, sighing. His lips curved down as he then looked away in further embarrassment at having Erwin so close to him. “I don’t think I’ve been well lately.”

Erwin’s brows furrowed in guilt. He felt unsettled, slightly mortified at worst, by Levi’s behaviour tonight, but now he just felt like utter shit. Levi was simply ill. He didn’t feel well lately, and he hadn’t asked about it. Perhaps he truly was sad as well, and needed someone to confide in. Erwin had had Mike, still had Hange—but he never thought Levi, despite being close to them and him, had never confided to anyone about his feelings.

Perhaps Levi wanted to open up to him, and he misinterpreted that.

What do I do? He bit his inner lip. What do I tell him?

“It’s okay,” he cupped Levi’s neck with his left hand. He grabbed the glass of water with the other and put it to Levi’s lips. As he drank, Levi looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

“If there’s anything you need to talk about, you do know you can confide in me, right?” Erwin looked at him with determined eyes.

Levi then smiled softly.

“But for now, it’s best if you go to sleep. Rest, okay?” He held the back of Levi’s head as he gently pushed his chest back. “Tomorrow you’ll see Dr. Adler and then we can talk about whatever you want.”

Levi nodded as he closed his eyes.

After some time, not knowing exactly how long, but enough for him to think Levi fell asleep, he softly muttered “Good night,” and stood up to leave, but felt a tug at his sleeve.

He looked down at a half-lidded Levi, who pushed down his sleeve, almost imploringly. “Don’t…” he begged.

Erwin sat back down, as Levi sat up. “What is it?”

“I…” Levi paused, heart racing. “I…”

He whimpered in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” his brows furrowed worriedly, the concern for Levi’s well-being growing immensely.

He sat expectantly, looking at Levi, who he then noticed was breaking the distance between their faces. Levi held on to his arm, weakly, but in a strange way, also imploringly, like begging Erwin to please not move.

Erwin’s mouth hung and his eyes widened massively in shock as he realised what was going on.

He felt the softest kiss being placed on his lips, and the grip on his shirt grew tighter and more desperate, as Levi leaned forward and tried to deepen it.

Erwin was too shocked to move.

Levi’s head then dropped to Erwin’s chest, his forehead resting on it. He felt Levi’s hand run down to his forearm, clutching the fabric of his sleeve, pulling it towards him, as though asking Erwin for a hug.

A broken groan escaped Erwin. It was all he could muster.

He could feel his heart thumping on his ears.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he attempted to jest, trying to pull away from Levi.

“No, no,” Levi looked at him, eyes almost closed. He tugged the collar of Erwin’s shirt. “No, that’s not it.”

He was about to lean in again and Erwin could only think one thing.

Oh, fuck.

Not knowing what the fuck to do, he held Levi’s shoulder and pushed him back. “L-Levi, it’s the alcohol sp—“

“No, it’s not, no… I…” He looked up at Erwin, tugging him closer to him. “Erwin, I…”

Erwin desperately tried to pull back, but shit, Levi was strong.

“It’s not, I…” Levi leaned in and tried to kiss Erwin again. “Erwin, I…”

Holy fuck, Erwin’s mind raced.

“Ah…” Erwin whimpered. “Ah!” this time loudly, in panic.

Levi didn’t care, as he sleepily kissed Erwin’s neck. He continued his silent affections, his hands continued wandering Erwin, and his nose nuzzled his neck as Levi's lips softly meandered across Erwin's neck.

Erwin called his name, he tried to pull back, but Levi didn't stop.

“Levi!” Erwin shouted, which jolted Levi awake from fright.

“Huh?” He muttered, now almost fully awake.

He then realised how much he had fucked up when he looked at Erwin’s mortified expression, and how tightly he was holding his wrists.

Read the rest here.

#snk fic #levi ackerman #Erwin Smith #Eruri #levi x erwin smith #eruri fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction

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mightydragoon · 4 years

Text

Toxic

Summary: In which Luke crashes his X-Wing into Vader, crash lands. Eats a toxic vegetable and confronts Vader. All in all, a stressful week.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118062#main

For paradoxsoup

Thanks @silvereddaye for beta reading it

ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The shrill noise brough Luke to attention. He was currently in a dogfight flying in the sky above in his x wing. He gritted his teeth; he had to focus– oh wait, no! He pulled away just in time as an Imperial fighter just skimmed off of him. That was close. Too close.He didn’t know how long he could keep this up. There weren't a lot of fighters left now and the tide could change on them any second. So he had to keep his focus. His hands tightened on the steering yoke and he fired.

BANG!

Another fallen foe. Three Imps left, five rebel fighter ships left including him.

“Artoo what’s the status?” Luke asked.

R2-D2’s shrill response told him that everything was fine. But that was short lived. A TIE Fighter came shrieking out of the thick grey clouds, and before Luke could blink, it shot down two of the Alliance fighters.

KRIFF! Vader. It was Vader. Luke thought to himself. No one one else flew a TIE Advance X1.It could only be Vader, the man who betrayed and murdered Luke’s father, who slain Obi-Wan right in front of his eyes, and who ordered his Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen execution. The one who took everything from him.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Luke could hear his racing heart, was this really it? The End? His breath was growing shorter and shorter as he desperately tried to soothe his nerves by taking deep breaths. This wasn’t just about him. Leia. Alderaan. The Rebels. That’s not even considering all the other worlds the Empire has subdued and colonised for their own needs, all of which Vader has participated full heartily in. How many more worlds has Vader struck down with impunity?!

With no remorse. No regret. No mercy.

Vader was a monster.

How he even existed, vile and corrupt was beyond Luke? Luke began to sweat and his hands began to shake. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in anger. Accepting his oncoming fate. His shaking stopped. His fury dispelled. Luke was in the eye of the storm now, in his mind. Calm and silent compared to the unstoppable inferno of flying debris of the burning ships and gunfire on the outside. Luke’s life meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was tiny. Insignificant. But perhaps...He could do something with it. Such as taking down this monster.

Luke had a plan. He might go down with Vader but it was his only chance. He might not get this again. He could hear yelling. It could have been command shouting through his commtelling him that he was veering off course or the rational part of his brain telling him how stupid this was.

Luke didn’t care.

“Artoo close comms,” he ordered and silence consumed him.

His heart was thumping widely and he started to sweat profusely. He was going to take down this monster and didn’t care whether or not he lived. Just the thought of Vader dying brought Luke peace.

CRASH!

The two ships crashed.

Everything burned. The flames licked and ate away at his ship but Luke wasn’t focusing on that. He was in for a rough landing.

He shouted to Artoo, “The stabilisers are down! Artoo, we are going down! Hold on!”

He could feel it, no longer walking the sky, but falling down onto a nearby planet below. He closed his eyes. He had no idea what was waiting for him but he called out. To whom he wasn’t sure. He only hoped someone could hear.

I’m sorry. _____________________

The Force was with him when he landed.

He was in a massive jungle, one that thrived off of decay and ruin than light and substance. What an awful place he had found himself in but in a way, it reminded him of the home he lost, not so long ago.

Luke threw off his helmet, the sun came in through the hole his fighter had caused in the canopy above. The light was blinding and cooking him. Yep, just like home. He gave a hollow laugh. He clambered onto the wing of his X- Wing and looked at his droid. Once Artoo was out, the next thing Luke was focused on was communication. It was a big planet. He knew that much, so it could take a while before they found him. Plus, how could he forget it wasn't just Rebels out here, but also Imps?

Luke had a feeling that Vader wasn’t gone. He felt it in the force, the blackhole that consumes everything positive and kind, leaving only darkness and decay behind A horrible feeling, that drowned and consumed everything in sight. It still tainted the force, with its energy. It seemed his suicide kamikaze into Vader didn’t work as planned. Luke groaned and looked at his radio. It had been damaged during the crash and no matter what he seemed to adjust or press, no response seemed to come from it. Something must have broken on the inside. This was going to be a problem. Here he was on a planet, alone, no supplies, no shelter and Imps and Vader on his tail. What fantastic luck Luke had.

Why did Force love to mess with him like this?

He couldn’t stay here as the smoking remains of his fighter was too much of a signal for any scouts looking for him. Luke grabbed what tools and equipment he could that weren’t blasted and with Artoo by his side, he entered the forest.

Before long it was nightfall, and he had found himself amongst large windy, spindly trees with leaves the size of saucers. He gathered some firewood and created a small campsite. The silence was deafening and it was killing him. It wasn’t meant to be this quiet, where was the wildlife, the chittering, the squeaks, the squakes? There was only quiet. Luke could see no creatures, no birds, not even a single bug.

It drove an eerie feeling into Luke, it only made him more alert. It didn’t sit easily with him and it brought up another issue. Namely scavenging for food would be a lot harder than he expected. Using his lighter, Arto ignited the wood and Luke felt alive for a moment. Yet, the rumbling in his stomach reminded him of the little supplies he had. He was lucky to have a canteen on him, but the emergency rations in his X-Wing had been damaged. He laid on the ground with Artoo keeping watch and ignored the pain in his stomach. He patted the droid’s robotic head letting Artoo know that he appreciated him so very much before finally drifting into the realm of dreams and nightmares.

_________________

Several days had passed and Luke was still struggling to contact the Alliance. He hadn’t been able to fix his radio despite taking it apart and putting it back together. He thought time and time again he had finally fixed what was broken, only for his hope to fade when the radio failed to turn on.

Hunger. It panged and ached. He was constantly exhausted and didn’t seem able to find much food.But If this kept up, he could . . . No, he resolutely said to himself. You are not dying here Skywalker and you know it.

He hugged himself trying to keep in the pangs but to no avail. On one hand, he was fortunate to found a steady water supply. Years of working as a moisture farmer have served him well in that regard. He knew what good water should look and taste like. But he was also on an unknown planet with no idea, what was safe and what wasn’t to eat. He knew little what was edible in a jungle. It was a far cry from the desert planet he grew up on.

Luke trudged into the forest once more searching for anything to eat. He kept his eyes peeled for something, anything. There, near him beside the bushes, was a bundle of root vegetables just poking free of the dirt. Was it safe to eat, he asked himself. But before he could even properly debate this, his hunger won out. He dug up the roots and without thought, he began to chomp away at it.

Blurgh. He spat it out. Yuck.

His rational mind walloped his starving belly. What the kriff was he doing? Eating something he didn’t know. He had a bad feeling about this. He grabbed what was possibly a toxic vegetable. If it was toxic, did he need to find an antidote or cure?

Luke vomited in his mouth. He retched up whatever food remained in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Great. He was sick. He stood up and began to stumble. He could barely step one foot in front of the other. Somehow he made it to his makeshift camp where Artoo was beeping furiously at him. He didn’t pay attention to that because he collapsed on the ground, unconscious. ___

Vader’s son was strong in the Force. He knew that much. He walked through the forest and cut the large branches out his way. His son was akin to the blazing suns of Tatooine in the force. How hadn’t he ever realized that before? Was he truly engulfed in shadows and despair to ignore the light and hope his son radiated? His child. Their child. Padmé.

It had been so long. It was a miracle the boy was alive as he thought him dead. He and his son will rule together side by as rulers of the universe. It was Luke’s birthright. It was his as well.

When his son crashed into his fighter, he was shocked, yes, but also impressed by Luke’s abilities in the force. Luke burned bright and fiery, an eternal inferno that warmed the freezing ache in what was once his heart. A forgotten feeling. His son still had a long way to go. He wasn’t a Jedi, yet. That much was obvious and if Vader could get to him, he would never be a Jedi.

Vader allowed the Force to guide him. He would find his son no matter what. He trudged through the sticky mud of the forest and sheared the gigantic leaves of the trees and bushes out of his path with his scarlet lightsabre.

Luke was near. He knew it. He could sense his son, but something was wrong.

His son was an inferno, much like one of the twin suns of Tatooine he blazed in the force, impossible to look away from and so very strong. This was not what he felt at this second. His son presence flickered in and out of existence. It was more difficult to see him through, the bright supernova that was Luke was enveloped by the overwhelming existence and consumed by the familiar grasp of death. The light was being snuffed out and wavered more unsteadily by the minute.

Luke was dying. He was sick. He must’ve been poisoned by something. Something in the jungle had gotten to him.

He began to race towards the wavering and weakening presence of his son through the thick bushes and trees.

Luke.

He called out in the Force.

Hold on.

___

Luke rolled on the ground, clutching his belly, choking in agony. He was such an idiot. Kriff his hunger for enhancing his stupidity.

Luke.

He could hear a voice. Either it was the Force or that blasted vegetable induced some crazy hallucination. Though it was probably the former. Who was calling him though?

“Ben,” he cried out, though he was certain the voice wasn’t him. “Ben is that you?”

Found you.

Luke couldn’t turn around, but he felt a horrible chill go down his spine. His blood clotted; his heart on the precipice of attack. Cold. So very cold. Luke had a bad feeling about this. He weakly struggled to lift himself as he had to hide. Now! Using his instincts he spotted a massive fallen over log, he limped over to it, and slumped behind it.

He was only buying himself time. If Vader didn’t kill him, whatever he ate sure as he would. That didn’t include any Imperial ships tracking him down. How did Vader find him,and what did he want with him? Luke recalled their first proper meeting on Cymoon 1. He had been flung to the side with no care or attention by Vader’s impressive use of the Force. Luke’s screams for justice for the death of his family, his father, his aunt and uncle, Ben, were brushed aside much how one might brush aside a cat.

Luke knew it was him. Vader. He held his breath and heard loud resonant footsteps marching towards where he had been minutes ago. He didn’t look back but he could hear Vader’s blood-red saber humming. Would he be the next victim to it? Did his father die to that blade? Luke blinked in and out of consciousness, when he sensed a lingering shadow hanging over him, a spectre of death and decay. Vader.

He had found him.

Then Vader did something Luke never expected him to do. He extinguished his saber and gently caressed his face, much like how Aunt Beru used to during the night when the twin suns finally set. Her warm smile made him feel so loved. Except this was not warm, this was possessive and tentative and cold.

Luke somehow managed to find the strength within and pull away from Vader. Why wasn’t he dead yet? Why wasn’t he skewered with the red lightsaber, choked to death, or has the toxin finally claimed him?

“Why?” Luke laughed bitterly at him, his eyes blazed with fury. “Why leave me alive?”

Vader took several heavy breaths.

Kush. Kosh. Kush. Kosh.

“You have no idea how important you are.”

His low voice dominated the scene. Even with the mask, Luke glanced at his soul for a moment and saw it open, vulnerable, but why?

Luke belted out a short burst of laughter. “Important. Ha, sure I shot down the Death Star but when I faced you on the Cymoon, and probably even back on the Death Star, you looked at me like I was nothing. What changed?” He had mocked Vader, clutching at his stomach, tighter as the pain increased. He gritted his teeth and spat the next words out. “Heh, what changed?”

Vader was silent. Luke didn’t like this, he didn’t like this one bit. His nose scrunched up as Vader spoke, “I’ve discovered that some things that I once believed as truth were, in fact, lies, namely the one where you were dead”.

Luke frowned. He didn’t have enough strength to fight, no matter how much he wanted to. But he pushed on. Maybe he could make his life count in some meaningful capacity even at the end. “Me? What the kriff do I mean to you? You betrayed and murdered my father! Just get this over with and kill me!”

“No. I did not betray or kill your father. I am your father.”

...What.

Luke was silent. Vader was lying. He had to be but no, no, no, NO!

“Search your feelings, you know it to be true.” Vader spoke quite bluntly and concisely. It was almost like his voice was gleeful due to finally reuniting with his son.

Luke grabbed his hair and started to scream in anguish. Anakin Skywalker was the one he had idolised and longed to become. He was to be a Jedi like him. But now that pristine and proud pedestal Anakin had stood on was crumbling. Anakin was Vader? Vader was his father?

“NO!” Luke shrieked, shifting away from Vader, but there was no use trying to escape, much like a fly he was trapped in this web of deceit, lies and revelations.

“Come with me, my child. I can save you. We will be a family once more.”

Luke's stomach churned and twisted as he screamed in pain. He did not know if it was because of the revelation or his physical disposition, but it did not matter. Ben...Why didn’t you tell me? Luke began to cry, lost in the agony of truth. He was drowning. Why was it true? Luke was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Vader kneel down before him and place his gloved hand over his head. Luke struggled to remain awake, but both his body and Vader’s strength in the Force was too much for him to handle. He drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Vader quickly scooped Luke into his arms and carried him off. He should not have had to wait until Luke was an adult and seriously ill them to have met. Luke should have grown up at his side, learning the ways of the Force. Obi-Wan should’ve died a slower death for his actions but no matter. Vader had Luke now. The galaxy should’ve been Luke’s and he should’ve known that all along. It would be his, though. If Vader had anything to say about it. He cradled his son and made his way to the waiting Imperial ship to get the antidote and finally take Luke home.

With him. ____________

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