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weeo · 10 months

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What's Bred in the Bone Comes Out in the Flesh

Where the Waters Do Agree - Chapter 4

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Alfie Solomons

Summary: Alfie offered Tommy to help him kill his mark—looks like they have a mission to complete, and a destabilising tension to deal with.

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blood, Assassination

Notes: This is the 4th chapter of a group fic! If you want to read the story from the beginning, you can have access to every chapter here.

Thank you so much to the lovely @deadendtracks for the beta!

Read on AO3

It may appear suspicious to find your very dear mate, on a serene morning after a churning storm, sharing eggs and bacon with none other than your own fucking mark. Alfie could concede to him that.

As a matter of fact, he’d been the first surprised by this incongruous situation. He considered he’d never get the chance to reencounter this shithead on the face of the earth, let alone come across him sipping tea in the first-class saloon the following day. Surreal, innit? When they parted their way to their personal cabins the previous night, Alfie had no doubts Tommy would squirm for 30 seconds in his bed before wandering through the halls to finish his task. What honestly could have been better than pretending to be Tommy's knight in shining armour without lifting a fucking finger, eh?

Well, Alfie was open to recognising the situation was tricky. Nonetheless, stomping on Alfie’s foot with his boot heel, while Alfie generously served himself second helpings of scrambled eggs at the breakfast buffet, was an outright overreaction on Tommy’s part.

Alfie’s cane, hung at his elbow, slammed to the ground in an excruciating commotion. All heads pivoted towards him. How silly of Tommy to draw attention to them in such a reckless manner!

“What the fuck, man?”

Alfie’s knees screamed when he picked his cane up. Blood trickled down the severed inside of his cheek and its bitter taste snaked around his teeth. Thankfully, the counter helped him to regain his feet without looking like a bedridden old grouch.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Alfie?” Tommy stared blankly at the wall facing him at the other end of the room and exhaled a trail of smoke. Slowly. Way too slow, so that the purpose was to be infuriating. Tommy acted like a Hollywood sweetheart, batting his eyelashes on a cardboard film set. Who the fuck does this disdainful prick think he is when Alfie’s been anything but considerate with his friend?

“Well, actually, I’m doing your job, mate.”

Tommy snickered humorlessly before taking another drag of his cigarette. “I doubt that.”

Alfie smiled. “Hm, silly boy, you’ve not read your documents closely, ain’t you?”

“Should I understand you’ve been spying on me?”

Alfie’s hand reached to his heart. “Accusing your dear mate of such lowness, what a world to raise children in!”

Tommy turned his head towards Alfie and raised an eyebrow: “It’s not because you can’t bend your knees anymore that such lowness is unreachable for you, Alfie.”

“Well, yeah, you know…”

“What were you bloody doing?”

“Well, I was extending a hand to a very dear friend of mine in need of assistance, because, see, helping you resolves my own fucking problem, mate.”

“Fucking spit it out, Alfie. What were you bloody doing with that fucker?”

“Oh, you know, just paying double for three crates of Tommy guns. You’re supposed to stop this guy from selling and shipping them to the IRA, if you’d read the papers closely.”

“How did you get them?” Tommy maintained an unimpressed—or nonetheless, contained—expression.

“In your coat pocket.”

“Do you think you’re being funny?” Tommy knitted his brows.

“Yeah, mate, indeed. You wouldn’t have fucking noticed if a horse burst into your fucking cabin, no less a simple man snatching a paper from your very own coat pocket.” Alfie nearly swiped his plate away with large, careless gestures. He got carried away—an excess of confidence.

After a fleeting silence, Tommy admitted: “I just got straight to the main parts.”

“Better not to know, uh?” Alfie fixed Tommy, looking for his eyes. “Yeah, well, I help my mate, and by a phenomenal alignment of events, I also resolve the business I’m on this little trip for. It truly is the best of both worlds, innit?”

“Have you ever done something which wasn’t in your best interest, Alfie?”

“Have you?” Alfie smiled recklessly, showing his terrible crooked tooth on full display. “See, we’re just the same. Hell’s Kitchen also lives up to its fucking name, mate. It’s been put to fire and the sword since some bloody wop insulted the fiancé of my mourned cousin Adam.” Alfie’s hand reached to his heart. “Nonetheless, these bands of fucking savages have been killing each other with meat cleavers, saws and fucking rolling pins. Can’t you believe it? Hm, yeah, nothing’s worse than being ashamed of his own fucking kin, right? Soon, they’ll make their enemy choke on bloody bread dough if no one fucking intervenes. This regrettable shitshow has to be definitely put to an end, and the Thompson submachine guns would let off a good fucking firework finale, don’t you think?”

“Keep it down.” Tommy intervened and glanced to the side without moving his neck an inch. “You will frighten our friend.” He whispered: “The guns can be part of the deal, but we need to figure out where they fucking are.”

“Meet me in room 47 at 9 PM. I’ll lure your guy in to conclude our business. He arms the enemy as long as the cash is worth it. He shouldn’t be difficult to bait with an increased transaction. We make him spill the beans and send him on an eternal honeymoon with good ol’ Eddie. Easy.”

“Easy enough if I trusted you, Alfie.”

“Look, mate, is there a remarkably better idea offered to you? Well, suppose an impeccable resolution fell on you from the sky this very morning, you know, sent by the Almighty; you could have just said like a freakin normal human blessed with the gift of speech: “No, mate, thank you dearly, but I’ll handle it myself.”, ain’t you?”

Tommy blinked slowly and crushed his cigarette on the tiled floor. He dropped his empty, pristine plate off on a trolley full of soiled dishes and left the saloon without a word.

Suppose it’s his way to acknowledge he’s on board, eh?

He sure won’t complain to the staff about finding Tommy seated on the bed when he got to cabin number 47, but there’s been a real lack of safety and protection of private life on this fucking heap of metal. He was the one who had the fucking keys, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s not yours,” Tommy said as soon as Alfie opened the door.

“Didn’t want blood all over me fucking carpet, ain’t I?” Alfie leaned on his cane. “You already knew though, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Tommy got off the bed like he would offer his seat to an old man on the train.

Alfie stayed planted on his feet where he was, eyes widened and fixed towards Tommy: “Killed by a man mysteriously lost at sea. You offered us the perfect fucking carpet to ruin on a silver platter, mate.”

“When the fucker’s coming?” Tommy interrupted, acting like he’d already thought all this though.

“Thirsty for blood, ain’t you?” Alfie snickered.

“Thirsty to get it over with.”

Alfie’s lower back was cursing him. He waited until a decent amount of time had passed. He refused to appear as if he’d rushed towards the seat Tommy had left vacant. He must be careful about pushing his body like that in the next few days. “I gave you an early appointment, mate.” Alfie paused to restrain his breath of relief when he was seated. “It happens that, you know, we have business to discuss.”

“How much do you want?”

“Five crates of ten.”

“Two.”

“Nonsense. Tell me, treacle, why should I fucking settle for less than the fucking rich prick offered, eh?”

“Three then. It’s even without spending a bloody pound.”

"Well, love, that would make sense in our dirty ol’ England, but we've been sailing on the waters of the mighty United States of America for a while now. The tip for the service isn't included in the initial price."

“Four. No higher.”

“Deal.”

Assured knocks were heard inside room 47.

Alfie bit back a groan when he stood up from the bed. His back had been struck by a lighting bolt. He opened the door and gestured an invitation to enter: “Henry, Henry, come in, mate.”

Henry Aston wiped his feet on the doormat and looked around the room while Alfie closed the door behind him: “I would have imagined you’d be less tidy, Mr Solomons.”

“I should hate to be predictable, shouldn’t I?” Alfie smiled and raised a metal flask out of his pocket: “Rum?”

Henry nodded. “We have to hide like rats to drink a glass of liquor, and they call that progress.”

The cork of the flask popped off, and Alfie poured two glasses on the side table.

“It has come to my attention that we may share an acquaintance, Mr Solomons.” A shiver raced down Alfie’s spine. He drew his hand closer to his coat pocket. The cold metal of his gun kissed his wrist through the fabric.

“Who would that be?”

“Edward O’Connell. I had the opportunity to witness how you nearly came to blows on the pontoon before the departure. I’m amazed they allowed you to board after causing such a delaying inconvenience.”

Alfie grabbed one glass in each hand and turned around, harbouring a forced smile: “Good ol’ Eddie. How do you know that tosser?”

Henry accepted the glass. “He’s a very dear client of mine. He happens to serve as the go-between for the shipping companies of armament and the IRA.” Henry smelled its content with his eyes closed. “I suspect he may also work as a counterintelligence agent for the Republic of Ireland.”

“Hm. Two sides to a coin, they say. Tails, you may be lucky. Heads, dirtied by the face of the King. Even truer for Irish, eh?”

“Cheers to that!” Henry raised his glass and gulped its amber-coloured liquid.

“Me own recipe. What do you think of that, eh?”

“Too bitter. That thing is for the workers.”

Alfie lifted an eyebrow. “Hm, yeah, right?”

“We had important matters to discuss. One especially concerned me to the highest degree. That assassin from the crown you mentioned earlier, have you strictly identified him as we speak?” Henry asked.

Alfie bit his cheek. He hadn’t predicted that the tosser would bring that up so soon. “No, mate. He’s a tough fish to catch.” It’s not like their little games haven’t always been scattered with Alfie’s switches of side. Bet on all the horses, and you’ll never taste the bitter savour of defeat. An unquestionable victory is always tainted, though, whether in a distasteful range of vivid colours or a washed-out beige. Bravery has never made him richer than betting blindly on all the horses.

“Dear Edward had an eye on someone. He was supposed to have more information to provide after breakfast this morning, but he stood me up. Guess he slipped away after being an ineffective, dirty thief.”

“Well, yeah, sounds just like him.”

“You’re as bitter as your rum every time his name is cited in a conversation, and I might very well know why.”

“Do you?”

“He may have tried to intimidate me for the same felony. Men like us, Mr Solomons, are prone to be blackmailed by men like Eddie, if our penchant is ever uncovered by them despite our carefulness. Nonetheless, I conducted him hastily to understand it’d be in his best interests to conserve my friendship instead of provoking my wrath.”

“Well, there’s a variety of means to reach an equal goal, innit?”

“Like punching him in the face.”

“Hm, yeah, sort of.”

“And which means would lead you to blow me?”

Alfie snickered, and Henry’s stare underlined his seriousness.

“Nah, fuck off, mate. I have for a rule, right, that, you know, I don’t blow rich fucking assholes who served in the cavalry.”

As much as Tommy liked to pretend they didn’t have a deep understanding of each other, Alfie knew damn well Tommy’s blood was boiling right fucking now. He was galvanising him for the hardships to come. It was as much a smack across the face as a delicate, thoughtful gift.

“Let’s settle our gun business, right? You tell me at which pier we’re supposed to meet tomorrow. I give you your money. And then, I’ll kindly invite you to fuck off.”

“You’re a fool if you believed I ever had any interest in your money. I smelled it on you from afar you were a bloody cock-sucker. You reek of it even more when walking that pikey rent boy around. Your business must have been fruitful to afford such an overpriced, ostentatious slut on a whole boat journey. We could invite him if you need that tight ass to get it up.”

One minute, Alfie snickered humorlessly, and the next, a shadow came into sight behind Henry to trap its arm around his throat. They were both thrown off balance and moved backwards until Tommy’s back banged the wardrobe he’d been hidden in. Henry struggled to free himself from Tommy, who tightened his hold around Henry’s neck.

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” Henry smirked. He elbowed Tommy’s side and managed to get out of Tommy’s grip.

“You, fucker.” Alfie moved closer and punched Henry’s face. Henry grabbed Alfie’s shirt to steady himself. The rush of adrenaline maintained the illusion Alfie had regained his grounded, rooted in the floor strength of his youth, until something in his back snapped and made him follow Henry in his fall.

They reached for each other’s shirts. “You spent way too much time on a horse, mate.” Alfie took advantage of that hold to give Henry a headbutt. A second. And a third.

Henry’s nose was gushing blood, and Alfie might have also broken his own. A red fountain was running down his face, dripping on Henry’s chest. Henry gave a shove with his legs and made them roll through the cabin until they hit the foot of the bed. He topped over Alfie and lifted his fist to punch him: “You—“

Tommy seized Henry under his armpits to drag him backwards to the centre of the room. Alfie dove on Henry’s legs to help Tommy immobilise him. With a knife, Tommy slit Henry’s throat. Drips splashed on Alfie’s face. A river of blood snaked down the scumbag’s chest and Tommy’s arms. Henry was still trying to stop blood spilling from his throat with his hands, as life was abandoning his eyes. Tommy shoved Alfie further to straddle Henry and planted his knife in Henry’s chest, the side of his neck, and even his face multiple times. Every stab given was hurried and swifter than the previous one.

The adrenaline unleashed the frightened, contained beast, which never ceased to growl inside Tommy’s guts since France. Alfie could be afraid of it if his stomach weren’t vibrating with the howling of his own, poorly imprisoned with rusty shackles. The beasts living inside them were acquainted. Their barks had the familiarity of relatives’ steps on a staircase. Their instinct danced around the excitement of their shared rage, their shared fear. They were rolled in a comforting scent—the thrill of recognition, their yearning and reunion for a fellow creature intertwined until suffocation.

The tension in Henry’s legs had melted long ago when Alfie called Tommy’s name and stroked Tommy’s arm to stop his repetitive motions. There was so much blood suddenly, as if they burst into an open-heart surgery. Tommy crawled on his knees and stumbled on the carpet coated with a reflective bed of blood. Tommy’s loud breathing started to slow down. Alfie’s back, which had been surprisingly silent, now screamed. He threw Henry’s corpse further away in a last painful effort to lie down next to Tommy.

Half of Tommy’s face was drenched in fresh blood. There were two sides of a coin. Unlike Eddie, the dirt suited him. His eyelashes, covered by blood and tears, were glinting in the awful orange light of the bedside lamp. This scene carried the ambivalence Alfie had always felt towards butterfly wings. He craved to crush the beauty of Tommy’s face under his boot, as much as keeping it pinned behind glass for admiration and never allowing it to yield to decay.

A different kind of beast had been woken up in his lower belly. One that was no less dangerous.

“You betrayed me once again, Alfie.” Tommy interrupted Alfie’s train of thought. He was fixing the wood ceiling over them without even looking at it.

“Hm, yeah, sweetie, you know, don’t put all your eggs in the same basket, they say.” Tommy frowned, and Alfie raised his voice: “What was I supposed to do, right? Waiting for what God had intended for me!? Nah, nah, nah. Fucking ridiculous, mate.” Alfie gave a sour laugh. He turned his face and pointed his raised forefinger towards Tommy, who wouldn’t look at him: “Only fools don’t back themselves, eh? And I fucking well know what you’re going to fucking say: Alfie, he was giving away too much strategic information to plan on keeping you alive.” Alfie imitated Tommy’s rough voice. “I know, alright?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, and Alfie mumbled as if he was confessing a secret: “To reassure you, mate, I had put most of my eggs in your freakin’ basket.”

Tommy’s blank stare turned towards Alfie: "It seems your collaboration has a price, doesn’t it?”

Alfie was torn to say yes because he’d never been a good man, and Tommy would do anything to secure the success of this mission. He was curious. It was nibbling him. He wanted to know to what extent Tommy would go to ensure he had Alfie on a hook. To what lengths could Alfie push him before he snapped and showed any sign of opposition? He would revel in it, even if Tommy’s willingness to comply was encouraged by an axe hanging over his beloved’s head.

“Everyone has a price, Alfie. Even your fragile loyalty.”

Alfie cupped Tommy’s bloody face and stroked it with his thumb. His selfishness lent credence to Henry's despicable words towards Tommy. But, good God, he’d go straight to Hell if it would stop him. He averted his gaze: “There’s indeed one thing…”

Quietly, Tommy led his hand towards his cheek and interlaced it with Alfie’s fingers. He winced when he turned on his side to face Alfie. Henry’s blows must have bruised his ribs.

They were both breathing loudly to the rhythm of Alfie’s increasing heartbeat. Tommy grimaced again from pain when he wrapped the back of Alfie’s head with his right arm. He stared into Alfie’s eyes a second too long and kissed him open-mouthed. His arm clasped tighter around Alfie to draw him closer. Alfie was transfixed. He needed to see. He needed to gather proof this moment was real. His eyes were wide open when Tommy’s were tight shut. Tommy squeezed his hold on Alfie’s head and drew closer. He ached to feel it, even if it hurt, and yearned for Alfie to suffer the effects of his wrath. He took his time. It was so soft and passionate; it felt earnest—a truth offered on a silver plate.

Tommy pulled them apart and opened his eyes back. Alfie could only hope what he perceived—what Tommy allowed him to see—was sincere, even if it’d be more than he had the right to expect.

Pierced by a stab of hunger, Alfie moved nearer to Tommy to kiss him once more. Tommy backed off slightly and murmured: “Enough.”

Caught in his frenzy of Tommy allowing everything he desired, Alfie tried to draw closer again. Tommy stretched his arm holding Alfie’s hand, and kept him at a distance. Both of them strained on their arm. Tommy clenched his jaw to resist Alfie’s strength.

“Enough.” Tommy raised his voice.

As if a lightning bolt had struck him, Alfie’s arm loosened and folded on itself. Tommy’s liquefied over it to ensure Alfie couldn’t overpower him if he changed his mind.

His gaze was one of a desperate wolf, ready to jump to its prey’s neck. This beast, which had learned the hard way to survive men like Alfie, scared him more than any other Tommy carried inside him.

His stare was a challenge. A mortal one, to ask: who’s the prey now? He had the look of the Fallen Angel brewing a storm with a tear gathering at the corner of his eye.

Alfie pulled back to lie on his back, and Tommy did the same a few instants later. An awkward silence floated in the room. After calming his breath, Tommy suddenly rose to his feet.

Water poured forth from the tap of the bathroom. Tommy was scrubbing the dried blood off his face, hands, and under his nails with soap. When he stepped outside the bathroom, he carried two white washcloths and threw a wet one over Alfie’s face.

“Fucking hell, mate, what was that for?” Alfie dragged the cold towel off his face.

"If we play by the rules of the market, consider this to be the first deposit of the transaction." Tommy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Even if this natural gesture was uncalculated, it still hurt. “For your assistance to this successfully conducted first-degree murder.”

A remarkably high wave of shame engulfed Alfie and churned his guts. He hadn’t been seasick for days, but he wanted to throw up.

“The Irish dockworkers won’t give up their guns easily, though. We still have work to do.” Tommy was drying his face and hands with the washcloth as if nothing he said was abnormal.

Alfie gave a little impulse to sit up and shake his musings with the damp cloth, but his bloody back snapped again. It would have barely looked like he had a spasm if it didn’t twist his face in agony. He’d live better with it if Tommy’s attentive gaze hadn’t caught it, but the faint smile at the corner of Tommy’s lips suggested it’d been enough.

Alfie exhaled in defeat. “You heard. I couldn’t get the location out of him.”

"Pier 47. Thursday, 5 AM."

“How the fuck do you know the pier, mate?” Alfie frowned.

“I reached my informants.” Tommy crossed the room to the wardrobe and picked up his immaculate coat from the hanging rack.

“Well, couldn’t have said that before, eh?”

“I said I didn’t trust you, Alfie.” Tommy slipped into his coat to uncover the carnage that was his shirt. “And wasn’t I right?”

The shame of his betrayal had now no equal to the guilt for his behaviour earlier. Regardless of whether it was unclear which event Tommy was referring to, he couldn’t help thinking Tommy wasn’t only alluding to his foreseeable betrayal. He’d always been the type to sow his seeds between the lines, and Alfie inherited the curse of the skilled harvester.

“Who are your informants? Convenient you had some on this boat.”

Tommy puffed a mocking laugh through his nose and stepped forward. He hovered over Alfie with his severe, intent gaze. His feet framed Alfie’s face. He squatted to draw close to Alfie’s face: “I also place my eggs in several baskets, Alfie. I made calls before getting on this boat.” Tommy rose back to his feet and left the room.

Alfie had always prided himself on being a man of words. He was cracking smiles on the coldest faces, maintaining a convincing speech or sermon to the most inconvincible and snarking back as a sword cut through the air—vain but excitingly effective—a coquetry crafted for his very own pleasure.

Yet, he was at a loss for words. The ground crumbled beneath him, and he got sucked up by the ocean.

He’d been fucked big time.

Tommy had been curious as well. Curious to what extent Alfie was under his spell.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy x alfie #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fic #writing #peaky blinders fanfic

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lalantes · 2 years

Photo

pony stuff

#my art #team fortress 2 #tf2 #spy tf2 #scout tf2 #demoman tf2 #soldier tf2 #boots n bombs #i fucking love drawing characters from unrelated media as ponies #soldiers cutie mark is the american flag btw #i didnt draw demos bc i think theyre only supposed to be on the one side #but his is like a chemical vial and some wires #spys is a cigarette. because its funny #and scout doenst have his bc hes a baby here but his is a baseball and a bat #someday i'll draw all of my pony merc designs #but not today

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neonacity · 3 years

Text

Black Daisies Chapter 5| Canzona

Preview:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23.

Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here--they’re all sweetiepies that need to be protected.

Chapter: 1/ First Stage

Chapter: 2/Overture

Chapter: 3/The Conductor

Chapter: 4/Crescendo

The fog of smoke from the lighted cigarette mixed with the cold breath coming from blood red lips. A woman stood in a small overhead overlooking the city, watching the shadows move across Seoul like a dark cloud bidding disaster.

The sound of gravel crunching under boots sounded from behind her. She didn’t acknowledge it at first, however, instead dropping the nearly finished stick of nicotine between her fingers to the ground. A gust of air blew the stray stub away, its embers flaring up slightly before dying out.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

For a moment, it was only silence that answered her. Her dress danced in the wind, its red color looking like dried blood in the darkness.

“You were waiting...for me.”

She finally turned around to look at the guest. Her eyes, though naturally sharp, flickered with familiarity as she took in the form of the boy in front of her.

“I know you’re about to do something silly. I’m only here to tell you to stop whatever idea you’re having right now.”

The figure didn’t move in front of her, but the way he stared at her made the distance between them almost crackle with electricity. The man’s jaw tightened, before it finally relaxed just a little bit.

“None of NCT is planning to participate in his game.”

The woman merely raised a perfectly shaped brow, knowing that there’s more to what he is saying.

“But I—”

“Jaehyun. Don’t be stupid.”

“Being the Don means I can do anything I want, right? So you and I can—”

“There is no you and I,” her voice, though it sounded clipped and cold in the meeting hall earlier, had a tinge of emotion this time. Is it desperation? Frustration? Helplessness?

Jaehyun took a few steps towards the smaller figure in front of him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep him from reaching out to her.

“You will be free. From him. From all of this.”

“If you win.”

“And I will.”

“Not after you’ve betrayed your brothers. You know what things this kind of game brings. Don’t do something you’ll regret later.”

He locked his jaw again, his expression intense even under the shadows that wrapped the two of them. Jaehyun finally pulled one hand from his pocket and moved it to touch her arm. The woman took a step back, evading his touch carefully.

“I don’t need to betray anyone. We all agreed on it. Everything will carry out as usual,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. As she looked up at him, she saw the same desperation in his eyes—the same eyes that used to be so innocent before they were hardened by his life in the mafia.

“And you believe them? Look at where you are now, in front of me, telling me you’ll be doing this. You think you are the only one who has a reason to go after the position among all of you?”

“I…” he trailed off, a frown settling on his forehead. “I trust them.”

“With the way you are acting, I don’t think you are worthy of their trust at all.”

Something finally snapped inside of him and he finally closed the distance between them in quick strides. He didn’t touch her, but they were close enough to each other that the cold fogs of their breath mingled in the darkness.

“This is the only chance I have—you have—to finally leave.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, gaze unfaltering. She wanted nothing more than to reach out to his face and cradle it, tell him everything is going to be fine, but even as a flicker of emotion slipped on her gaze, she quickly let her cold mask replace it as fast as it came.

“I don’t need you to save me. Don’t do this.”

Before he could say, or do anything else, she finally took a step back again before turning on her heels to walk away. Jaehyun followed her with his gaze until the darkness swallowed her retreating form.

“Yo, you okay?”

I looked up from squinting at my computer and turned towards the boy grinning in front of me. I probably looked funny, my face all scrunched up from staring at my screen, because he broke into a laugh before dropping himself into the seat next to me.

“Ya… I know Taeyong said you’ll be our first line of defense, but you haven’t peeled your butt from your seat since last night. Relax. I don’t think Cypher is going to do anything—at least not for now.”

My squint turned into a frown and I opened my mouth to shoot back a reply. Before I could say anything though, a painful throb on my left temple made me stop. I barely slept a wink last night. I leaned back on my chair with a defeated sigh.

“You don’t know that, Yuta. Those guys… they’re nasty. If they got the same message that we all got last night, I’m 99 percent sure they’re thinking of something to sabotage us now.”

“Mm… were you able to hack into their system though?”

“Yeah. Their firewall sucks as usual. Nothing seems out of place for now…” I trailed off as my gaze moved across the room. From upstairs, I saw Taeyong slip out of his room in his sweats, hair messy from sleep. He ducked into the fridge on the second floor, rummaging for something there.

After the announcement from the Don, all the members decided to stay in the headquarters temporarily instead of going to their separate dorms to ‘watch each other’s backs.’ It was a good move in my opinion, but another side of me is also a little bit nervous of having everyone around all the time. Not that I don’t like having the guys as company… but I have my personal reasons to be anxious about the recent change in living arrangements.

From upstairs, Taeyong finally managed to fish out one of the tetra boxes of banana milk from the back of the fridge. I didn’t realize I was still staring at him until his eyes finally met mine and he gave me a sleepy smile.

I quickly turned my eyes back to Yuta only to find him giving me a Cheshire grin.

“What?”

“I asked you if you also tried checking temporary databases Cypher might be using but you were too busy eating up breakfast with your eyes,�� he snickered before throwing up his hands as if in surrender. “I get it, I get it. All of us are handsome but you only have eyes for—”

I quickly gave him a punch on his left shoulder as I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “I—wasn’t staring!”

“Sure, you were just drooling—”

“Hey, anyone up for some drinks tonight?”

Our childish banter temporarily stopped as Yuta and I looked up to see a very sweaty Johnny stride through the door. He was slightly panting as he approached us, the slight flush of his cheeks a sign that he just finished his morning run.

“Why? You going to Anarchy?” Yuta asked in curiosity as he dug his hands in the front pocket of his sweater.

“Yeah, I have to make sure the dealers are selling the new goods well. I could go alone as usual but our Mom there,” he moved his lips to point towards a still sleepy-looking Taeyong upstairs, “said it is best to go in groups for now. You know, just to be sure.”

Yuta shrugged. “I can go with you. I’ll also ask the other guys too. I sure need a bottle or two.”

Johnny turned to look at me. For the first time since last evening, I felt extremely conscious of how I look. I was wearing an oversized hoodie, my hair up in a sorry excuse of a bun. My glasses didn’t do me any favors, barely concealing the dark circles under my eyes.

“You want to come with us?” he asked, smiling at me.

“Uh… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have to—”

“She has to watch over the rats, is what she’ll say,” Yuta interjected from his seat. He turned to look at me then with a frown. “Seriously, if you’re going to act like this, you’ll never see sunlight in the next two months.”

I opened my mouth to speak but Johnny was too quick to answer for me.

“Great. You’ll come with us then.”

“But—”

“You can work in the club. I’ll have Jungwoo bring those mini computers you both love tinkering with. You can use them to do your magic codes and spying voodoo, right?”

I stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Good talk. We leave at 9PM,” he flashed me another grin and turned to walk away. I was about to give another rebuttal when my eyes landed on the way his shirt stuck to the muscles of his back. I closed my mouth and sank back to my seat.

Beside me, Yuta was grinning from ear to ear again.

“Don’t you just love it that we’re all staying here now?”

I turned and gave him another punch on the shoulder.

Two hundred miles away from Seoul, a man sat back on his seat as the screen in front of him turned black. The lone light of the overhead lamp in the room made eerie shadows dance across his face as he mulled over the closing words of the Don.

“You are free to do anything you like.”

His impassive face slowly broke into a smile so sinister it almost made his angelic features unrecognizable. He has no fucking idea why the idiotic man decided to start this little game of his, but he likes it nonetheless. A chance to take over the whole mafia sounded so enticing to him that it almost made him laugh, but there’s another reason that ultimately made his blood boil in excitement.

NCT.

“Jihoon.”

He only slightly moved his head to look at the female who cracked the door open to his room. She had the same eyes as him, though hers didn’t look tainted with madness. In fact, it look slightly worried right now as they took in his expression.

“You called for me?”

“Ah, yes,” he finally turned his swivel chair towards her so he could give her his full attention. He intertwined his long slender fingers on his lap and gave her a sweet smile.

“I need you to make preparations. We’ll be going on a little field trip.”

Her questioning gaze almost made him snicker.

“Where are we going? We have a deal to close tomorrow and we can’t—”

“Oh dear, I can’t care less about that now. It can wait.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Fine. Where are we headed to so I can make arrangements?”

The boy leaned back on his seat, head pressed against the headrest. He grinned at her, the emotion playing in his eyes making her blood run cold.

“Seoul. We’re going to visit some friends.”

---

A/N: Hi everyone! Decided to post this today even though it is super short. So I’ve decided to introduce Jihoon... and I would love it if I can have a face claim that I can use for him as a reference. To those who have been following the story, I’d love to know your suggestions! This will make it easier for me to develop him because then I’ll have an idea of how he looks like. <3

Chapter 6: Rapture

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mxpseudonym · 4 years

Text

A Letter From Your Sister

Pairing: Tommy and sister!Shelby

Request: “Hi! Can I please req a tommy x shelby sister fluff. Any context that you want🥺 And I just wanna say that ur writings are so FUCKING AMAZING!! I hope you are safe and well💞💞”

Summary: Tommy finds a letter from his sister. Takes place between S1 and S2.

Length: 697 words (allegedly)

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you, nonnie! I am doing pretty well, I hope you’re safe too 😊. I’ve never done sister Shelby before but I should do them more because this is all heart. Also: **Not to be confused with the very funny Dear Sister SNL Skit

"What the hell are you doing, man?"

Tommy groaned to himself in his office, rubbing his face too hard but not minding it on account that it was already 2 AM. How could it only be mid-January, and the year was already a hectic one for Shelby Company Ltd?

He promised his nieces and nephews that he'd have better habits when they cornered him on New Year's Eve to ask if he'd do the voices for a story. Polly probably put them up to it, he thought. Young Katie asking him to sleep more and stick to 10 cigarettes a day when she could have anything she wanted? He could have tsked her. It was shoddy spy work.

Whoever's request, he was defying it as he leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. He was working on a paper mountain that was only just suggesting a hill, and he'd smoked his last cigarette. Maybe it was time to sleep. Tommy spun once in his chair before his eyes landed on a small white envelope peaking from under the base of his lamp. He tilted the massive fixture back and read the words written on a white envelope in his sister's handwriting.

"For the busiest man in Birmingham."

A break to read something from her was welcome, so he hummed and pulled it out.

To the blood of my blood,

If you've found this, you're likely in your office in the middle of the night. That's the only time you'd notice something as small as a letter stuck under your lamp. Christmas is over by now, and I'm back in Dublin.

You've always rolled your eyes when I lecture you but listen to your big sister for once, Tom. Polly told me about someone named Grace that you conveniently forgot to tell me about over the holiday. John's told me about all of the exciting new ventures happening with the company. Finn's told me about the Blinders and all. You haven't told me much at all, but I won't fault you for it. I'm not familiar with that part of you, but that's what I get for being a writer instead of a bookmaker, I suppose.

How about this. Remember when I told you that Mrs. Hendrix, on the corner, was a witch, and you took a whole new route to school for an entire year? I'll consider your secrecy payback for that. Now that we're even, listen up.

I know your heart is broken, and I know you're hungry for a legacy, never to be satisfied. I won't tell you not to meddle in London or stop thinking about a woman who hurt you. I won't even remind you that you aren't dad and will never be him. I just want to remind you that I'm right here. I can be a fortress for you when needed if you ever need to clear out all that smoke and mud. Don't forget, I know you better than anyone.

Go get some sleep.

With love,

Your Big Sister

P.S. When you're busy in your head and out of tobacco, find solace in the decorative box that now has a purpose. Don't tell Polly.

Tommy turned slowly and looked at the large bookcase next to him. On a high shelf laid the purely decorative decoupage box that you'd teased him about when you visited a few weeks before.

You're turning into grandma with these decorations, Tommy.

He stood and took it down, opening the box to reveal why you were his favorite sibling at the moment. A neat stack of white sticks perfectly rolled and topped with a slender lighter.

"Alright, I'll listen this once, sis," he grumbled. Tommy took two, lighting one immediately and placing the other behind his ear for his walk home. After returning the box to its home, he picked up the letter again. He reread it, rubbing his thumb over her eloquent cursive. She always was the best writer of the bunch. That's what happens when you actually like school, he supposed.

Tommy packed up his things, pulling on his coat and turning off the lamp. Maybe he'd call her tomorrow too.

#Tommy Shelby gives even stronger middle child vibes #tommy shelby x sister!reader #Shelby Sister #sister shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #tommy shelby one shot #Peaky Blinders Imagine #Peaky Blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot

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sullustangin · 3 years

Text

Fictober Prompt #25: “Do you know what time it is?”

Fandom: SWTOR

Time: KotET

Sequel to Prompt #19

Prequel to Next of Kin

Lana propped her head up on her hands. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No, do you?” Eva replied, dragging her hand over her face and then yawning.

“No. Theron?” Lana asked, turning her head to look at him, eyes aching.

Theron was ahead of her; his eyes were already bloodshot. “Uh-uh.” His hands still moved at full speed over the keyboard at his computer station. Lana had wheeled a chair over so she could sit at the war table and run simulations.

Eva, on the other hand, had forsaken standing or sitting altogether and was sprawled across the top of the strategy table behind Theron, like a wayward cat. She was pawing through Port Nowhere records regarding Zakuul that she had studiously copied out to paper (not flimsi – paper, because Eva wanted to enjoy the experience) .

She’d done it using both hands. Once Eva had regained feeling in her right hand, she continued to work with her left, becoming fully ambidextrous. Lana had to admire her determination. And her stubbornness.

“This would be easier if Theron hadn’t made that spice runner fake identity so… realistic,” Lana sighed.

“Is this about the glitter again?” Eva asked. “Because we did clean that up. And detailed the speeder.”

Lana rolled her eyes and wheeled around in her chair to look at the Captain. “No. It’s how our … secret agent spy extraordinaire over here made friends and created such an elaborate backstory and wove it so thoroughly into their Holonet that everyone on the Zakuulan black market scene wants to do business with him, and we can’t insert any other agent in.”

A minute of silence, of computers droning, of distant beeps as whatever Oggurobb was doing reached its completion in the wee hours of the morning.

Finally, Theron raised an eyebrow and aimed it in Lana’s direction. “Secret agent spy extraordinaire?”

Lana huffed. “Whatever. Either way, your solution went well beyond the brief. They think he’s a hot line to the Voidhound –”

“—which he is.” Eva tugged on the back of his belt to get him to turn around, unsuccessfully.

“But that was meant to be your role, as it was on Yavin – playing at being some lieutenant, not the actual Voidhound or Outlander. Now we have to dedicate resources to two different smugglers running in and out of Zakuul, one of which is technically the operations manager of this entire base, not to mention our director of black ops.” Lana let herself slump back on her chair. “Really, Theron, I could kill you for this.”

Eva leaned up on one arm. “Hey, I helped make that ID from scratch, so distribute the death threats appropriately. Also, Zakuul has some funny ideas about what a woman can do, so having a male smuggler isn’t the worst idea we’ve ever had. They may well rather deal with him and not me, no matter how fierce or successful my front is.”

Lana wearily nodded. “Chafes, doesn’t it?”

“Hell yeah.” Eva tugged on Theron’s belt again. “Why are you an agent of the patriarchy?”

“Maybe I didn’t have enough caf. I think it’s 0400?” He yawned into the arm of his jacket.

Eva rolled to a sitting position at the end of the strategy table. “If you’re gonna kill him, Lana, I wanna be there. Blindfold him, give him his last cigarette – whatever.” Eva reached for the paperwork she’d scattered all over the strategy table. “Ah!” She suddenly hissed.

“Papercut?” Theron asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Yes, the one downside to physical records, in my opinion.” Instinctively, the injured side of her finger went to her mouth to try to staunch the bleeding.

“So now we’re going to make a blood oath over how I kill Theron.” Lana got up from her chair.

“Sure, come get your papercut. Also, if I kill him, you can be there, too.”

Theron stared at them. Then he shook his head and yawned again. “I’m getting another carafe of caf in support of the sisterhood.”

In unison, the two women replied, “Thanks, secret agent spy extraordinaire.”

Two days later, Eva caught sight of Theron’s new Holonet signature and cackled on and off for an hour until he came home to their quarters.

#fictober21 #swtor #swtor fan fiction #oc: eva corolastor #theron shan #lana beniko #theron shan x smuggler

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whumpyourenemy · 3 years

Text

Spy x healer fic - 'Whether you trust me or not.. it looks like I'm the only one who will listen'

A has been feeling off lately. It's the kind of feeling that toes the line between burn-out and misery whilst satisfying both criteria stunningly. The feeling started as a pressure her chest a couple weeks ago, and over time, it spread through her body like smoke, settling in her muscles as lead. Attempting to shake this feeling, A has gone to reckless lengths. That's why we find her sitting on the rooftop of her enemy's building, just thinking.

A dangles her legs over the edge of the roof, feeling the thrill of life if just for a transient moment. The enemy's building is located across the harbour from the city. It's inconspicuous but all-seeing.

The nook she sits in is entirely hidden from cctv view. She found it while escaping on her most recent operation. Although she wishes the demise of the insolent agents who fill the building with life, she's in love with it's rooftop. The building is entirely unlike that of her own agency - a hole-in-the-wall type act with no space for sulking. A's own room is shared by three other novice agents.

So she sits, breathing in the midnight air, wondering what next?, now that she's officially an agent. Although, she's not a particularly talented one.

'How did you find my secret smoking spot?' A low but familiar voice jolts A from her thoughts.

She instinctively hooks her fingers over the pulley for her glider.

B stands behind her. He holds open a lighter whose flame illuminates his sharp features. A cigarette jutts out between his teeth.

A stands, about to leap but he snaps the lighter closed and says quickly,

'A, wait'

She turns to face him, flashlight at hand. He tucks the cigarette and lighter back into his pocket, watching her the whole time.

'Well, get on with it,' A says quietly, shaking her light for emphasis.

B chuckles. 'No I asked you a question first. How did you find this spot? What did you steal this time?'

A doesn't respond. But B suddenly shines a light in her face, causing her to squint.

'What the- Look I didn't take anything, I just needed some air'

B lowers his pen light till it rests on A's jaw. He watches it tighten.

'You look disturbed, A. Tell me what has been troubling you.'

A's brows furrow.

'Disturbed? I don't need your medical analysis or whatever, Doctor. I'm going to get going before you can call security on me.'

She begins to pull the tag but he reaches out to clasp her hand.

'I told you to call me B. And it doesn't take a doctor to tell that you're miserable about something, A. We have seen each other on few occasions for brief moments but it's enough for me to know.'

A pushes off his hand. Her eyes gleam slightly.

'Even if I had something to explain, what makes you think I would tell it to someone as untrustworthy as you?'

'Whether you trust me or not, looking at how you've chosen the one place where people will kill you on sight to clear your head, it looks like I'm the only one who will listen. Sit, please.'

She's reckless enough to do what he says. He sits beside her, close but not too close.

'You're a funny agent, A' B begins. 'You never seem to have a plan. You do as I say in fear of getting caught, but you know that I would never expose you'

'Oh really.' A deadpans. 'Because I clearly remember when you called security on me, the first time we met'

'I knew you'd get away'

'I broke my ankle trying to jump off the building'

'I'll buy you a brace'

'It's fine now, asshole'

A can feel B's smile and his gaze on her. She doesn't turn around to look at him though.

'I can't sleep these days.' A says quietly.

B's smile drops but his eyes stay on her. They scan her sullen features with concern.

'I just stay awake thinking about how this is it. I don't have anyone to talk to. Everything I say is only ever Yes, sir or Yes ma'am.'

B turns to face forward. He watches the coast with her as she talks.

Voice breaking, A continues.

'I realised that I'm never going to have love in the form of a partner or a friend. I can't tell anyone my identity. I just protect others by selling myself. And I like the job, I do. I'm proud of myself for being hired officially but I just-'

A's voice trails off. She's unable to finish what she's saying without risking bursting into tears in front of her enemy.

Why was she allowing herself to be so open? She's given him everything and now he has it and..

'You just don't know what to do now.' B finishes her sentence for her.

Throat bobbing, an uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability overwhelms A. She stands suddenly, her breathing becomes faster and faster.

B stands up too, tucking the penlight into his shirt pocket. His hands reach out and hold the sides of her shoulders. A succumbs to his grip - it's surety and its warmth. B hugs her. A curls into his chest, closing her eyes and shuddering.

B envelops her with one arm and runs the other up and down her back.

'You'll figure it out, A.' he says soothingly. 'You're smart and good at thinking on your feet, that's what I love about you'

At the mention of the word, A tilts her head up. She can only see as far as his adam's apple which bobs as he says softly,

'I love you, A'

He chuckles slightly, 'That might not even be your real name'

B looks down, his eyes meeting hers. She's waiting for the twist where he ultimately betrays her again, leaving her to fend for herself against his agency's security. But his chestnut eyes are serious. B inhales slightly and bends to kiss her. His lips are gentle, asking for permission. A kisses back, a tear finally falling.

They kiss until A breaks contact and nudges out of B's arms.

'Thank you' she says. 'But I must leave now'

B nods.

'Stay safe.'

A smiles meekly before gliding away. B watches her disappear.

[Not what I usually write but if you see this, thanks for reading!]

#hurt/comfort

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years

Text

Strawberry Sundae

Summary: It's story time! Have you ever wondered why Dante affectionate strawberry sundaes so much? Well Patty has and luckily for her, he is about to tell her. It will just cost her a small favour. A man got to pay his debts remember.

Tags: ANGST (but with some very cute moments) / Dante’s childhood / childhood trauma

Author’s note: This is my take on Dante’s origins and also my first time writing for the Devil May Cry fandom. I hope I did it right and that you will love it. Set whenever you want but definitely after the DMC Anime. I made the reader female (in case I write a sequel. I have ideas for one, just tell me if you want one), but it can definitely be read as Gen!Reader if you make some small changes.

To most people Patty Lowell looked so cute and angelic with her girly lacy dresses and her silk ribbons in her baby blond hair they’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But to Dante, she was the most annoying brat that ever walked this earth and, even though he would never admit it, also one of his dearest friends. And like all his friends, he owed her big. “I’ll erase that from your tab.” She said as she swallowed a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. “Oh c’mon! You keeping counts now?” Dante harrumphed and watched the kid wipe her mouth like a very distinguished lady. “You spend too much time with Lady.” “Not too much. Just enough to know you owe me a trip to the beach, two dresses, a dozen ice cream cones and six strawberries sundaes” She counted on her fingers and Dante sighed as he slouched in the fake-leather seat of Freddy’s diner. “Well, you can’t have it all now, can you?” “You’ve been saying this for months. And for months you’ve been eating hundreds of sundaes and bought none for me.” She grumbled, staring at him with a pout as he nonchalantly took the strawberry on top of his sundae to eat it, eyes closed to savour the sweetness of the fruit in his mouth. “What’s with your obsession with strawberry sundaes anyway?” She asked, genuinely curious. After all, even after spending so much time with Dante, watching him evolve in his natural habitat (meaning the Devil May Cry) and coming to the conclusion that Dante was a very unique species of man, one that whose diet was only based on pizzas and strawberry sundaes and that knew nothing of women, Patty still hadn’t figured why he was the way he was. Dante opened an eye to see her impatiently waiting for an answer. “If I tell you, would you consider erasing … let’s say six sundaes of my tab?” He smirked, knowing Patty would not resist the curiosity to know more about him. “That could be arranged. But your story better be good!”

STRAWBERRY SUNDAE

One more step and this would be the furthest Dante had ever been from his house. Of course, he had dared follow Vergil down to that weird old man’s house to secretly spy on his brother, wondering what was so interesting and fun in keeping a wrinkly company but he had never stepped a foot in the city. Never could. The only time he had tried and had somehow managed to go down the hill of his red home without tumbling down the steep rocky stairs and lay even just a toe on the urban pavement he was now standing on, his father and his sharp demonic earring had found him and brought him back home with a firm grip around the collar of his white shirt. Sparda had scolded him so much that day that even Vergil hadn’t dared smirking. But here he was. Wet, trembling and cold, under a pouring rain, wondering where to go, what to do, both feet on the pavement, his tiny arms holding on tight to his father’s sword which was way bigger than he was. He had never been so terrified, so alert, his blue eyes widened and scanning all his surroundings in every direction possible like a poor defenceless animal fearing for its life, wondering if a deadly predator was secretly watching him crouched in the thickest shadow, the same kind of predator that took his mother and brother away from him. He wanted to call for help, ask someone, anyone for guidance but he didn’t know whom to trust or if he could trust anyone. All he knew was that he had to be strong, that he had to be a big boy, a man. That’s what his mother had told him before leaving, before … A tear streamed down his childish face. Not the first one tonight. He wiped it with his sooty knuckle but a new one appeared, bigger and more painful. It stung his eye and he cried harder. A devil should not cry but he was so tired. And he wanted his mama. And he wanted his big brother. But they were gone and behind him, his house up the hill was just a pile of smoking ash and burnt bricks.

“Why are you crying?” Dante jumped and his small yet strong grip grabbed a hold of Rebellion’s hilt. It took his eyes a short second to fall upon the face of a little girl holding a green frog-shaped umbrella above both their heads. “Are you lost?” She said as she tried to catch a glimpse of Dante’s face hidden behind layers of soot and wet hair. “Is it a real sword?” “Don’t touch it!” Dante growled, pressing his father’s sword tighter against his chest, shielding it from the curious child as she tried to put her fingers on the legendary weapon. It had seen Vergil do that countless of times. And though it never worked with him, it formidably worked with the child in front of him. “It’s my dad’s.” “Is your dad a knight?” She questioned with amazed (colour) eyes, imagining heroes in shining armours resembling the ones in the stories her mother would read her before bed. “My dad is the Legendary Dark Knight.” Dante spat, scowling behind his silver hair falling over his eyes, a pitiful and vain attempt at sending the little girl packing. After all, to her eyes, he didn’t look impressive at all, more like a wet small kitten that someone had abandoned in the street. She shrugged “My dad doesn’t have a sword and he is not a legendary dark prince or whatever but he has a mighty spatula and his strawberry sundaes are the best in the whole kingdom!” She exclaimed with an over-the-top enthusiasm that made Dante’s weary frown even more pronounced. “That’s the name of my father’s diner.” She pointed at the pinkish red neon sign across the street. Kingdom’s diner. “You’re hungry?” Dante thought he wasn’t until he heard a rumbling in his tummy. Yes, maybe he was even though his heart was preoccupied by other things than hunger. “Come on. Follow me.” He hesitated for a few seconds, watching the girl cross the crowded street in her way-too-large yellow oilskin - which was probably not hers now that he thought about it – and feeling the rain pouring on his shivering body again. “Well? What are you waiting for?” With one last look at his destroyed home up on the hill, Dante finally took a step towards the girl waiting for him by the warm neon lights of the diner. And he took another step, and another, feeling a weird weight forming in his stomach. A mix of apprehension and hope. Apprehension of what’s waiting in this unknown land and hope that his father would suddenly appear and bring him back home. But once more, Sparda never showed up and the child was left alone. Dante had never ventured that far away from home but he had no home anymore, right?

The diner was warm and cosy, with red plastic booth seats and speckled grey linoleum-covered tables that were incredibly clean and shiny. On the walls there were vintage-like pictures of old cars, old advertisements and old Hollywood stars who were almost all complete strangers to Dante apart from a glamorous blond woman with a weird mole and another one with a tiara and a cigarette holder. Pretty sure he had seen them both in some boring movies he had seen – or slept through - with his mother and Vergil. Mama. Vergil. He missed them already. Terribly.

A new tear fell along his cold cheek and Dante looked down, devastated that he would never see them again; guilty that he could not save them, angry that his father had not been there to protect them. And with his wet sorrow came scorching flashes and piercing screams. But soon they were covered by the sound of weird music sizzling in a machine that looked like from another time. “I always listen to music when I feel bad. I like music. Do you like music?” She was impossibly chatty but deep down Dante knew it was only to take his mind off whatever she thought he was thinking about. After all, he would use the same trick on his brother. “There are a hundred of songs in this jukebox.” So that was this hellish machine was. A jukebox. “Pick one. I’ll make some strawberry sundae” She smiled and disappeared behind the counter which was way too high for Dante to see what she was doing. “Oh but don’t play the music too loud. My parents are sleeping upstairs.”

He didn’t know how it worked but he thought that pushing a button would do the trick. And so he did. And he almost fell on his butt when the jukebox started shaking and doing weird sizzling noises. Had he just broken it? “I… I” He mumbled pointing at the machine and the girl’s childish head popped up from behind the counter a bit like a funny rabbit leaves his hole. “Kick it!” She said and Dante looked at her, harrumphed and unsure he had heard right. His mother never allowed him to kick anything … especially not Vergil … and he kicked Vergil a lot … because he deserved it. “There!” The girl approached and gave the dying machine a small yet firm kick that made it come back to life. “It does that sometimes.”

“What’s with all the racket?” A loud voice growled and a man with tousled and sparse black hair appeared from upstairs. Only wearing an old navy blue robe over a white t-shirt and a pair of checked slippers, he looked asleep and yet angry. “Y/N what are you doing … up?” His somewhat aggressiveness turned into confusion when he saw Dante standing next to his beloved daughter. He blinked a couple times and shook his head to make sure he was perfectly awake and not dreaming. What was this boy doing in his restaurant? All wet and covered in soot? “Who are you?” He managed to voice. Dante opened his mouth though unsure what to answer. “He’s my friend.” The girl replied. “Your friend?” She nodded vigorously. “I was making him a strawberry sundae.”

If there was two things Mister Y/LN had a soft spot for, it was food – sugary and greasy food – and his precious daughter Y/N. She was his little princess, his only daughter, the apple of his eye (even when there was sleep crust in its corner like right now). He could not refuse her anything and could not stay mad at her for more than a couple of minutes to the great disappointment of his wife. And even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help it. “Y/N” He sighed and went to kneel in front of his daughter. “You cannot invite a little boy that late at night. I’m sure his parents must be very worried.” He glanced at Dante who looked down his brown boots hiding his eyes yet again behind his silver hair. What curious hair. “But since he is here, let’s eat those strawberry sundaes.” The little girl grinned and ran back to finish her creamy dessert with an enthusiasm that made the man smile for a small second.

Even though Mister Y/LN was weak for his daughter he was still a man of reason. Something deep in his guts was telling him something was wrong with that kid and the last thing he wanted was trouble. Who was he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Where were his parents? Was he some kind of street kid? A child of drug dealers from the rough areas of Red Grave? Should he call the police? Maybe so. Certainly so. They would certainly know what to do. It was their job after all. He was just a cook, a sleepy cook. What could he do, except offering that scrawny kid a strawberry sundae? “Why don’t you sit, boy?” He waved at the stool and Dante climbed on it without saying a word. “I’ll be right back.”

“So what’s your name?” The little girl said as she placed two coupe glasses filled with cream, ice cream and strawberries right before Dante’s eyes that immediately ogled at the dessert with greediness. So much sugar, so much cream, so many strawberries. He loved chocolate, but this, this looked like even better than chocolate and his stomach seemed to agree. Excited to taste it, he went to grab the spoon that was placed by the couple but was immediately stopped. “Wait. I’m not done.” Y/N shouted and, with a frown and the tip of her pink tongue out, cautiously topped both sundaes with a cherry and two pink wafers. “There. Now you can eat it.” She barely had time to finish the sentence that Dante quickly stuffed a generous spoonful in his tiny mouth. OH GOD! If his mother saw him right now eating so much sugar in the middle of the night she would be furious. But this was the most delicious thing in the world. After pizza of course. He ate another spoonful, and another, humming after each, as he was slowly reaching a comforting sugary paradise. “I’m guessing you like it.” The little girl giggled, laughing at his mouth as round as a balloon and the cream running from the corner of his lips. Dante froze at the laugh and stare at her with a blush creeping up his inflated cheeks until he swallowed with a big gulp. “Yeah.” He confessed and Y/N smiled at the small amount of joy she caught in his childish voice. “You still haven’t told me your name. I’m Y/N by the way.” She reached out to shake his hand and Dante stared at it for a few seconds, remembering what his mother had told him as she hid him a wardrobe.

You must change your name. Forget your past and start a new life as someone else. But who could he be? And could he be someone else? After all, he had always been Dante, the restless daredevil son of Sparda and Eva and annoying little brother to Vergil who always picked a fight for fun and found ways to be involved in new kinds of mischiefs. There was a silence, heavy and pregnant, as the boy tried to answer the questions in his confused little head and as the girl patiently waited for him to talk. And only the lively music from the jukebox could be heard in the room. And it sang to Dante ‘Hey there Anthony boy. Why are you in such a rush (go!). The girl, she wanna talk to you. Look at him, how he blush (go!)’ giving birth to his new identity. A new beginning. “I’m Anthony.” He finally grabbed her hand and she shook it with a smile that he tried to mimic. An effort he thought he would have never done tonight but that he did for her. Calm down, Tony me boy. “Tony for short.” “Well nice to meet you, Tony. I’m sure we’re going to be good friends.”

And with a new spoonful of strawberry sundae he said goodbye to Dante. Hey there, Anthony boy!

***

“That was a lovely story, Dante. Sad but lovely.” Patty finally declared after being incredibly silent during Dante’s childhood story. A first. “Glad you liked it.” Dante said with a small smile that was barely concealing the sadness that this memory had brought back. “So does that mean those six sundaes are off my tab?” “I guess so.” She shrugged as she drank the ice cream in her coupe. “Great.” He winked and stood up, throwing a bill on the table before putting his long red coat on. “So … you love strawberry sundaes because they were the first things that gave you comfort after you lost your mom?” “No, I love strawberry sundaes because they remind me why humans are sometimes worth fighting for.”

But mostly, he liked them because they reminded him of someone who had helped him build a new life, someone who had given him kindness, generosity and love when he thought that all he could expect from life was sorrow and pain. They reminded him of you. Yes, that’s why he loved strawberry sundaes.

#devil may cry #dante #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dante fanfiction #dante x reader #strawberry sundae

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Sniper/Spy request #2

Here it is: "Spy draws Sniper and the Aussie finds out."

"Mh…"

No alarm clock? Oh, yes, it was Saturday.

He opened his eyes.

The light outside was faint, turning the sky from blue to pink. It was the early morning and the Aussie rolled on his bed to push away the blanket. It was summer and already warm enough for him. He closed his eyes but after long minutes of waiting, he did not fall back asleep.

Well, better get up and ready up the laundry or something, before the rest of the base woke up.

First things first. Clothes.

Sniper climbed down his bunk bed and grabbed a shirt as well as a pair of trousers. He went to the sink and splashed some water on his face to better wake up.

Now glasses, hat, and let's go to the base.

The Aussie stepped out of the van and turned to face the base when-

"The hell…?"

There was a silhouette. It was far away, a man sitting on a little boulder. It wasn't the first time that Sniper had seen it. But usually the silhouette disappeared before he thought about acting about it.

However, that day was a Saturday, the Aussie hadn't anything else in mind but the usual chores. He went back to his van and grabbed his kukri. Whatever lunatic was over there surely couldn't be one of his mercenary colleagues. And the base was in the middle of nowhere, so whoever was there had driven for more miles than was reasonable, making them thus, a lunatic.

Sniper walked to the silhouette on the boulder and as he got closer, the tension on his body melted away. He recognised the pinstripe pattern on the trousers, he recognised the white shirt and mask.

"Bonjour, Sniper." The man said in his native tongue, still giving his back to the Aussie.

[Good morning, Sniper]

"What the hell are you doin' here this early? And on yer own?"

"Capturing the colours."

"What?" As Sniper got closer to the Frenchman, he saw that he was holding a sketchbook and drawing. "You're drawin'?"

"Mh-hm."

"With a black pen."

"Very observant, Sniper."

"What colours are you capturin' if you're drawin' in black and white?"

"Look in front of you."

Sniper raised his eyes from over Spy's shoulder and looked at the rising sun. The colours were stunning, Spy was right. The hints of orange through the pink early morning was a treat for the eyes.

"Yeah…" Sniper looked at Spy again. "What the hell are you doin' now?!" The Frenchman had lit a cigarette and was now burning the page of his sketchbook with his lighter. "You lunatic…"

Spy slowly turned to his colleague.

"Says the man who is investigating a shadow he saw from the confines of the van he calls home at some terribly early hour of the morning?" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Sniper rolled his eyes up with a grin. "You are a lunatic too, mon ami."

[My friend]

"Guess I am." Sniper chuckled.

"Coffee?" Spy took a thermos that was on the ground.

"Oh, why not." Sniper watched as Spy poured the hot beverage into two cups. "You were waitin' for someone?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow. The presence of the second cup surprised him.

"Oui."

"Oh, I can leave you if you want."

Spy chuckled and sat at the edge of the boulder.

"Pray take a seat."

The Aussie obeyed and took the cup that Spy handed him.

"Thanks, eh."

"You are welcome."

They both took a sip.

"I'll drink quickly and I'll be on my way." Sniper said.

"Oh, are you on a schedule?"

"No but you said you were waitin' for someone. I don't wanna be the third wheel, eh." Sniper put the cup to his lips.

"You already are."

… and the coffee nearly sprang out of the Aussie's mouth. He gulped down and turned his head left and right trying to look for the guest that Spy was awaiting. No one was in sight, and the base was far behind them.

"Where's your mate?"

"Sitting right next to me." Spy turned his eyes to Sniper's and smiled.

"Me?"

"Oui."

"What?"

"It has been weeks of me waking up this early, especially on the weekends. The season is showing its best colours early. Look at the pink, the rose, the fuscia, the peach, the flamingo and strawberry…" Spy pointed in front of them and his finger trailed in lines, as if he was painting the canvas of the sky itself. "Oh, and from the peach, then it all leans towards more orange tones, doesn't it? Coral, and yet tangerine, maybe even a fiery tiger tint sometimes, ah..."

Sniper looked at his colleague as he went on and on. The colours he was describing made his irises even lighter...

"That's a lot of words to say pink and orange, Spook."

"Because it is so much more than that. Like anything else, or anyone else."

"Like you?" Sniper asked.

"And you." Spy answered.

Silence fell just the time for them to take a sip.

"So you come here early, draw the sky and then burn the page?"

Spy chuckled and raised his eyes to Sniper.

"Non, I do not. I usually do not draw the sky."

"Oh? What're you doin' here then?"

"The colours of the sky help my nerves."

Sniper frowned as he changed his position to sit cross legged. He did not really follow his colleague.

"They are warm and soft colours, non?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you find it soothing? Here, far from the base and the rest of the lunatics that our colleagues are, just you, your thoughts, and the colours that God chooses to display for the day. It brings some peace to me and helps me draw."

"I didn't know you liked drawin'."

"Neither did I until there was a picture that I could not get out of my mind."

"What is it?"

Spy took a deep breath. He was sitting at the edge of the boulder, one leg on the other, his varnished Italian shoes dangling off of it.

"A sight of poetry on a scruffy canvas."

Sniper chuckled.

"You make no sense."

"Oh but I do." Spy insisted. "I do, but only to myself, I guess. Such things are hard to describe if you don't feel them yourself."

Sniper turned his head and realised that his colleague was staring at him with something painted on his face, an emotion that the Aussie didn't manage to decipher. His eyebrow twitched, but then he blushed as he thought that he himself had just been staring for a few seconds. He looked away into the immense desert.

"One day, God graced me with this vision." Spy started. "A man, taller than me and his shoulders broader than mine. It was an evening in a crowded place. There was a lot of noise, people's chatter, their laughter, and the room smelt of cheap beer. But I could see only him." Spy paused to take a sip of his coffee. "That man, he was closing his eyes and whispering in the ear of a golden dragon. It breathed a fire that did not burn, a fire that was… enchanting. It was shy, woody threads of air that tied a knot here." Spy put his gloved hand on his chest and sighed. "His eyes were closed and his lips moved with such mastery, such elegance… Even the dragon was melting in his hands, under his agile fingers."

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. Had Spy drunk something odd, or did he replace his nicotine for something else in his cigarette that morning…? He seemed normal enough, his eyes were clear, no signs of funny cigarettes in his breath.

"Sniper?" The Frenchman hadn't moved his eyes away from the Aussie.

"Yeah?"

"I fell in love that day."

The Aussie's body temperature soared as his cheeks burst in crimson.

"With a guy?"

"Oui."

"Who's… talkin' to dragons…?"

Spy chuckled.

"It is a metaphor."

"Ah…" Sniper exhaled, relieved that his colleague wasn't high or drunk, he was just being a bit too poetic for the Aussie. "So you fell in love with someone?"

"Oui."

"If it's all a metaphor, I guess it was with a woman?"

"Non."

"Oh…" Sniper nodded to himself and looked away. The way that Spy was looking at him was impressive. It was almost as if the Frenchman could read Sniper's thoughts straight through his eyes.

"It happened months ago now, on a Friday evening." Spy went on. "We were celebrating the victories of the day in the common room. Some of us were playing music."

"Yeah, as always."

"One of us is the one I described." Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "And since that day, I could not get that image out of my mind. That fool who was playing did not know that a few metres away, the old man that I am was falling in love. With what, you ask? The way his brow furrows when the intensity of the music gets to him, the way he gently rocks his hips along his instrument to better flow on the rhythm, and the way his eyes are always hidden behind a thin, yellow curtain of mystery."

"Woah… Really deep in love you are, eh. And I didn't know you liked blokes."

"It is a curse."

"Why?"

"I can see beauty in a lot of things and in a lot of people, yet my work requires me to see none."

"Hey, you can still see beautiful stuff and say 'it's beautiful'. You're not gonna get shot for that."

"I guess you are right."

They took a break from the conversation to finish their coffee. Sniper looked at his colleague who was looking at the horizon and the sky. He didn't know Spy could be that poetic. Maybe that's why he was so secretive, maybe he just didn't want people to know that about him. But then why would he tell Sniper?

"So you drew that vision you had in your head in your book?" Sniper asked and Spy gave a sad grin.

"If only I did." He answered. "I have tried. I have filled sketchbook after sketchbook of it. But in the end, it is never good enough and I end up destroying it."

"You burn all your sketchbooks?" Sniper asked, surprised.

"I burn the pages, oui. And then I am left with an empty sketchbook."

"Why d'you do that? I'm sure you're gettin' better at drawing. Practise makes you good, you can't get worse."

Spy sighed.

"Perhaps you are right. But seeing that person on a sheet of paper tears my very heart apart. When I finish drawing and I look at it, I am tempted."

"To do what?"

"To keep the picture with me, at any time. But it is too risky, what if someone found it? So instead, I destroy the evidence of my crime."

"Hey, quit the drama. You're just in love and can't get the bloke out of your head. Makes sense."

"I suppose so." Spy answered and raised his eyes to Sniper. "Are you not curious to know who it is?"

"Well, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. If not, it's fine. Feels special enough that you tell me you have feelings, and for a bloke at that."

They exchanged a smile.

"What about you, Sniper? Is there anyone in that wild heart of yours?"

"Wild? Heh, maybe." Sniper blushed and averted his eyes. He stared down at the empty coffee cup he was nervously fiddling with.

"Here." Spy handed him the sketchbook.

"Why're you givin' me your book?"

"I am giving you a choice." Spy said. "You can either draw him or her here, or you can have a look at my latest drawing of that special man."

"So it's either I get to know who you fancy or you get to know who I fancy?"

"Oui, why not?" Spy smiled. "On my end of the bargain, I have nothing to lose."

Sniper raised an eyebrow.

"I cannot have more with him but short chats, like we are having now, you and me. I sometimes see him and try my best to not stare when all I wish is to take in his charms for as long as I can."

Sniper smiled.

"Y'know, you sound really different."

"I don't believe I do." Spy answered. "I think that you never heard me on such topics before."

"True…"

"So, what do you choose?" Spy put the sketchbook and the pen on the ground, between them both.

"Spook, listen, I-I can't really tell you who I fancy…" Sniper removed his hat and scratched his head. "It's complicated… It's just… I like it when I see him and-"

"Him?" Spy repeated.

"Y-yeah… Oh, bugger I've said too much already…" Sniper let a hand sink on his face from his brow to his chin.

"Then have a look at the sketchbook to see who is in my heart."

"You sure?"

"I think so."

"Not gonna regret it?"

"What could happen, hm?" Spy asked. "The second you will know who it is, he will too and this weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for months will be no more."

"Why tell me who it is rather than go and see him to tell him straight."

"Open and see. I think you will have the answer to your question." Spy took his cigarette case out of his inner pocket and lit one.

"Alright…" Sniper took the sketchbook and put it on his lap. "You really sure?" He looked at Spy. The Frenchman held the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke elegantly between his parted lips. He nodded.

Sniper took a deep breath and opened the book. Spy hadn't destroyed it yet, it must have been his latest book then.

"Holy…"

The Aussie looked at the sketches, page after page. It was the same face drawn from different angles, with different expressions. Spy really had an obsession with that man, it was the only thing drawn there covering all the paper!

Sniper blushed intensely and as the sweat broke on his brow, his heart started pounding in his chest.

And as Sniper turned yet another page, he started to understand Spy's metaphor. The man wasn't whispering in a golden dragon's ear, he was playing the saxophone. The dragon wasn't breathing threads of air, it was music, and the thin, yellow curtain of mystery was nothing else but the Aussie's yellow tinted aviators…

Sniper shut the book for an instant and took a deep breath.

"Now you understand." Spy simply said.

But Sniper was boiling on his seat, on the bare ground. So that was the man Spy had been fancying? For months? How did Sniper not see anything coming? How did he not guess?

Maybe because Spy wasn't alone playing the game of averting his eyes whenever they got too close to Sniper. Maybe because there was a reason as to why the Aussie needed to close his eyes when he played the saxophone on Friday. Maybe because if he kept his eyes opened, he would stare at the man he was playing for? Maybe the movement of his hips as he played betrayed him?

Sniper grabbed the pen and quickly found an empty page in the sketchbook. Spy's eyebrows jumped but he remained mute and didn't dare ask what was going on. After all, his colleague seemed way too agitated to be able to answer.

The Aussie scribbled and scratched the paper recklessly. He could sketch too, in his own style. He had learnt from drawing animals, and that skill he had transposed it to humans too.

It took him a few minutes and when he was finally done, he slammed the book shut and put it down between Spy and him.

"May I?" Spy asked and Sniper nodded, still not making eye contact. The Frenchman put his cigarette between his lips to hold it there, and took the book between his gloved hands. He opened it and turned the pages until the style changed. "Mon Dieu…" He whispered to himself when his eyes fell on the portrait of the man who made Sniper's heart beat.

There was an atrocious second of agony before Spy shut the book and put it away.

"Do you smoke, Sniper?"

"Huh? Y-yeah, sometimes…" Sniper's brain was turning faster than a hamster in a wheel trying to understand why Spy would ask that.

"Good." Spy leaned on his colleague and took a deep breath. Sniper was petrified.

"Why?"

"This is about the only bad habit I have." Spy answered. "That, and singing when I cook. Some previous partners did not like it."

"Why're you tellin' me all this?"

"Because, given the portraits in that sketchbook, it might be a good idea to start knowing each other better."

"Ah, yeah… Ok…" Sniper cleared his throat. "Well uh… I-I don't really know what to say."

"Then don't say anything."

"Isn't that unfair?" Sniper asked.

"It is not about fairness." Spy answered. "It is about feeling the best way possible."

"C-can I do somethin'? I feel like-"

"Oui."

"But you don't know what I was goin' to do?"

"If doing that thing makes you feel better, then pray do. I do not wish to know more." Spy answered and closed his eyes as his head rested on Sniper's shoulder.

"Right." Sniper opened his arm and wrapped it around Spy's frame. He let his hand hang in the air next to Spy's hip. It might be too much. Yeah, yeah it was, he shouldn't have been so upfront, he should've -

"Merci." Spy answered.

[Thank you.]

He pulled Sniper's hanging hand to his hip and snuggled closer to him.

"Spy?"

"Oui?"

"Thanks."

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Nah, really. Thanks." Sniper leaned his head on top of Spy's.

They stayed there, perched on that boulder for long minutes that felt like a flash. The temperature rose slowly in the desert while the air was already very hot between them.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

26 notes · View notes

etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

A Joint Effort

Prompt: I just thought of this for some reason, but imagine everyone in the bau all high as fuck, in one room together.

Words: 1,905

A/N: for the bad b*tches in my MGG group chat. Love y’all.

Content Warning!!!!: Drugs (weed)

MASTERLIST

It had started out a regular Friday evening. Well, as regular as a Friday evening could be for the sorry few that worked in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.

After a particularly draining case, the team decided a night out would be the best way to unwind. More precisely, Morgan decided and convinced the others with much help from Garcia.

So that’s how a mother, a genius, a spy, a hacker, a playboy, a boss, and a millionaire all ended up stumbling home, drunk off their asses down the empty streets of D.C.

Sadly, J.J, who had been the designated driver, didn’t get the memo until after her fourth drink. Garcia, the messenger, was a little late on delivering it. By then, everyone else was already wasted so Hotch figured it was time to go home. Or, actually, to crash at Rossi’s place. He was nearby and had enough bedrooms for everyone to rest peacefully, although the team had a slight notion that the party wasn’t quite over.

This thought was confirmed quite quickly for as everyone plopped down amongst the plethora of cozy chairs in Rossi’s living room, Morgan found the millionaires liquor cabinet, shamelessly helping himself to the array of drinks there.

However, before he could indulge too far, a small wooden box caught his eye as he was about to select a fifty-year scotch.

Alcohol didn’t seem to affect his profiling skills as he deduced what was in the box as if there was a note written on it.

Smirking, Morgan wondered whether or not his team members would. Rossi would, for sure. Garcia, definitely probably. Hotch? Reid? Hmm.

“Hey, Rossi,” Morgan said, putting on a voice of drunken interest, “what’s this box, here?”

Rossi’s head snapped to where he was standing, confirming his suspicions. Before he could speak, Reid piped up, stammering slightly.

“That’s an 1870’s oakwood Captain James box. Collectors quality. Only four hundred were made.”

“Isn’t that a lot?” Garcia asked, taking off her heels.

“Yes, for the era. But three hundred and seventeen were lost to the ocean on the shipwreck of the Casterberous. Interestingly enough--”

“Actually,” Morgan butted in, slowly opening the box and smiling as he saw what was in it, “What I was more interested in was what was in the box.”

Rossi, always composed, shrugged and stood walking towards morgan.

“What can I say? In our line of work, one tends to need to . . . destress every now and again.”

Hotch snorted, finally realizing what the mystery box contained. Dave had told him of his habit, but Hotch never really given it much thought. Everyone had their vices.

“What’s in it?” Prentiss said, trying to steal a glimpse.

“Wait . . .” Garcia paused for a moment, shot Morgan a look to which he smirked knowingly, then burst into laughter, clutching her sides and rolling back on the couch.

J.J looked from Garcia to Rossi, the latter standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. She quickly put two and two together.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Reid was still confused. “What, what is it? What have I missed?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Rossi questioningly to which the older man nodded softly. So Morgan placed the box, lid open, on the coffee table. So that everyone could see the set of pre-rolled cigarettes laying on purple satin within.

Prentiss smiled.

“Well, well, well. David Rossi, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Acapulco gold?”

Everyone but Reid laughed, who was looking at the cigarette curiously.

“I don’t understand. Cigarettes? Prentiss used to smoke, I don’t see the big deal.”

J.J. pat his head.

“You’ll learn, Spence. You’ll learn. May I?” she directed the last part to Rossi, gesturing toward the box.

He waved a hand.

“Be my guest. As long as no one is uncomfortable?” he phrased it as a question.

Murmurs of assent filled the room, everyone but Reid and Hotch reaching for one of the neatly rolled cigarettes in the box and Rossi going to fetch his lighter and put on a quiet record for background noise.

“J.J? You don’t smoke tobacco?”

Morgan laughed. Pretty boy was a genius at most things. This not being one of them.

“Spence,” J.J. took the lighter from Rossi and lit her cigarette, a pungent smell quickly filling the room, “it’s not tobacco.”

A look of comprehension finally found its way onto Reid’s face, causing everyone looking at him to shake with laughter.

“Oh.”

Morgan slapped him on the back, handing him a lit joint. “‘Oh’ is right. Now listen, no peer pressure, Pretty Boy. You get uncomfortable, stand up, and go to bed, no judgment. But, if you wanna chill out for a while, get that genius mind to calm down, take a puff of this.” And Morgan brought his joint to his lips, steadily taking a drag and blowing it out with practiced expertise.

A moment of hesitation was all Spencer needed, quickly reassured by the ease with which his friends and colleagues began to smoke. Then, he brought the joint to his mouth and took a deep breath.

As expected, he coughed immediately, a horrible hacking noise as blue-ish smoke expelled from his mouth and nose.

His friends started to giggle, already feeling the high hit them.

Hotch finally decided to join in after a few minutes of watching everyone enjoy themselves. Reid recovered surprisingly quickly, barely coughing the second and third times and not at all by the fourth.

It suddenly occurred to everyone that they’d all been silent the whole time. Garcia, of course, was the first to rectify this.

“Okay, when was the last time everybody got high? Go.” She pointed to her left where J.J sat sprawled out against her.

“Um. Oh god. Three months before I found out I was pregnant with Henry. Although I’m not sure you’d count that as ‘high’. It was one hit from a bong at this party I went to.”

“A party?!” Prentiss said, surprised. “When? Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” everyone exclaimed.

“Okay! Jeez. It was when we had that weekend off after the Garner case. I went down to New Orleans to see Will and . . . one thing led to another.”

“Is that why you kept texting me asking for pictures of my cat?” Garcia giggled, absentmindedly petting J.J’s hair.

“Yeah. . . I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a robot. Don’t ask.”

After a bit of laughter, everyone recovered and it was Hotch’s turn next.

“Four years ago. After the Nieman case in Tampa. Haley was the one who suggested it. It did help me relax, but the taste is something I couldn’t stand.”

Everyone nodded slightly, accepting this answer as valid.

Rossi shrugged, gesturing to the now empty box. Clearly he had smoked recently, probably within the month so the question passed to Morgan.

“I’m gonna be honest. I . . . partake whenever we have free time.”

“So. . . ?” J.J asked.

Morgan sighed.

“Last weekend.”

Wow. Garcia started to laugh which caused a domino effect on the rest of the team. Reid was finally relaxing into the feeling, laughing along with his friends.

“Y’all think that’s real funny, huh?” Morgan said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face.

“Yep,” Reid said through another puff, suppressing a cough. “Only because it makes so much sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan got a mischievous look in his eye. “Okay, Prentiss. Your turn.”

Emily, who had been laughing heartily, suddenly froze, looking nervously around the room.

“I, er, I don’t recall.”

Morgan chuckled.

“Well then, allow me to refresh your memory. Last weekend I’m minding my own business when I get a call from Emily here. She’s going off about how expensive movie tickets are and how it’s cheaper to buy back-alley weed. I tell her not to worry, I’ve got my hands on the good stuff right here. Needless to say, within the hour we were both high off our asses.”

Prentiss had turned bright pink, taking a sip from a water bottle she’d withdrawn from her purse. Looking back, she should have known better than to hide her face from a group of seasoned profilers.

“Oh, damn, Emily!” Garcia bounced on the couch, shaking J.J who groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me! You know I am always one phone call and thirty-five minutes away.”

Emily glanced at Derek, smirking. “That’s the problem, Pen. Sometimes you can be a little . . . much.”

Garcia gasped softly, “Emilia, you offend me. I’m offended. I’m chill! I’m a chill person,” she added, a little shrilly, sending the group into yet another fit of laughter.

“What? Look at me now! I’m relaxing on the couch, totally at peace.”

In her defense, she was. Absentmindedly braiding J.J’s hair and working out the knots in it. One sharp pull made J.J wince.

“Ow! Yeah, ‘at peace’ my ass.”

“Shush! Reid, go.”

Spencer opened his mouth but Morgan spoke first.

“Aw, come on, Baby Girl. You saw how Pretty Boy here coughed. He hasn’t touched a drug in his life.”

“I-”

“Oh, come on. People don’t only cough when they’ve never smoked before. Besides, he went to Caltech AND got a doctorate at MIT. Those Ivy Leagues have the most toked up students anyway.”

“Well, I-”

“Nah,” Morgan interrupted. “Pretty Boy’s been sober his whole life.”

“Actually . . .”

Morgan’s head snapped to Reid, as quick as he could under the influence. Which, in retrospect was not all that quick.

“Kid. You’re telling me you’ve done this before?”

Reid went even pinker than Emily had.

“Not, uh. Not exactly. I’ve certainly never smoked a joint with anyone. But, well. That wasn’t the question.”

“What was the question?” Garcia asked.

“You’re the one who asked it!”

She simply shrugged, reapplying her lipstick smoothly. The high was slowly wearing off everyone.

“You asked when the last time everyone got high was,” Reid explained, his hands gesticulating wildly. “While I have never smoked - really no one should, the things it does to your lungs - I have ingested marijuana before.”

“What!?” Morgan and Garcia exclaimed, prompting an even louder Shh from Rossi. Hotch was smirking softly, lighting several candelabras around the room, attempting to clear the air of the stench.

“What?” Reid asked, annoyed at their shock. “I might be nerdy but I’m not a prude.”

Prentiss laughed and remarked to J.J, “Next thing he’s gonna be telling us he’s not a virgin.”

“Actual-”

“Stop, right there, kid,” Morgan butted in, settling down on the couch for the night. “That’s not the kinda thing I wanna hear about right now.”

“But you were curious about me getting high before!”

“Yeah, that’s your business.”

Prentiss butted in, “Besides, we should just focus on the now. It seems while we’ve all partook before, but never together like this. This time it’s a… a…”

“A joint effort,” Reid said, glancing around the room with a playful smile.

A collective groan followed his quip and several pillows were thrown his way.

“You’re lucky I’m barely stoned,” Garcia said. “I’d come over there and give you a proper pillow fight.”

Rossi leaned forward over the old box.

“Ladies, gents,” he lifted the purple satin lining revealing several more pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes, “the night is still young.”

And so, the FBI profilers hotboxed David Rossi’s living room, laughing about nonsense and learning much more than they’d wanted to about Spencer Reid’s sexual history

#criminal minds #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #hotch #penelope garcia #david rossi #fanfic #fanfiction #thank you alanna

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tf2-parqcxsm · 4 years

Text

Spy x Reader: Babysitting

a bit of spydad. let's just assume you have a baby nephew and a sister in this story. :)

The French man sat on his fancy chair, which was placed beside the casual-looking couch. Ever since you and Spy purchased this house, every corner looked like it was a mix of elegance and informality. It often ticked him off, but he eventually got used to it. He grabbed his cigarette and took it away from his mouth, puffing out a patch of smoke. The grayish gas made its way above and disappeared into thinness, it slightly left a funny smell in the room and made the atmosphere to be even more indulging.

For Spy, at least.

It was another boring day, you had to leave the house all to him and go somewhere. Spy would always insist that you tell him where you're going, but you would laugh it off and give him a quick peck on the cheek before storming off. He had suspicions, but he shook the feeling off. He didn't want to doubt you, the precious sweetheart of his life.

Even so, it felt boring without you. You were a chaotic but a genuinely fun person to be with. He couldn't ask for someone better than you. A sigh escaped from his lips as soon as his mind settled on the thoughts of you, he grabbed the newspaper from the table to distract himself away from these emotions. He started reading the headline, "MALL SANTA WAS KNOCKED OUT BY STRANGE MAN WITH HELMET!"

Spy groaned when he recognized who it was talking about. He rolled the newspaper and placed it back from its original placement. He stood up from his chair and headed towards the kitchen, he was supposed to grab a treat, when you suddenly barged into the room.

With a baby in your arms.

Spy nearly jumped in surprise at your sudden appearance, he turned around and tried to reach for you, "Mon chéri, what are you—"

You swiftly placed the baby in his arms, "No time to explain! I have to go! Take care of the baby, bye, I love you!" Explaining everything so quickly, you just simply placed a kiss on his lips and ran outside like there was a killer chasing you. Spy blinked his eyes multiple times, unable to understand what the hell just happened, before setting his attention to the baby who was sleeping soundly in his arms. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, "Why…"

He was never good with children. You knew that. Why would you leave him in a situation like this? He couldn't even give Scou—

Anyway. The baby eventually woke up due to Spy's uncomfortable shifting. He had to place him down on the table — very thoughtful of him — because he wasn't so used to holding a child, watching him from a distance and a hand on his chin. "What should I do with you..?" He mumbled, whether it was to the baby or to himself, heaven only knows. The baby tilted his head, giving Spy the eyes of curiosity, which just made him cringe. A wide smile crept to his face, giggling. He raised his arms up high, as if he was trying to reach for something. He then started to crawl towards Spy.

It took awhile for the masked gentleman to realize what was happening. He was going to fall! Spy quickly ran to him and managed to catch him before he made contact with the floor. Putting his hands under the baby's arms, Spy narrowed his eyes. "Mon dieu, you're quite the disgraceful one." He uttered, somewhat causing the baby to raise his arms once again. Spy moved him away with a displeased expression on his face, he didn't want to be touched with those dirty little hands. Who knows what the baby has touched!

The baby frowned when he felt Spy's presence to be farther away from him, "Mama? Mama!" Tears started to form around his eyes as he yelled for his mama. Both concern and confusion filled Spy's head. He raised an eyebrow, "What? Non, non." He placed the baby down again on the table, he raised a finger to point out a fact. "I am NOT your mother." The baby didn't seem to like his response, as he started to let out tiny sobs. The annoyed expression on Spy's face quickly dissolved into a concerned one. How was he supposed to react?!

"Unless…?"

Unless YOU were the mother.

"(Y/n)'s your mother, isn't she?"

Spy felt a pang of sadness in his heart. Although, being an expressionless person, the emotion didn't seep out to most people. But he felt it, right through his chest and soul. "Well, it would make sense, right?" He studied the baby's features, he had most of your appearance. (H/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, and (s/c) skin. He looked exactly like you! Just a male version. And a baby version.

He doesn't remember doing any sensual activity with you. In fact, he doesn't remember your stomach growing at all! All kinds of thoughts ran through Spy's head, somewhat leaving a bitter feeling. His series of thoughts were interrupted when the baby finally wailed loudly, his cries echoing through the room and irritating Spy's sense of hearing. "Ugh..what do you want now?"

Some Time Later

As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, you immediately opened the door and ran towards the house you and Spy shared. Slamming the door open, you yelled, "Spy?! Where's the baby?!"

You scanned the surroundings and your eyes landed on Spy, who was sitting on his chair with a rather lazy position. His back was completely slacked off on the chair as his head was tucked in his shoulders. He even held his cigarette lazily. You couldn't help but snicker at the sight. "He's over there." He pointed at the ground, which you brought your gaze to. The baby held a box, and was chewing the whole pack. A gasp escaped from your lips, you quickly ran over to pick him up and got the object away from him. "Spy, what did you give him?!" You exclaimed in worry, snapping your head towards your masked lover.

He simply huffed at your question, "Don't make such a ruckus. I only gave him juice." The unusual behavior from Spy made you even more worried. You held the baby firmly in your hands as you walked over to the French man. "Spy? Are you okay?" You questioned, softly this time. The baby attempted to reach for the box that you held in your hand, but you quickly shut him away with a 'no'.

"Okay? Do I look okay?" Spy spatted bitterly at you, which surprised you and caused your eyes to widen. "Actually, why even ask? You have your other lover waiting for you outside, right? Go ahead. Leave the house with that filthy baby." He hissed, the venom in his voice sending shivers down your spine. His glare speared through you, even with the mask, you could see the wrinkles he had when he furrowed his eyebrows. Your heart sank at his words. "Spy, this—"

"Don't even try to explain. Just leave."

"This is my sister's!"

Spy stopped dead in his tracks while he was walking up the stairs. "What?" He slowly turned his head to you, and once his gaze landed on you, his eyes widened. You were nearly crying, "This is my nephew! Why would I have a baby with another man?!" You yelled at him, despite knowing that the baby in your arms will probably cry due to your yelling, but he merely played around your shoulders and made some tiny noises. You couldn't believe Spy would think of you like that.

A sniffle seemed to come out, and tears blurred up your vision. You managed to wipe them away with your free arm. As soon as you dropped your arm, you were faced with your lover, a serious but an apologetic look on his face. You tried to drag your gaze away, but he already had his hands — which were not gloved — on your cheeks, gently caressing away the paths that your salty tears took. "I'm sorry. I thought—"

"Yeah, I know. It's my fault too." You leaned into his touch. You were so glad about the fact that he decided to take his gloves off, you could feel the warmth of his hand melt into your skin. Every time you feel his hands running through any part of your body, you would immediately tense up. But when it's on your cheeks, you just simply lean towards him, wanting to feel more of his touch. You wish he would take off his mask more often too. Spy sighed, opening his mouth to say something again.

"Hi, sis!! Where's my— Oh…"

There came your sister, laughing nervously when she saw you in close contact with Spy. "Oh, sorry! Am I interrupting something?" She questioned, and you quickly walked towards her as Spy stayed behind. "No, it's okay. Here's your baby." You carefully gave her the young child, and he started to laugh adorably as soon as he saw his real mother. You smiled at the sight in front of you, an image of you and Spy having a baby flashed through your mind, which almost made you tear up.

"Well, we better get going now! Thank you again for taking care of my son!" Your sister waved at Spy as a thank you, to which he rudely looked away from. You cleared your throat to drift your sister's attention away from him, and laughed nervously, "Pardon him. He's not really good with people." You explained. She smirked at you, and that caused you to push her out of the house.

As your sister drove away with her truck, you waved at her whilst leaning against the doorframe. The vehicle slowly descended to the horizon, and once it's gone, you allowed a sad sigh to escape from your lips and rubbed your temple. An arm made its way around your waist and pressed you against them. You looked up to your side just to see the smooth jawline of your French lover, he was also looking over to where the vehicle was driving off to. You chuckled lovingly at the sight.

"Don't you ever dare replace me with another man." Spy uttered, with a hint of desperation in his voice. You rolled your eyes at him, "Why would I?" He turned his head to you, the corners of his lips turning up at your question.

"Because I'm irreplaceable."

"Pff— Yeah, right."

He leaned to your face, his arms still wrapped around your waist, bringing you to a deep, passionate kiss. He didn't want to let go of you, he especially didn't want to lose you to another man.

He loves you.

#this is bad #tf2 #tf2 spy #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #spydad #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fanfiction

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Safety In Numbers (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary: Red knows how to play the game. The only problem is, not everyone gets out unscathed.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Background Kustard, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!, Unhealthy Relationship, Unnamed Ship

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

Musically Inclined

Lest You Be Judged

Solo Act

Appealing To Better Judgment

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Refuge.

That was what Toriel named the protected Monster settlement that rose up at the base of the mountain, for all the Monsters who either couldn’t or wouldn’t live in Ebott.

Red supposed if there was nothing else, they could all thank her for sparing them from whatever dumb shit Ass-gore would’ve called it, like New New Home.

Despite all the treaties and negotiations, there were plenty of Monsters still living there. Some found that once they set their feet on the grass, they were about as far away from the mountain as they cared to get. Some were plain afraid to live out amongst the Humans. And a fair few simply weren’t allowed to leave, their little laminated ID cards didn’t grant them clearance through the front gate. Monsters with LV, Monsters with an appearance that might be considered disturbing. Any Monster likely to hit a ten on the Human freak-o-meter wasn’t allowed out not yet, anyway. Made sense, really. If they scared the shit out of the Humies by going too fast, they’d be lucky if they only ended up chased back beneath the mountain and not used as potting soil.

Try telling that to the dumbfucks, though. Red kept an ear hole close to the ground for any incoming gossip and from what was coming down the line it looked like the Assholes of Asgore were using it as a recruiting point. Red suspected that they didn’t have only have the interest of one or two disgruntled folks.

Anyone with half a lick of sense should see through their bullshit, but if Red was supposed to count on any of the dipshits he knew underground having common sense, he might as well shove a bone through his own soul now and spare anyone else the trouble of dusting him.

Their real goal was to start the bloody war Asgore promised them all and if they managed it, well, it was gonna be a pretty damn short one. Magic was handy dandy, all right, but the Humans kinda outnumbered them a million to one. Hell, while they’d been down below twiddling their thumbs, the Humans figured out their own version of magic, one that was a fuckton more explosive than anything Monsters had on tap. If Red was a betting man, and he was, thanks, he knew which odds he was putting down on.

Red looked out the tinted window of the car driving him through the newly paved streets of Refuge, watching the scenery pass by. Much as he hated being chauffeured around, these days he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Back when he was training in the guard, there was still some opportunity to skulk around. Strip away his uniform and its delta rune crest, and he was only another Monster with a shitty attitude wandering into Grillby’s for a drink.

Being Chosen took away any chance he had of wandering around unnoticed. Even if Red slipped away from Rus, his face was too well-known now and probably rated a solid six on the Humies freak-o-meter.

If he thought the chucklefucks throwing themselves at Rus’s feet begging for blessings were annoying, it was a damn sight worse when they tried that shit on him. As if he had any say in the way the Universe trundled on down the road. He wasn’t the one second in the queue to chat with the Angel, thanks, and none of the Divine had seen fit to give him their direct line.

Shame Edge didn’t let him fuck with them; a few broken fingers and a bruise or two might give them all a little peace, but eh, his bro was a spoilsport that way. His own fault for leaving the kid on his own years ago while he skulked off to join the guard, instead of sticking around to teach him what’s what. Edge’s code of morals didn’t line up so much with Red’s anymore and wasn’t that a bitch.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, ignoring the sour look the driver gave him in the rearview mirror. They didn’t say a peep, though, kept whatever words they wanted to say locked up tight behind their tusks. Being Chosen did have a few perks other than risking his life and getting to spend plenty of quality time communing with Rus’s pussy.

Red lit the cigarette with a harsh rasp of his lighter, took a long drag of smoke and breathed it out as he leaned his skull against the cool window glass, watching the blurred landscape. The streets were lined with cheaply made carbon-copy houses, but there wasn’t a whole lotta room to complain about that. The first few months most of ‘em spent huddled in patched-up tents given to them by the reluctant Human government, miserable in the spring rain and mud that tried to suck off your shoes with every step. Far as Red was concerned, all Monsters should be damned grateful for a house to call their own and if someone wanted their place shaped like a fucking fish, they were gonna have to wait their turn.

Yeah, lots of Monsters struggled when they hit sunshine, trying to wrap their minds around everything that happened. Red wasn’t one of them. He’d been Chosen only days after his boots hit the ground, but he’d spent some time out in the mudholes, searching out threats against his freshly appointed Judge. He’d learned a few useful tricks before putting on a uniform and they sure did come in handy from time to time.

These days, Red didn’t get out as much anymore. Maybe if Rus had more Chosen than only him and Edge, he could’ve kept up with it, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The kid needed him, all of him, and that was that.

Inconvenient, yeah, but probably just as well. Kept him from having to hold the lid down on his boiling need to shiv anyone who fucking dared touch what was his. He played nice enough when it came to all the unity mumbo jumbo bullshit, the Judge was an avatar of the Angel, the Judge belonged to the people, yeah, sure, he’d toe the party line.

But when it came to laying hands on his boy there was only one other Monster with the right. He was as much Red’s as Rus was and that’d be true until the day Red shivered to dust.

So, yeah, he couldn’t do the footwork himself anymore, eh, sucks to suck. Instead, he was forced to rely on other Monsters to keep him rolling in that sweet, sweet info. He’d vetted all of them himself, checked into every detail of their lives all the way back to the day they dropped from their mama’s cooch. Every single one of them was loyal as fuck to the Angel and as willing to spy on each other as they were anyone else, and that right there helped weed out most of the trouble. Wasn’t a perfect method, but it usually worked pretty well and let Red keep his fingers hooked into a few pies. That was, whenever he could pull 'em out of Rus's desserts.

Right now, all his people were working overtime, trying to dig up some dirt on how those fuckers managed to get into the cafeteria to take a pot shot at Rus. When they finally got something concrete, Red planned to deal with it personally, and if Rus ended up giving him a Judging look over it, he didn’t much give a shit. He was Chosen for the Judge, to protect them in every way possible and if the Angel was having second thoughts about it, She could stop by and deal with it herself.

None of that had shit to do with what he was up to today.

The house his car pulled up in front of was as unremarkable as the rest, a cookie-cutter copy with different curtains and a doormat. The driveway was empty but that didn’t mean shit. He already knew they were home, had to be, because they never damn well left.

“stay here,” Red ordered the driver. He nodded silently, sodium-yellow eyes meeting Red’s in the rear-view mirror. Red got out, hopping down to the ground from the high seat with a silent grumble. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. Straightening his uniform shirt was an automatic to him these days as taking his next breath. Didn’t make Red hate the fucking thing any less and he forced his hands back down as he trudged up the walkway.

He didn’t knock on the front door. Instead, he went around to the back of the house where he already knew what he would find. A turn of the corner an expansive garden was spread out before him, filled with neat rows of greenery already creeping their way out of the rich dirt.

There was a garden in every backyard in Refuge, every one of ‘em planted at the Queen’s command. Part of her plan was making sure that eventually Monsters would be as self-sufficient as possible. Couldn’t depend on the Humies to keep them in clover forever and sure they had some tech deals getting hammered out, but if there was one truth all Monsters knew, it was that G wasn’t food.

True, it wasn’t a perfect plan; some of those mandatory gardens were pretty fucking sad, brown straggly plants that might cough up a tomato or two before they kacked it. This one, though, was pristine. Red didn’t care about growing shit that couldn’t be rolled up into a blunt and knew even less about it, but even he could see the way all the plants were evenly spaced and that there wasn’t a single weed growing anywhere. Not a stray piece of grass or a single thistle dared peek out of the soil in this garden.

A Monster was kneeling in one of the plots, dressed in overalls and a funny little straw hat, a wagon next to him heaped with tools and paper bags, a small pile weeds who ignored the warning signs.

Red didn’t actually know Blue real well. When Rus talked about Blue, it was always with a wealth of fondness in his soft voice, often whispering his memories in the darkness of their bedroom whenever insomnia haunted him.

Whatever sweetness Rus remember in Blue, it was long since eroded away, torn out of him, and whether it was being Chosen, his past Judgement, or Asgore who did it didn’t much matter to the outcome.

He was one of Sans’s early Chosen, back before Red even joined the guard and the few times he’d seen Blue were when he came to assemblies to watch the trainees before they were instated as full guards. Red remembered seeing him those days; dressed to the nines in his uniform, boots polished until a person could see their reflection in them from ten steps away, every crease straight, every button fastened. Seen him a few times from a distance, too, with Sans, always a nice, respectful two steps behind him and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt between his knees. Couldn’t even picture the bastard ever getting bent over a sofa getting fucked by a desperate Judge.

(Sans was more likely to flop back and take a fucking, way back when, all sly smiles and slick pussy, knees spread wide in invitation. Whatever becoming the Judge did to him must’ve given his preferences a good topsy-turvy, ‘cause gossip in the barracks warned all the guards to be prepared for spending plenty of time on their knees)

They’d talked a few more times since then and not a single one of those chats endeared Blue to Red any more than the first.

These days Blue was pretty fucking hard to look at. His skull looked like it’d been busted apart and put back together by hands that didn’t care if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit right, parts of the bone still discolored with char. The empty left sleeve of his shirt was pinned up neatly to his shoulder and the cane leaning against his little wagon wasn’t for show. He’d survived the coup, but not by much, the only one of Sans’s chosen who didn’t die along with him, and there was a memory that Red didn’t like to take out and play with too often.

His team came in far too late, after it was all over but the vacuuming. Breaking through the barred door and walking into the leftovers of a massacre, a mass Judging, no one who’d been in the throne room came out unscathed. Blue the only one still breathing right and Sans…yeah.

Probably a wonder Blue hadn’t offed himself yet.

All that aside, it was a shame that the stick in his pelvis didn’t get yanked out along with his arm. The eye light that lit his less damaged socket was blazing sharp, and he was struggling to his feet the second Red started walking across the yard, snatching up his cane and brandishing it like a sword.

“What are you doing out here?” Blue demanded loudly. He stormed out of his garden, tracking mud across the carefully shorn grass. “You should be with Rus, he needs to be protected!”

“well, hello to you, too,” Red drawled. He stuck his hands in his pockets carelessly, rocking on his heels. “kid is fine, edge is with him.”

Blue’s dismissive scoff raked across Red’s nerves like the tines of a fork on a cheese grater. “Oh, certainly, with Edge, that’s surely impenetrable protection! Edge wasn’t even a full guard when he was Chosen!”

"might be so, but edge is the one in charge these days. you think i want out there handling that shit?" Either Blue wasn’t keeping up with the times or he was just being a prick. Either was possible, but the fact of the matter was that in public, Edge was the boss. His word was law when it came to Rus and it had a lotta spillover onto Toriel. To insinuate that he wasn’t capable of protecting the Judge was an insult about the level of hocking a juicy loogie into Red’s face and if it was anyone else, Red wouldn’t be fussed about getting the dust out of his shoelaces before he headed home. Blue caught the barest hint of a break, for Rus, but he was already fucking pushing it. Still, Red kept his voice carelessly easy, “you sound kinda worried about your bro.”

Blue shed the glove on his remaining hand and pulled a tidy bandanna out of his back pocket, mopping at the sheen of sweat on his shattered skull. “I heard about the attack, of course. Everyone has.”

“yeah?” Red raised a brow bone, reluctantly interested. “hear any useful gossip about it?”

“If I had, you would already know about it,” Blue retorted. He sighed and gestured for Red to follow him, making his staggering way up to the back porch. It was surrounded by flowering bushes, heady perfume overwhelmingly filling the air while bees flee drunkenly from blossom to blossom. Sitting on a little patio table was a carafe of lemonade, lemon slices floating amongst the ice.

Blue poured two large glasses, pushing one over to Red. He took a long drink, the tartness blotting out the nauseatingly thick reek of the flowers.

Blue took a sip from his glass, ice cubes rattling, and he dabbed away the thin stream that ran out of his cracked jaw with the bandanna. “I don’t hear most of the gossip, I’m afraid, not anymore. I’m a failed guard, the neighbors don’t exactly stop by for visits and chats.”

“You didn’t fail at shit,” Red retorted sharply. Bullshit was all that was, all because Blue managed to not die.

Red wasn’t fond of Blue, but fuck, he’d had nine toes in the dustpan when they managed to tow him back into the land of the living. He’d fucking well tried and if anyone wanted to toss in their opinion on whether they thought Blue didn’t try hard enough, they were welcome to give Red’s fat one a good ol’ suck.

Blue only let out a humorless laugh. Once, his eye lights had been a starry yellow-blue, showcasing his traits. Patience and justice, pretty good draw for a Chosen companion to the Judge. The one eye light he still had was pale and colorless now, reminiscent of Rus’s, only Blue’s was dull, doughy-blank, showing none of Rus’s vibrancy. Hard to believe anymore that these two were even brothers.

Curious that Rus’s Choosing gave him a pair of brothers with a matching trait of Determination. Made a person wonder exactly why, but neither the Angel nor the Judge were telling.

The glass in Blue’s hand rattled against his trembling fingers, the bones still yellowed and scorched. “Tell that to Sans.”

“tell him yourself,” Red lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. The cunning little device in his pocket would’ve warned Red if there was any active listening devices around, but Red hadn’t survived as long as he had without harsh lessons in watching his mouth, “i told you before, i can get you up to our rooms, no one’d ever know.”

Blue’s mouth twisted disgustedly. The movement from his jaw pulled the gaping crack over his dead socket grotesquely wider as the first real emotion winking in and out of his eye light in a flash. "And I told you, there is a reason that former Chosen aren’t allowed near the new Judge,” Blue slammed down his glass, a wave of lemonade slopping over his damaged fingers. “There's no telling how he'd react if he saw me! If he recalled I was once Chosen, he might--ugh!” Blue hunched over with a shudder of revulsion, “It's bad enough that you and your brother are servicing him."

“you questioning the judge’s choice?” Red said coolly, just this side of waspish. He didn't really give a good shit what Blue thought of it, especially considering Red’s reasons for being here to begin with, but he did wonder what Blue would think if he knew Sans popped out for a recent visit. Whispered a coupla sweet nothings while he jammed Rus’s prick East bejesus up Red’s cunt. The memory made a slick of wetness form at Red’s crotch and he shoved the memory back. Not the time and he stuffed that little reminiscence back where the one of his brother’s cock in his mouth lived, the knowledge of how it felt, soft and slick with his own come and Rus’s, carefully tucked into the furthest corner of his mind.

That tart question struck the dartboard in a bullseye. Blue faltered like he’d been jabbed right in the tailbone, sputtering out, “No, of course not, but—" He recovered, straightening his spine and that cool soldier’s expression dropped over his face, the stick in his ass jammed straight. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the damage it could cause my brother to see me, so you can stop asking, the answer is no, it’ll always be no.”

“whatever you say,” Red shrugged, ‘cause he didn’t care, not really. Except for how desperately Rus wanted to see his fucking brother, just once, one last time. The brother he’d missed out saying goodbye to between Blue’s unconsciousness and him being Chosen. Any other Judge at least got a chance to say fare thee well and the fact that Rus lost the opportunity was just one more bar in Rus’s prison, caged in, body and soul.

Blue’s answer was about what he’d expected though, and that was fine. Another useless attempt to get him to the Embassy wasn’t Red’s real reason for coming.

“not really here about you anyway, pipsqueak,” Red said, letting the words fall lightly. “i heard papyrus is staying here with you these days.”

That little tidbit of gossip came through the vine in the wee hours last night, Red checking his phone with Rus sleeping peacefully beside him, Edge on the far side. He’d spent the rest of the night lying awake, cold fury thrumming in his soul and that was the real reason Red came all the fucking way out here for a little face to face chat. “shacking up with sans’s little brother, huh, that sure must be something.”

Papyrus was only a kid when Sans was chosen as Judge, still in striped shirts and missing his two front teeth. Biggest difference between him and Edge was the Crown gave a stipend to the families of Chosen to make up for the loss of income. Papyrus probably never had a hungry day in his life and certainly not after Sans put on the robes. His bro never had to worry if the shit wage he was earning in the guard was gonna be enough to keep a roof over his kid brother’s head or keep him in clothes when he started growing like a weed. Sans didn’t have to set aside enough for a bribe to make sure that whatever G he made actually found its way to his brother and didn’t end up lining the pocket of some greedy deliveryman.

None of that was Papyrus’s fault and sucking on a silver teat didn’t make him miss his brother any less. Kid tried the join the guard a few times and always washed out, only got to try more than once because of who his brother was. Red wondered morbidly what Blue’s stuck up, sanctimonious ass would’ve thought if Papyrus had gotten into the guard and Sans Chose him.

Now it was looking like that stick in Blue’s ass didn’t keep him from inviting Papyrus between the sheets.

Whatever color was in Blue’s skull leached away, the bone dulling to chalky white, and taking with it any hope that Blue wasn’t using that kid as a dim replacement. His gaze skittered away, hunted, skipping around the yard, looking for fuck knew what. For Sans to step out of the void with shrieking admonishments, for a stray bolt of lightning to finally strike him down and send Blue after those who went before him. There was nothing, only Red standing here holding half a glass of decent lemonade in the sunshine so many died to get.

There was nowhere else for that look to go, no escape, and finally Blue reluctantly looked at Red again. He said, raw and stiffly, “There’s nothing against the code about that.”

“no, there ain’t,” Red agreed, softly. He only met Blue’s solitary eye light evenly. Red couldn’t see into Blue’s soul but he fucking well hoped Blue felt his sins crawling their leisurely way up his spine.

Red set his lemonade down carefully before he gave into the urge to toss it glass and all right into Blue’s broken face. He turned away and started back around the house, barely off the patio when Blue called his name.

“Red?” Blue struggled for words finally asked, plaintively. “Is he happy?”

Almost Red wanted to tell Blue that they kept Rus well fucked. That his little bro looked good stuffed with cock on both ends, that he sucked dick with the expertise of a thousand G whore.

But he wasn’t about to talk about Rus like that, not even to get one up on his shitheel brother. “i like to think so. he’s a real sweetheart.”

Red made no mention of the almost desperate adoration that rose up in his soul that came from only thinking about Rus. That wasn’t for sharing time.

“Yes,” Blue said. His hoarse voice was low, subdued, “he always was. take good care of him?”

Better than you could, Red did not say. “want me to give him a message or anything?”

Blue’s melancholy faded and he shook his head immediately, "Judges are forbidden from any contact by a former Chosen or family, and I’m both. You know this.” He sounded like he was reading straight from the guard manual.

If Rus hadn’t been Chosen, he’d be here right now taking care of his piece of shit brother. Standing back helplessly while Blue fucked the old Judge’s kid brother and pretended he was someone else, and Red was a selfish enough bastard to be glad he wasn’t. “you’re right, i do. so is there?”

Blue only lifted his chin and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t a Judge, because his single eye light was loaded with resentful judgement. “No. There’s nothing I could tell him that he wouldn’t already know.”

Yeah, just as well Rus was Chosen. Blue didn’t fucking deserve to have his brother here with him.

Wasn’t a fucking thing Red could do about Papyrus; he was out of stripes and kid was gonna have to make his own bad decisions and what was Red gonna do about it anyway? Take him back home like a stray puppy he found on the streets? Tell him that he didn’t have to settle for Sans’s leftovers, remind him that it wasn’t Sans’s idea to leave any of them? That he didn’t need to live here, the two of them burying themselves into a dusty tomb that Sans wasn’t even in.

He wondered what Papyrus was getting out of it. If he was closing his sockets and played his own version of pretend.

He wondered why he even cared. Why had he come out here to Refuge, really?

“tell paps i said hi,” Red said finally, “ain’t nothing against that in the code, either.”

“I will.”

Red turned on his heel and headed back to the car before he said something he wouldn’t regret, but would hurt Rus if he ever heard about it. He lit a cigarette before they’d even pulled away from the curb and by the time they got back to the Embassy, he’d smoked his way through the entire pack.

~~*~~

When Red got back to their quarters, he was too fucking tired for the early hour of the day and faintly nauseous from too much nicotine. He closed the door carefully behind him, resetting all the alarms. His joints ached like all his frustrations seeped out of his soul and settled into them.

In their living area, Rus and Edge were sitting on opposite sofas, playing some kind of stupid card game. Rus was choosing to stay home for a few days, barring a Judgement, and that was the only reason Red felt comfortable enough to leave the two of them alone, anyway.

Kid didn’t want to endanger anyone else, perfectly reasonable response to what happened, but they couldn’t hide away in here forever. Rus needed fresh air and sunshine. He needed his meditation gardens, not the weedy looking herbs Edge grew on the narrow windowsill for his cooking.

That meant Red needed to go over the intel his contacts were sending along. Search for reoccurring names, patterns, anything that’d lead him to the end of this snake so he could chop off the head.

Needed to, yeah, but it’d have to wait. Right now, his head wasn’t exactly in the game. He’d left too much of his mind behind in Refuge, turning that chat over and over, trying to find a chink, a solution that didn’t exist.

Probably better to get settled so he didn’t miss a trick, yeah, that was the ticket. All Red wanted right now was some manufactured forgetfulness and he wanted to get started making it right now.

“welcome back,” Rus called cheerily. He only glanced at Red, pale eye lights filled with warm greeting, before turning back to the cards in his hand with a little frown.

That gave Red a chance to discreetly run a mental inventory of his honey. Rus was looking good today. There was some color back into his bones, his pristine skull glossy with health. His magic was leveling out to its normal slower upward trickle. Hell, at a glance he was damn right perky, and that made it hard not to appreciate how fucking pretty he was. His long robes were discarded in favor of a pair of soft, loose pants and a t-shirt to match, bare feet tucked under his knees and a hint of his clavicles peeking tantalizingly over the neckline, begging for a mouth to give ‘em a taste.

Just seeing Rus like that leached some of the aching tension out of Red’s soul, trading it out for relief.

It was tempting to step up right then, but Red hung back, waiting for them to finish their game. When Rus wasn't giving Judgments, what he was mostly was bored. There was only so much meditating and bonding with the spirits or whatever the shit that anyone could do. Protecting the Judge was the focus of their job, the most important thing, but it wasn’t the only one. The other part of their bit was plain taking care of Rus and that included entertainment.

Sex might be an easy way to knock out two birds with one dick, but it couldn’t be the only thing.

Their living room was lined with shelves filled to the brim with books and blu-rays, video game consoles and board games, anything to help Rus pass the day and hopefully forget that the sunshine his brother nearly died to get for their people couldn’t really be his.

“What were you off doing anyway?” Rus asked absently. His attention was mostly on the game, sockets narrowed, and across from him, Edge only waited patiently, the slightest hint of a smirk curving his mouth. Rus didn’t seem too worried about Red taking a field trip, it did happen from time to time.

His brother was probably less than pleased that Red took off without a word as to where he was going other than a hastily scrawled note of ‘back soon’, but eh, Red could take that medicine when he had to.

There was a split-second choice to be made here, whether to tell Rus the truth of where he’d gone or not. With only a couple words, Red could make sure Rus never wanted to see his brother again…and taint every past memory he clung to in the process. Almost did it anyway; Red was an old hand at cleaning up all kinds of messes, he could handle one more. The only thing that held his tongue was thinking of Rus’s grief, the choking tears streaming down his pretty face, and his memory of his brother would end up just one more thing he’d lost.

Only this time it would be Red doing the taking.

Fuck it, if the Angel wanted Rus to know about it, She could do the dirty work.

“nothing important, darlin’,” Red said smoothly, and that was true enough.

Rus didn’t notice anything amiss, but Edge gave him a narrow, suspicious look. Eh, he’d catch his bro up on things soon enough. Now wasn’t the time. For once, Edge wasn’t buttoned from his clavicles to his toes in his uniform, instead dressed in soft pants and a sweatshirt that was a hair too tight, probably from Rus’s side of the closet. Probably meant they’d spent some cuddle time on the sofa before starting up on the game or at least Red hoped so. He might watch the cameras later. Just to make sure.

His wandering thoughts were coagulating, coming back together in his skull and Red was already wondering what kind of distraction he could come up with to tug their attention from the cards when he heard it. Faintly, the familiar, hollow sound of a constant buzzing against bone.

Well, now, this was getting interesting, now wasn’t it.

“care to fill me in on the rules to this game?” Red drawled. He leaned against the sofa arm and treated himself to a more in-depth perusal of them both. Nothing unusual leapt out at him, not yet.

“it’s pretty simple,” Rus said. His cards were fanned out messily in his slim hands, a disorderly array of suits. “whoever loses a round has to wear a vibrator in the next round. winner gets to put the vibrator wherever they want.”

Huh. Rus sounded a little more disgruntled than that called for. Kid was an ace at counting cards, it was a little surprising he’d even persuaded Edge to play. “sounds fun.”

“i thought so too,” Rus said, shooting Edge a sulky look. “only edge doesn’t even work up a sweat, no matter where i put it. i’ve tried it behind his sternum, his sacrum, pubic arch. i'm about ready to toss it into his eye socket and let it rattle around in his skull for a while, see if that shakes him up.”

Edge laid the queen of spades on top of the card pile and said placidly, “My apologies for my self-control being so boring.”

Boring, huh. Red looked his brother up and down calculatingly. The little details were there if a person knew how to look. Eye lights barely hazed, the slightest hitch to his too-even breathing. He was a little worked up, but Rus wasn't lying, he still looked like an ice cube wouldn't melt in his shorts.

Meanwhile, Rus was pouting unhappily, his pretty smile turned upside down, and that just couldn’t be allowed, now could it. An idea perked up in the back of Red’s mind, ripe with possibilities, and Rus would go for it no question. Whether Edge would was dependent on how happy he wanted to make Rus, which usually fell under ‘a lot’. The odds were good, and Red never shied from a good bet.

Red leaned in and settled a wandering hand on Rus’s knee, sliding lightly up his inner thigh and snagging his attention. "how about we play another kind of game, honey."

Rus immediately looked wary, but Red wasn't offended. Couldn't blame him; Rus'd played Red’s games before, good on him for taking the lesson to heart.

"what game?" Rus asked suspiciously.

"Doesn’t anyone want to know if I want to play a new game?" Edge asked no one in particular. They ignored him.

Red rose up on his toes and laid a soft kiss on Rus’s mouth, lingering a little too long over that sweetness before he reluctantly drew back. “lemme get changed first then we'll talk. you go on ahead and finish that round.”

He strolled off, whistling cheerfully. The day was already looking up.

In their shared bedroom Red stripped out of his uniform, carelessly dropping it to the floor for Edge to bitch over later. A pair of well-worn shorts and a t-shirt was a decent match to the wardrobe choices of two brats out there, and made for easier access and cleanup. Ready Freddy, except for one thing.

Red knelt down and dug out a small box hidden underneath their bed, grabbed a little something that might come in handy right soon. He tucked it into his pocket, shoving it deep enough not to arouse (heh) suspicions.

Edge was picking up the cards when Red came back out, tucking them back into the box. The previously unseen vibrator was sitting innocently on the coffee table as if Red couldn’t see the faint traces of crimson that’d been hastily wiped away.

Red crawled up on the sofa next to Rus and held out an arm, pretended that his soul didn’t give a solid throb as Rus immediately snuggled in against him happily. The kid rolled over on his back, his skull in Red’s lap, looking up at him with bright curiosity in those pale eye lights as he said, “c’mon, red, tell me!”

That pout was back and Red took a moment to lean down and quickly kiss it away, allowing only a brief flicker of their tongues together before he pulled back. He stroked the smooth bone of Rus’s forehead lightly, soothingly, “all right, honey love, here’s the game. you got five minutes to get edge to come, however you can. if you don’t get it done in the allotted time, i get five minutes to make him come. winner gets the prize.”

As he’d guessed, Rus’s eye lights immediately blew wide, briefly tinging golden in an abrupt surge of desire. It faded quick enough, Rus struggling to hold it back, but the cat was out of the bag now, wasn’t it.

Across the way, Edge barely stifled a sharp, startled sound, but if he had an opinion about Red’s little suggestion, he kept it to himself.

The rest of Red’s words seemed to have wormed their way past that first thoughtless rush and Rus was frowning again, “that's not fair. if i lose, he'll already be all worked up for you.”

Red leaned down and gave him a light kiss in reward for figuring that out. “ah, but see, difference is, i don't get to touch him. no bone on bone for me, sweetheart, i promise.”

Mollified, Rus settled back. “what do i get if i win?”

“you get to ask a favor of me, anything at all.”

Poor kid was gonna get whiplash the way he kept flipflopping from interest to disappointment. “i can already do that.”

“yeah, but you don’t.” Red pointed out, “you never do. this one you’d earn fair and square, might make it easier if you’re spending your own dime rather than the inheritance.”

Rus nodded slowly, understanding coupled with intrigue lighting his face, “and if you win?”

“same deal, i get to ask one thing from you. anything i want.” That win or lose Rus was gonna enjoy himself thoroughly was heavily implied.

“anything,” Rus murmured, rolling the word around in his mouth, giving it a good taste, but before he could decide if he liked the flavor, another bargainer stepped up to the table.

“I have a question,” Edge said, coolly. Red glanced at his brother meaningfully, met crimson eye lights that were a match his own. Edge was sitting on the opposite sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. The line of his jaw was tense, teeth gritted together, but that wasn’t distaste or reluctance on his face, not one fucking bit. He waited to see if his bro would beg off or outright refuse. They’d teeter-tottered around into a little touchy feely a long time ago, didn’t matter so long as it helped get Rus off. They'd been ramping it up lately, but this was a horse of a different color, deliberate red on red without a buffer of honeyed gold between them.

He was counting on his brother not to disappoint.

“what’s that, bro?” Red asked.

Edge’s crimson tongue flicked out over his teeth, an almost imperceptible hint at nervousness. "What do I get if neither of you get me to come?"

Oh yeah, that was his bro.

"ah, that’s easy,” Red said lightly, “favor is all yours, little brother. from both of us."

Red looked back down at Rus and he could about see the gears turning in his mind. He was a smart kid, even smarter when you took into account all the Judges in creation playing house in the back of his mind. He was trying to work out what kind of monkey's paw bullshit Red wove into the bargain, but looked like he wasn't finding anything cause all he said was, decisively, "deal.”

“Deal,” Edge agreed softly. He stood and turned on his heel, walking out. Came back only a minute later with a couple towels over one arm, fucking neat freak. He spread them out on the sofa then shed his clothes, folding each piece neatly as he stripped it off. Edge wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Rus, his bones were thicker with none of the delicacy that was laced into their lover’s, pocked with scars from the years before he was in the guard and the training alike. Strong bone that could take a beating and had, bearing the marks of a survivor and warm pride flowed over Red like syrup, like the honey he so often named Rus.

Edge’s joints were already lit with mana, either from the earlier vibrator or the recent chat, and a cloud of it filled his pelvic cradle, a thunderstorm of brimming desire. He settled back on the sofa, long legs stretched out, and said, mockingly sweet, “Ready when you are.”

A hasty search found lube where it was thoughtful stowed under one of the cushions and Rus drizzled it over his slim hands, rubbing them together until the slender bones were glossy and slick. “summon your cock first, give me something to work with.”

Edge tutted in disappointment, shaking his head, “Asking for a concession already?”

“everyone knows you don’t start a game without setting up the pieces first,” Rus countered, waggling his slippery fingers teasingly.

“he’s got you there, bro,” Red chuckled, amusement mingled with a peculiar sort of relief. All the nastiness of the day was flowing away, dirty water down the drain, simply by being around these two sassy shits. “don’t you think he deserves a little head start?”

Nice to see that Red wasn’t the only one who weakened under a pair of wide, pleading eye lights. Edge softened like sweet butter left on the stovetop. The swirl of his magic solidified, his cock formed between his femurs, already heavy and hard, a formidable piece of equipment that Edge usually put to good use. Rus reached out with dripping hands, only waiting when Red called out.

“hold up.” Red pulled out his phone, setting the timer, “okay, rus…go!”

Red settled back into the throw pillows to watch the show, one hand slithering down the front of his shorts, hard phalanges idle against his pubic crest where his magic was settling humidly. Wasn’t any part of the bet against him coming and Red was all ready to hit the concession stand.

Rus didn’t waste any time, both hands already curled around Edge’s shaft, spreading the slippery lube until the scarlet ectoflesh was glistening wetly. The rhythmic sound was wickedly obscene, startlingly loud over Rus’s satisfied hum.

There was no reaction at all from Edge, his eye lights barely flickered as Rus stroked him. Even when Rus frowned determinedly, kneeling between Edge’s spread legs, tongue already eagerly extended. He lapped softly at the little jewel of scarlet fluid beading at the head of Edge’s cock before sucking the length of it down with a messy slurp.

“that’s it. little brother,” Red called, smirking as Edge only hissed out a breath, keeping stubbornly still, “don’t make it too easy for him.”

It was a helluva show, to put it mildly, worth it even if by some random chance Red lost the game. Rus was pulling out all the stops, using every dirty, wicked trick he’d been taught between them about giving head and a couple made up on the spot. The long, flexible length of his tongue wrapped around the shaft, a thumb and forefinger surrounding the base, following the tight rhythm of Rus’s head. Mouth sloppy wet, golden spit sliding down his chin and wetting his hand as Rus sucked Edge in deep, his formed throat bobbing as he swallowed, formed muscles massaging the hard length. His free hand wandered wherever it could reach, seeking out places he knew were sensitive. Rus had mapped out their bodies with those shy, nimble fingers of his too many times to count, committing their every twitch to memory, and now he was tweaking cartilage, fondling up the length of Edge’s spine, teasing at his floating ribs.

All the little details put together a fine picture; Rus’s ass in the air, his clothed pelvis wriggling enticingly as he worked. Muffled whimpers were spilling into the air from him around the cock filling his mouth, garbled pleading, and Edge sure as fuck wasn’t unaffected now.

Sweat decorated his skull like glittery sequins as Edge breathed hard through his nasal cavity, his tongue caught between his jagged teeth hard enough that a thin rill of crimson was spilling down his chin. His knees jerked slightly with each bob of Rus’s head, bones clattering softly. A raw groan escaped Edge, hinting at desperation at the exact moment the timer buzzed, shifting to a pained gasp as Rus pulled off with slow deliberation, giving the head a last teasing suck.

Rus sighed in mock disappointment, wiping at his mouth fruitlessly with the back of his hand and only succeeding in smearing the mingled gold and crimson fluids. “damn it, guess i lost.”

“guess you did,” Red slid down to the floor with less grace than he would’ve liked, knees wobbly and his own arousal settled heavily into his pelvis. “have a seat, honey, watch the master at work.”

Mischief flittered over Rus’s face, far too quick for anything but a warning. He caught hold of the front of Red’s shirt and yanked him in, forcing his sex-tainted tongue down Red’s throat. The taste was one he knew all too well, honey sweetness mellowed with spice, rich and addictive.

A last delicate swipe of his tongue and Rus sashayed away, snagging one of the pillows to curl around while he settled in for his turn to watch.

Red licked the back of his teeth, catching the last of that tang before it faded completely. Yeah, Rus was gonna pay for that.

Or maybe Red needed to thank him, because Edge was watching them hotly with a riveted gaze, a thread of crimson fluid leaking from the tip of his cock to stain the towel.

He didn’t quite flinch as Red crawled up on the cushions, keeping a careful distance from his brother’s bare bones. There was a certain fraught quality to Edge’s expression, a feral wildness like he might bolt away.

“close your sockets, bro,” Red told him, gently. Which mean of course that Edge did no such thing, contrary bastard.

“Why?” Edge said suspiciously. His gaze flicked down Red’s body helplessly to where his dick was pushing out the front of his shorts, then away, then back to Red’s face, the color blooming his cheekbones lovelier than any flower in Refuge.

Thoughts like that weren’t gonna help Red win the game and he shoved it aside, adding it to his growing collection of ‘ain’t thinking about it’.

“because i fucking told you to,” Red retorted, “that’s why. now play the game right.”

“I don’t recall following orders being in the rules,” Edge grumbled, but this time he did as he was told.

Red waited until he was sure those sockets were closed tight, not the faintest hint of crimson showing. Then he reached into his pocket for his special toy surprise.

This particular prize wasn't from their normal toybox since Rus didn't have a lot of interest in his cock. That might be changing, he'd give it a thought some other time. The toy was made of a gelatinous material was only slightly softer than ectoflesh, formed into a hollow sheath that was lined with small bumps and curving grooves designed stimulate, drag out every drop of pleasure possible, willingly or otherwise.

The expected cries of cheating didn’t come and Red flicked a glance at Rus to find him watching with wide, rapturous sockets, face flushed golden bright. One arm was wrapped so tightly around the pillow the fabric threatened to burst and his other hand pressed between his legs overtop his pants, fingers digging in helplessly as if he could stop his cunt from forming by sheer, physical will.

The audience was waiting, the timer was set. Time to get this game started. Red scooped up the depleted bottle of lube and squirted a dollop into the sheath and with one motion, deftly slid it down on his brother’s dick.

The reaction was gratifying. Edge’s hips lurched up wildly, his sockets flying open, hands curled into claws that very nearly latched onto Red’s skull before they abruptly diverted and clenched into the sofa cushions.

"You said no touching!" Edge hissed, crimson eye lights flashing as he trembled with outrage. His sharpened fingertips dug into the cushions, tearing through the fabric down to the memory foam.

“i ain't touching you a bit, baby brother,” Red crooned, and tightened his fist around the sheath, giving it a quick, vigorous stroke. Those bumps had to be digging in, massaging their way up and down with each rub.

Edge gasped wetly, squeezing his sockets shut, "Don't call me that!"

The other sofa creaked and Red slanted a glance at Rus who was halfway to his feet, reaching out weakly and conflicting emotions tangled across his face. “red, stop," Rus said, trembling but firm. "not if he doesn't want it."

Red only chuckled darkly, dragging his clenched fist down achingly slow, then up abruptly again, "oh, don’t you worry, honey, he wants it. don't you?"

Edge said nothing, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he struggled to keep his pelvis still while Red jerked him off through the thin barrier of the sheath. Looked like the trap might need a little more bait.

Red leaned in closer, careful not to so much as graze his brother’s strong, scarred bones, and whispered, low and harsh, "you remember the first time you fucked him? the way he was spread out under you, begging you to take him?”

This time his brother’s breath creaked out like the hinge of an old door as Red kept it up, murmuring breathily close to his auditory canal, “remember pushing your cock into that pretty virgin pussy? how it was already dripping with my come, how tight he was around your cock? kinda like this, yeah, remember him cryin' cause he needed it so much? how scared he was, showing us his soul? sweet thing all dripping wet, he needed it so bad, the mess he made, oh, that honey magic and silver, practically squirting over himself the second you touched his clit, remember that? you remember how he looked when he came?"

He kept up the relentless pace with every low word, letting the memory warm him. There was a certain charm to clumsy eagerness, inexperienced hands searching unknowingly for all the places that felt best. Not that Red missed it exactly, but he sure didn’t mind bringing that memory out to play with from time to time.

Edge was struggling, heaving, his eye lights narrowed to pinpricks as he stared blindly up at the ceiling.

Almost there, almost, and Red leaned in close enough for Edge to feel the heat of his breath, a bare whisper too low for Rus to possibly hear him, "member the first time he said he loved us?"

That did the trick. Edge let out a wretched sound like a sob, bones rattling as he came, filling the sheath to overflowing with his seed. Red could feel the surging heat of it through the thin plastic, smelled the rich spice even as the blare of the alarm came from his phone.

Game, set, match.

Red pulled off, tossing the dripping sheath to the coffee table to join the vibrator already there. Edge only lay weakly in his defeat, pelvis smeared with come, the rest of his bones dabbled with sweat. Red left him there to wallow in his filth, prowling over to Rus.

Who scrabbled back into the corner of the sofa, his sockets so wide it looked like his eye lights were gonna pop loose and fizzle out on the carpet. He fumbled for the phone gracelessly, somehow managing to turn off the warbling timer without dropping it on the floor even as Red raked a look over him. Taking in the heated glow of his joints, the honey-tint to his eye lights, the wet patch seeping through his pants, leaving a darkened stain that clung visibly to his pussy lips.

Yeah, Red had his number now. Looked like their honey had a lil' voyeurism kink going on. That was a new toy Red was looking forward to playing with, fuck yes. But for now, he had a problem of his own going on in his pants and Rus’s magic was crackling hotly in the air, searing lightning searching for the ground

"lay back, sugar," Red slipped off his shorts, briefly fisting his own cock, groaning at the feel of his own hard fingers.

Rus did it instantly, squirming as he worked his pants down his legs and kicked them off even as he asked doubtfully, "this is what you want as a favor?"

"nope, this is mine by right.” Red jerked Rus down until his pelvis was at the edge of the sofa, long legs dangling to the floor. He shuffled forward, lining his cock up with Rus’s eagerly clenching entrance, smearing his cock with golden wetness. “i'll let you know about the favor."

Then he shoved into that wet pussy, groaning at the soaking, tight heat around him as Rus’s wail filled the room.

So fucking gorgeous, watching Rus whimper and flail as Red fucked him. Pretty as Rus was on his knees, Red liked him better on his back. Liked watching that lovely face scrunch up every time Red fucked into him, honeyed tears welling up, streaming down the rounded curves of his cheekbones as that sassy mouth dropped open and his tongue curled behind his teeth.

In the down under, he got to watch his dick moving in the soft, golden magic that filled Rus's pelvis. His cunt was a slippery, plush delight, that first thrust inside always bordered on too tight until his walls loosened up a little, Rus whimpering out little cries as Red forced his cock in, past the rippling clench to fill him up.

And fuck him for how hot that was. Red knew Rus could take a fist all the way up to the elbow into his pussy, a cock wasn't no big thing, (heh), but the feel of it, fuck, like taking his virginity all over again. Red braced his heels against the coffee table and pumped harder, watched the length of his shaft slide in, pussy lips spreading wide around it, parting to give him a nice look at Rus's swollen clit. Red reached down to trace around it teasingly with a careful, sharp-tipped finger and Rus let out a frantic whine.

"you want somethin’, sweetheart?" Red panted out.

"i want to come!" Sweet desperation poured from him, fuck, talk about no stamina. Then again, Rus was like a little energizer bunny of orgasms, he could keep going and going, popping off one after another. Wasn’t no reason to hold him back now.

One hard drag of Red’s thumb over his clit and Rus was arching, his legs going tight around Red’s hips, holding him in deep as he convulsed. A fresh rush of wetness flooding his pussy, smoothing out the ride.

Rus sagged back against the cushions, hiccoughing soft little cries as Red kept it up. His own orgasm was swelling in him, tantalizingly close. Next to him, the sofa suddenly dipped with added weight and maybe Red couldn’t lean up high enough to give Rus’s pleading mouth a kiss, but that was fine, cause Edge was there to do it for him, his brother’s crimson tongue moving sinuously against Rus's golden one, fuck, yeah.

"come on down here, bro,” Red growled, flicking his thumb over Rus’s swollen clit again, “got something better for you to work with."

His brother shifted downward instantly, tilting his head in to lick at that sensitive nub. His crimson tongue was long, prehensile, dipping in between Rus’s femurs. Not his normal one, either, this one forked at the tip, all the better to work against Rus's clit, circling it from both sides, yeah, his fucking clever brother. Sometimes it wandered too low, one of the tips occasionally grazed against Red's cock, slyly pushing into Rus’s cunt and catching Red off-guard with a brief firework of sensation.

Red could taste his own sweat, sharp and faintly bitter, tried not to jerk as that tongue lashed against him again. He didn’t want Edge the same way he did Rus, he didn’t, but oh, you kid—

Fuck it, he couldn’t hold out anymore.

Red let go with a groan, pulling out to come in hot streaks over Rus's pelvis, and, oh, yeah, his bro's face. Edge flinched, closing his sockets and didn't stop, licking Rus through another orgasm even as a glossy spurt of come striped across his tongue, the fluid a shade of crimson darker than the ectoflesh.

With a deeply satisfied sigh, Red shuffled over enough to flop on the sofa even as Rus trembled and writhed through his shuddering ecstasy. He watched through narrowed sockets as Edge sat up, blinking too fast and his tremulous expression was loaded with conflicting signals. Almost, Red reached out, his sense still blurrily pleased, struck with the idea of rubbing his come in, smearing it across his brother’s scarred bones, marking him—

He reeled back, snorting aloud at his own stupidity. Yeah, yeah, his brother and no one else’s. He’d lived that schtick his whole life, no reason to complicate it now.

Looking at it sideways, the mess of his come was dripping down Edge’s skull in a way that made Red think hilariously of strawberry syrup on cheesecake.

Well, it could be a sweet treat for someone to eat, now couldn’t it.

"whoopsie, looks like i messed him up," Red drawled, elbowing Rus lightly. "you gonna clean him up, sugar skull?"

Rus stirred at the pet name, sockets fluttering open, then going wide as he took in the sights. He swallowed audibly, husking out, "yeah i can…i can do that if…if you want?"

Like Edge was even capable of turning that down. A short, sharp nod and Edge sat obediently still, let Rus lave at his face, greedily licking up the spatters while Red watched the crimson smearing the deeper gold of his tongue avidly. The sudden flood of fresh arousal was startling, almost unwelcome.

Almost.

The way he figured it, Edge would only stand that for so long before he hauled them all off to their massive shower. The three of them standing together beneath the generous spray, the water pouring down on them about two degrees lower than the temperature of lava, exactly how Rus liked it. The probability of blowjobs or fucking was high and so was the chance of a nap afterword, Rus snuggled up against him blissfully well-fucked, his brother on the other side. A preciously rare gift from the Angel to make up for the slagging shithole of Red’s life before.

He'd guarantee that Rus would mumble out a sleepy ‘I love you’ for them both before drifting off and right about then, Red wanted that more than anything in the fucking world. Those three words, Rus, and Edge.

His, all his in a way no one’d ever been his entire life. Not even Sans.

Red didn’t have a fucking clue what game they were playing anymore. Didn’t matter, either. All he knew was that the fates were sore losers and that he didn’t give a shit.

He was playing to win.

-fin

Next Chapter

#fontcest #keelywolfe #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #underswap papyrus #underswap #underfell #lemony goodness #papcest #spicyhoney #honeymustard #spicyhoneymustard #bodyguard au

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rpd-rookie · 4 years

Text

Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: Chris Redfield’s deception is coming to an end in this second part of the story but not in the way he expected.

Author’s note: This fanfic was supposed to be 2 chapters long, but considering all the things I originally wrote in this second chapter, I chose to cut it in two and write a third chapter to develop the story a bit more . Hope you will like it anyway.

Part 1 is available here / Fanfiction also available on AO3

Warnings: Angst, Romance, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Language.

Wet hair, forehead covered in pearls of sweat, Chris was gazing at you, panting and exhausted, his hot uneven breath tickling your face when you nudged his rear with your ankles to keep him inside of you, still feeling his cock in your core throbbing like crazy after the powerful orgasm he had just experienced. “Damn, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed out and you giggled “What? Have you lost your stamina?” “No, but I’m afraid you dried me. I’ve got nothing left.” You laughed, finding his naughty words more ridiculous than funny. “I think you’ll have to wait till tonight for round 3.” He pecked your nose and pulled out of you to get off the bed, majestic body glistening in sweat. “I’m gonna go get a shower.” “And I’m going to try and find my clothes.” You looked at the mess around you. Both yours and Chris’ clothes were scattered everywhere in his bedroom. A perfect picture of how wild and hot this afternoon alone together had been. “Good luck with that.” Chris humoured as he left the room, completely naked. Guess that was a good thing your roommate was not here this afternoon.

You got up, draped in his bed sheet, your body sore and still very hot and sticky. Chris had asked you if you were trying to kill him. Well, as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if he wasn’t the one who wanted you were trying to kill you judging by the your dishevelled hair and the swarm of dark hickeys he had left all over your chest and collar bones. Oh, he would hear about this!

You started gathering your clothes and Chris’, picking them up one by one onto the floor and the furniture. “Damn, where are my panties?” You cursed as you scanned the room but they were nowhere to be seen. So, you looked for them in the pile of clothes then under the blanket, actually unable to remember what Chris had done with them. Maybe under the bed. You knelt and peaked under the mattress. There was nothing as well, except a lot of dust and bits of fluff that immediately tickled your nose. But as you kept looking under the bed, something weird caught your attention. There was a sort of red cord hanging in between two slats of the bed base. It made you frown because it strangely looked like the cord of your Umbrella access badge. But it couldn’t be that. You had lost that badge weeks ago, probably in the Metropolitain. Its presence here, especially under Chris’ mattress was simply impossible and completely illogical. And yet, you pulled on the cord anyway.

What a horrible surprise when you saw the card fall onto the floor and realised it was indeed your old badge. How had it gotten here? You didn’t know what to think. But you couldn’t help but hear the same question repeating itself in your head. Why Chris? Why?

The badge in your hands, you sat on the bed, lost in sudden paranoid thoughts that were so unlike you. What if Chris was a spy? What if he was working for Tricell or the Connections? After all, those guys had been trying to compete with Umbrella for years. What if he worked for the Government? What if … So many ‘what if’ and yet one single common denominator. Chris had betrayed you.

You didn’t know how to process all the emotions you were feeling right now. Burning anger. Frozen shock. Both mixed with a awful sorrow that didn’t seem to want to escape in the form of tears just yet, not as long as you were trying to deny all the conclusions you had drawn and convince yourself that you were imagining things. There was certainly another explanation.

You stood up and started walking in circles in the room like a lion in a cage, whispering to yourself. “Calm down, Y/N. Calm down.” But you couldn’t. And despite all the energy you were using to control your breathing right now, there was that raging uncontrollable panic inside of you growing bigger by the minute. “Alright, if he’s truly spying on you. There must be something else here. There has to be. Think.” You opened Chris’ wardrobe and started rummaging in it. You sighed, relieved, when you found nothing in it except some dirty clothes that definitely needed some good washing. But it wasn’t enough to soothe your mind and so you pulled the drawer of his nightstand open and immediately threw the contents to the floor. A pen, a watch, cigarettes, condoms and an unsealed letter that you immediately grabbed. “S.T.A.R.S. Office – Raccoon City Police Department.” You read on the envelope and your clever brain immediately made the connection between that address and the incident with the American branch of Umbrella you had overheard at the lab weeks ago. But it was still very blurry to you.

You opened the enveloped without an ounce of hesitation or remorse and started reading.

“To my amazing S.T.A.R.S. buds,

What’s up in the station? Still surviving those long days without me? Barry, are you still crying? Me? I’ve been very busy. Spent many nights getting to know my umbrella girl better. Apparently she has some huge project for the both of us. I’m wondering what it can be. She’s so secretive. But no woman can resist Chris Redfield. You know me, I’m worse than a parasite. Jill, any news from Claire? ”

You barely knew Chris. But the Chris in that letter wasn’t the one you had spent your days with for the last seven weeks or so. This letter certainly had a hidden meaning and judging by the word ‘umbrella’, ‘project’ and ‘parasite’, it wasn’t very subtle. You gritted your teeth, anger slowly getting the better of you, and crumpled the letter in your hand.

“What are you doing?” Chris’ sudden trembling voice made you jumped. You turned around, still kneeled among his stuff, and immediately glared at him. He was standing in the doorframe, wearing only a pair of green sweatpants. His face was pale and you could read a certain fear in his usually very cheerful and relaxed features. “Y/N?” You got back on your feet and approached him, the letter and your badge in the same hand. Chris froze when he noticed them and his heart skipped in beat.

You didn’t say a word – an ominous calm before the storm – and went too stand before him to look at him in his scared brown eyes. A couple of seconds passed in which you mind struggled to find out what to do right now, not really knowing how to react. You finally let your impulse get the upper and suddenly, your hand burned Chris’ cheek with a huge slap. You had never hit anyone in your entire life. That was not who you were. But the storm was here and you couldn’t control it. You violently slammed both items against Chris’ broad naked chest and started screaming and hitting him, lashing out all your anger at him like a fury. “How could you?! You son of a bitch!” Chris barely flinched and took all your hits in silence, knowing that he deserved them, that he deserved all your rage right now. They didn’t hurt but your wrath against him did. “Answer me!” He could feel a knot strangling his throat. He couldn’t talk. He didn’t know what to say, afraid to make things worse. “Answer me, you asshole!” You yelled and he finally caught your wrists in an attempt to calm you down and prevent you from getting physically hurt. “Y/N, please.” He whispered, holding you still. “Why?” You asked, huge tears rolling over your face. “Why?” You repeated, begging for an answer, for an explanation. But all you got was silence and guilty miserable eyes. “Are you a spy?”

“ No … No I’m not a spy. Not exactly.” He finally managed to say. “I’m a cop.” You frowned, finding things always too blurry to understand the situation. “I work at the Raccoon City Police Department, S.T.A.R.S. unit.” “So you’re not Air Force?” He shook his head. “And you’re definitely not on vacation.” You fell the floor crumble under your feet, afraid of the extent of Chris’ lies and terrified of the consequences that were to come. “I’m on a mission, a personal mission.” He confessed with a broken voice. He didn’t look so strong anymore. “What mission?” “How about we get dressed and sit down to talk about it calmly?” He offered. But you didn’t care you were naked under this sheet right now. And you didn’t care Chris was only wearing sweatpants. You wanted your answers. And you wanted them now. “No. Talk to me now. Explain it to me. Explain the fucking reason why you used me and betrayed me.”

Chris briefly closed his eyes. Hearing those words coming from you were hard to bear even if he had been repeating them over and over in his head since the day he met you. They were hard to bear because hearing them from you was making him realise what he really had been doing all along. They were the painful truth that had finally come to hit him hard in the face.

He tried to catch your hands in his but you removed them as soon as you felt the warm palms against your skin. You didn’t want his affection right now. It repulsed you. “In July, my unit and I were sent on a mission in the Arklay Mountains to rescue the members of the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team who had gone missing while investigating a series of killings in the mountains. As soon as we landed, creatures attacked us and we took refuge in a mansion but that was just the beginning of the nightmare. My unit was entirely decimated by zombie-like creatures and other atrocities, monsters that had been created by the Umbrella Corporation thanks to what their scientists called the T-Virus.” You froze. You had heard of the T-virus. You were using it in most of your experiments related to the Nemesis Project. Its existence was top secret. So if Chris knew, then … “The surviving members of my team and I infiltrated Umbrella’s laboratory to collect evidence. That’s how we realised that Umbrella had failed to contain their virus and that it had escaped the facility, contaminating and killing locals that had been in contact with it. Only four of us came back.” Chris’ voice was so full of emotions. Sadness, grief, anger, guilt. It tied your stomach in a painful knot. “When we told our story to our chief, he refused to believe us. Somehow we understood he was probably corrupted. So I decided to leave and investigate on Umbrella on my own to find all the evidence I needed to end them and bring justice to my team. That’s how I took the first flight to Paris and that’s how I met you.”

You remained still for a while, trying to process the entire story. But even if there was a part of you that was sympathising with Chris and recognizing the horrors he had been through, there was still another part that was so mad at him and deeply resentful. “So you used me for your personal vendetta?” “It’s not a vendetta.” He tried to correct. “Isn’t it?” You retorted and he sighed, a slight annoyance tinting his despair.

“You stole my badge and certainly spied on me judging by the content of this letter to, I quote, bring justice to your team and end Umbrella. Sounds more like a vendetta than a mission to me. But tell me. I’m curious. What else did you do?” “Y/N.” He murmured, unwilling to admit that part of the story to you. “Stop Y/N me and answer the damn questions! Why did you want my badge? What did you discover when you spied on me? And more especially why me, Chris?!” He looked you in your begging eyes, feeling painfully sorry. “I don’t know why it happened to be you. I guess it could have been anyone else. But I’ve never…” He cupped your cheeks and you took a step back, trying to reject him, in vain. “…ever wanted to hurt you or use you like that.” A new tear slid along your cheek and Chris dried it with his thumb. “That wasn’t my intentions. I just got bogged down in my own lies and the situation escaped my control … and… I don’t expect your apology.” “ Good. Cause you won’t have it.” You spat and he looked down, trying to contain his sadness. “You should have been honest with me.” “ I had no choice.” Chris said in his defence but you would not have it. “No choice?” You scoffed. “The second you felt like the situation was becoming out of your control, you had a choice. Give up, watch it become out of proportion or tell me the fucking truth!” “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He confessed and you sighed, exasperated. “You said it already but look! Here we are!” You screamed. “I’m hurt! I’m fucking hurt because of you.” That was harsh yet fair. “Can’t you at least understand why I did this? Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for a second?” He knew he would not have your forgiveness but he hoped to have your understanding.

You jaw dropped. “Oh but I do understand, Chris! I do! I know what Umbrella is doing is terrible. I know what I’m doing is terrible. But if you had just talked to me, I would have helped you. We…” “Helped me?” He harrumphed. “You’ve been creating dangerous monsters in your lab for months. And now you’re talking about doing what’s right? Well by all means, explain Project Nemesis!” He growled, finally starting to show his anger, and your eyes widened. “Oh so you read my journal as well. Fantastic!” “Yes, I read your journal. I stole your badge. I sent information to my colleagues and I used you. But what is it in comparison to all the awful things you and your scientists buds have been working on in secret in this god-forsaken lab of yours?! You guys are murderers!” You stared at him, bewildered and feeling insulted but the truth was that he was right and you couldn’t help but acknowledge it. “I feel guilty, Y/N. I feel guilty because I know that what I did hurt you. I feel guilty because I happen to care so fucking much about you despite all the reasons I have to despise you. Guilt is eating me up, day and night. But, tell me. how do you sleep at night knowing you’re creating those atrocities?” “Guess you didn’t read my diary so well, did you?” Your calm was back, your anger certainly drowned in pain and sadness. “You know shit, Chris. But if that’s what you think of me the maybe you should probably get out.” But Chris refused to move. “Get out” You repeated with the same tone. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak but you immediately cut him off. “Get out!” You yelled, pushing him as strongly as you could, but he barely moved. “Get out of my place, Chris!” And he didn’t know why he refused to leave or move from that doorframe. Stubbornness? Denial? Or simply his deep attachment for you? But whatever it was, you would not have Chris spend another minute in your apartment. “Fine.” You opened his wardrobe and started throwing his clothes in his suitcase, tears running down your face, as Chris watched you, still and quiet. It was the end. He could feel it in his bones. You grabbed his suitcase and shoved Chris with your shoulder as you left his room to head towards the main door and throw his stuff carelessly in the corridor. Then you went back to lock yourself in your room. “And don’t forget your precious evidence before leaving!”

Chris blinked a couple times to keep his tears in his eyes when he heard the door to your room slam shut, knowing that this was certainly the last time he would ever see you or hear from you. And it ached more than what he had imagined. How he wished things had ended up differently.

#chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #under her large umbrella #fanfic #resident evil

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screensirenfic · 5 years

Text

Menthol Cigarettes - Chapter 2

dinThe future had come to Hawkins, and it came in the form of shining neon and All American capitalism.

The Starcourt Mall was open for business, offering every category of Hawkins’ favourite pastimes, from a brand new multiplex movie theatre, to a sprawling food court that offered the chance to stuff your face with junk food from the world over.

And of course; there was shopping. Shoe stores, clothes stores, jewellery stores, record stores, and just about every store you could think of all under one roof.

It was consumer culture at its finest, and a big part of me was still struggling to see the appeal of it, but apparently the rest of Hawkins wasn’t so much, having already embraced the Starcourt corporation with open arms, judging by the near impossibility to get a parking spot out front.

Still; the Wheeler kid was late, and the last thing I wanted to be doing was traipsing through half a mile of badly parked station wagons and sedans just to get to the front door.

Instead I rolled straight up to the entrance and parked on the sidewalk, because what were they gonna do?! Call the cops on me?!

Mike wasted no time, hopping off the back of my bike before it was even stationary to run up to a familiar gaggle of misfits waiting outside the front doors.

“You’re late!”

I could already hear the disbarring voice of Lucas Sinclair as he began lecturing Mike from the moment he was in earshot.

“I’m sorry-“ - Mike began to apologise; having given up on arguing back weeks ago.

“Again!” Lucas continued; not willing to hear the twentieth excuse Mike had for ditching his friends for my baby sister.

Still; I could understand Lucas’ frustration; after all, the world didn’t stop the moment you started smacking lips with someone on a regular basis.

“We’re going to miss the opening!”

Jonathan’s little brother; Will interrupted, clearly more concerned with missing out on vital minutes of Hollywood magic than any relationship troubles, but even I could see that whether they wanted sweet or butter popcorn was the last thing on these kids’ minds.

“Don’t worry shit about it. I’ll get you in.” I assured him, already beginning to lead the way into the mall, with a hopefully silent entourage following in my stead.

Starcourt was sprawling; gargantuan, really. An ever stretching multi faith temple dedicated to the gods of Pepsi Co and The Coca-Cola Company.

Over processed perms bounced around the place in a sea of pastel prints, congregating around artificial plants and real life water features.

People ate, drank, shopped and gossiped beneath the starlit sky of a state-of-the-art glass roof, complete with shiny new escalators and even shinier tile floors.

The whole thing seemed very big city and entirely out-of-place in the proverbial toilet stop of a town that was Hawkins.

Still; the young and wide-eyed population of Hawkins flocked to it like rats to a garbage truck and the kids were no exception; even if they insisted in spending half their time bickering in it.

“Let me guess, you were busy...” Lucas complained; finishing off with a trail of sucky noises which I guess was meant to pass as kissing.

“Yeah. Real mature Lucas.” Deadpanned Mike, clearly having had to put up with this for the whole of the summer, perhaps longer.

“Oh; El, I wish we could make out forever and ever and never hang out with any of our friends” Lucas mocked in a high pitched voice and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes back into their sockets; because were kids really this petty?!

“Lucas; stop-“ Max cautioned; the spritely redhead always the voice of reason in these situations.

“Will thinks it’s funny...” Lucas remarked, drawing attention to the quiet kid trailing at the back of our convoy.

“Because it is!” Will stated, heralding our entrance to the main foyer of Starcourt.

I could already spy our ticket in on the floor below; I just wish these damn kids would shut up long enough for us to get there.

“Yeah; it’s so funny to want to spend romantic time with my girlfriend.” Argued Mike; and really?! That’s what he was calling it now?!

“I’m spending romantic time with my girlfriend right now-“ Lucas pointed out, throwing his arm around Max’s shoulder in a move that was far too smooth for a fourteen year old.

“Will you guys please shut up!” I exclaimed; already having heard enough of every side of the argument on the Mike and Eleven dating saga, and really wanting to think about something else for once.

The kids conceded; smart enough to know it was never wise to piss off their ticket to sneaking into the movie theatre, and I led them down the packed escalator to a chorus of “Excuse me’s” and “Sorry’s”.

After narrowly missing barrelling into a crowd of preppily dressed preteens and Max practically towing Lucas away from a very immature verbal spar with his little sister, I led the party into the pastel striped lair of our unknowing key master.

———————————————————

“Hey Robin!”

I called out, leading the kids into Hawkins’ first nautical themed ice cream parlour, “Scoops Ahoy!”

Behind the counter, slinging cheap gelato was the less than shipshape form of Robin Buckley; a surly looking freckled brunette who I vaguely knew from English and History Class.

Still; I could understand why the girl was pissed off half the time, considering company policy required her to dress up like the corporate equivalent of Olive Oyl every day.

“Hey Lola; what can I do to float your boat on this fine day?” She asked, flashing one of those rare dry smiles that reminded me that she wasn’t all rainclouds and thunderbolts.

“I need a favour...” I began, leaning on the edge of the counter, and already Robin knew exactly the kind of favour I was looking for.

“Hey Dingus! The wife and kids are here!” Robin called out, turning to the back of the store, where said Dingus appeared from behind frosted glass slide windows.

“Really; Lo?” Sighed Steve; looking equal parts hilarious and adorable in his matching Popeye shirt and shorts.

I just shot him a smile, knowing that despite his protests, Steve would help me out anyway.

After all; what are friends for?

TAGLIST: @lemonypink @daringvixon

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chocolate-milk-fanfics · 5 years

Text

I ain’t sorry

Warnings: miscarriage, gun violence, kidnapping, cheating, period typical sexism, Implied black reader, and OOCness of characters

Word count: 6095

"You don't love me Tom! So stop acting like you care about me!"

"That's not true and you know it!"

"Then say it Thomas! Prove me wrong! Because you putting your dick in the barmaid while your wife takes care of this shit show you made ain't exactly helping your case!"

"Its not th- Y/n just listen!-"

"Mommy! 'ungry!"

Opening your eyes you met the heterochromic eyes of your twin toddler boys. They stood in front of you with wide smiles and bouncing as the stood at either side of you. Sitting up straight you gave them a wide smile, shoving the memory of the night you left to the back of your mind as ruffled their curly locks. "Oh are you now? Well let's get mommy's two babies food alright?"

"Not 'aby!"

"Yeah! Not 'aby!"

Both of them whined as they followed close behind you. Charles held onto your skirt while Kenji held your hand as you led them to the kitchen. A giggle escaped you as their brown and blue eyes roamed the room for snacks before lunch. They were fraternal twins but alike in every way possible, as expected of twins. Charles was older by 1 hour and had more shaggy hair than Kenji, his left eye was blue and the other brown. While Kenji's hair was more curly, yet easier to manage than Charles, his right eye blue and other brown. Both of them had the same light brown skin, freckles, dark brows, and smile that lit up your world. Not to mention the same scowl and protective fearless nature of their father. And oh, their laugh. Just like his when you were growing up. There was no doubt they were your husband's sons and you never denied it, you could never forget him after all. Even with all the pain he caused, there was so much happiness and your sons were the product of that. "What!? Not baby? But you're my babies!" you teased softly as you began to spread the peanut butter and jelly onto the bread.

The twins looked at each other, an unspoken conversation being shared between them as you made them lunch. Kenji shook his head and pouted as he looked at his brother, the conversation came to an end as Kenji pulled on your skirt. "Not 'aby! We's 'ig 'oy!"

"Kenny stop pulling on Mommy's skirt like that." You said simply as you cut the first sandwich into 4 little triangles like the boys preferred. Charles didn't say anything, seemingly in deep thought as he looked up at you staring at your bare stomach. Since you normally only wore undershirts and a simple loose pair of pants it was no surprise that your stomach was exposed. "And don't be silly Kenny, you and Charlie will always be my babies even when we're all really really old."

"Mommy?"

"Yes Charlie?"

"What's tat 'oo-boo on you tum?"

Glancing down a frown spread across your face as you remember the way you got the wound in the first place. Taking a bullet for Tommy while pregnant wasn't your best choice but when you woke up and found out he was at the Garrison with Grace it made you realize something. That you didn't need no fucking man to make it in the world, not when that man was cheating on you. So that same night, after the showdown with Billy Kimber you bought a ticket out of town and settled down. The countryside was nice after all. No smoke, no cars, no Thomas Shelbys and no stress. It was hard, being a pregnant woman of color starting a new life but you did it and made good honest money as a nurse. Your herb and tea mixtures were known all through London and you were proud to support your boys while helping so many people.

"Mommy?"

Shaking your head you glanced down at. Charlie and smiled apologetically. "Sorry Charlie Mommy spaced out for a bit. What did you say?"

Your sons looked at each other once again and then Charles shook his head. "Never 'ind! Is lunch done?"

Nodding your head you smiled and handed both boys their own plates of food. They giggled and ran off to the living room to eat while they drew pictures. The smile that spread across your face was short lived as you watched as a familiar car pulled up in front of your home. "Boys. Bunker now." You said calmly, soft enough for them not panic but clear enough for them to know you're serious.

The two of them took their plates and papers down the hall with them. Kenji pulled on the secret handle of the fireplace and it open ever so slightly, but wide enough for them to squeeze into before it closed. Once it was securely shut you grabbed a robe and tightly wrapped it around you as a knock sounded at the door. Taking a deep breath you opened the door to look at the familiar blue eyes you fell in love with. "Thomas Shelby, John Shelby, Arthur Shelby, and Pollyanna Shelby what brings you all to my front door step? And how did you find me? Was it Alfie?"

Tommy started into your eyes, and it took everything within you not to crumble and fall into his arms. He was bruised and battered with a red eye and you wanted nothing more than to give him a better treatment than the shit hospital he went to. There were so many things you wanted to do to the Shelby family, most of them pleasant, but right now you just kept your door slightly open and your face indifferent. "I told 'im Y/n about the baby. Why didn't you tell 'im? Where are they?"

"It doesn't matter now, Pol. That's why I left. I couldn't stay there knowing my took a bullet for my ex-husband and in return he slept with the barmaid as I lost my child." you said smoothly as you looked into her brown eyes. Shock spread across her face as she scanned you for any signs for lying, unable to find one she let out a choked sob as Tommy looked at you in pure horror.

"Y-"

"Save it Thomas. I don't want your pity. I don't want your apology. I just want you-"

"Stop it." came his harsh voice as he looked down at the ground.

"Stop what Thoma-"

"Don't! Don't call me that!" he growled. Silence surrounded the lot of you as Tommy breathe became ragged and his eyes became wet. "I thought you were dead, we all did. And after 3 years of being apart, of missing you, the last thing I want to hear you call me is Thomas. I don't care who else calls me it. I just can't handle it from you."

You didn't say anything as you stared into the blue eyes he passed onto your sons, instead you bit your lip as your own eyes got wet. "Tommy you broke my heart. I gave everything. I did everything for you, only to find out from Lizzie fucking Stark you were taking the barmaid to the races. The same thing you promised me when I was 14 and you were 17. You promised me so many things and you broke each and everyone one. Even our wedding vows. I loved you Tommy. No one else! And what did you do!?" You couldn't stop the tears streaming down your face as you began to yell. Shoving Tommy into Arthur you let them keep falling, knowing none of the Shelbys could stand it. "You slept with the fucking barmaid and took her to the places you promised me! How did it feel huh!? How did it feel to find out I was right? Did you feel stupid?"

"Y/n th-thats enough." Polly stuttered softly as she tried to embrace you. You easily shook off her grip and stared into the eyes of the man that broke your heart. The man who was still in shock in his brother's grasp.

"Is it Pol!? Is it!? I told y'all she was a fucking spy from day one and none of you believed me! What changed your mind!? The bullet I lost a baby to!? Or was it the bullet Danny took!? It's funny how for you Shelbys to listen someone has to die. Well did it work? Did you get what you want-"

"Y/n.."

"Do you feel like a man now Tommy? Are you happy with the outcome? You work alone right!? Well look where it got you! Down a kid! Down a wife! Down a loyal servant! Well don't worry. Thomas Shelby! I bet you've gotten plenty of new ones to repeat the process with!" You spat harshly. You knew your boys might be able to hear you, that's why you did your best not to curse as you looked at the people you once called a family. Letting out a soft sob you put your face in your hands and brushed it back to pull the twist you had in your hair out of your face. They snapped straight back into place but you didn't care. You wanted all of them to know you were hurt. "I buried my baby girl. She had toes and fingers and I was about 4 months along according to the doctor. I- I named her Ruby and she could have been beautiful. She could of been happy but instead she's dead, and I hope you all got what you wanted."

With a shaky voice you moved to close the door but before you could a foot was placed in the door. "Y/n wait. Hear us out. Please. Can you let us in? I 'ave some letters from the boys and Finn. They miss their Auntie N/n." John begged weakly, but he knew the effect it had on you. Sniffles left you as slowly opened the door and looked at said letters in John's hand. Snatching them from him and turning around to walking into your home, you missed the weak reassuring smile John gave his family as they stepped in.

The first letter belonged to Finn and as you sat down on your couch you smiled at the mess handwriting of the teenage boy, before you left you were teaching him how to read and write after all. As you opened the letter you could feel the seat next to you sink as Tommy sat, while putting a cigarette in his mouth. "No Tommy."

A sigh escaped him and Pol as they put their cigarettes away and watched you read the first letter with a wet laugh. Finn was your favorite of the Shelby brothers, that much they all knew. He was kind after all and as the Sunflower of Small Heath everyone knew you valued that in a person. When you finished the letter from Finn you moved onto letters from John's kids. They were all short, written by Pol, and asking if you'll come back and reading each one made your heart ache. "I miss all of them so much as well. Not a day goes by without me thinking of them."

"Then come back. We need you." Arthur said softly. There was an edge to his voice you didn't like though, staring into his eyes a frown traveled across your face as realization struck and the sight of faint scars on his neck

"Oh Arthur.." You said softly as you placed the letters down. Standing up you moved to kneel in front of him as you cupped his face gently. Even though you were all adults now you could always read the Shelbys emotions easily. Under your fingers you could feel his pulse hammering against you. "You're hurting. Aren't you?"

A whimper escaped him and just like that you were in his arms as he spoke softly, "It's me 'ead Y/n. I-I"

"Shh.. Fine. You win. I'll be back one day. But for now, let me make you tea. Its with my herbs. The shit doctors give you won't work like my stuff does." You said softly, running your fingers through Arthur's greasy hair. Arthur let you go as he wiped his tears and you stood leaving for the kitchen

"Ain't that right.." Tommy mumbled under his breath as he took out cigarettes again. Hitting the match against the box he lit his cig to life and took a long drag of it. Polly glance at him as he offered a cigarette to her and with hesitation she took a drag from it as well. "Y/n? Did you mean it when you said you'll come back?"

"Yes. Unlike you Tommy I'm not heartless. And I miss the little ones. Finn should be about 15 right now and Ada's little one should be 4 or 5. And Johns kids should be around 6 to 10." You listed as you started the water. "Would anyone else like some tea?"

"Whiskey for me and Tommy please." Aunt Polly said as she took another drag from the cig before handing it back to Tommy, who moved to stand by your fireplace.

"Sorry, I don't keep whiskey or liquor of any kind in my house. Nor do I allow smoking Tommy." You said smoothly as you glanced over your shoulder. "Put it out."

Tommy groaned and knocked on the fireplace a few times before taking one last drag a rubbing the cig against the bricks. Unknown to him, he alerted the twins that it was time to come out. Everything happened in slow motion and the fireplace moved causing Tommy to stumble and the boys to squeeze out with their empty plates. All eyes were on them and the sitting family members all stood as the looked at the two boys that stared straight into their father's eyes. With your back turned to them all in the kitchen you gathered the herbs you needed for Arthur's tea without a clue of what was going on behind you. "Arthur? Do you want any sugar in your tea?"

"M-mommy.." came Charles soft voice. You turned around quickly and looked at your two boys as they stared at their father in fear. Kenji stood in front of his brother protectively despite being horrified of the tall man in front of him. "Mama!"

Tears pooled in both of their eyes but Charles is the one that started bawling. Rushing over to them you gathered them both in your arms as they cried and kissed both of their heads as you lifted them up. "Its OK. Mommy's here. Now let's put you down for a nap. You two did so well in the bunker."

"Y/n. Who are they?" came Tommy's shaky voice and the thought of you moving on from him and being the mother of someone else's kids.

"The two that survived the bullet I took for you." You said without hesitation. Aunt Polly covered her mouth in shock while Arthur and John looked at each other and then Tommy, and you.

"Jesus Tom! 3!? At once!?"

You didn't dare turn around, you didn't want to see their faces. They haven't even been here an hour and yet everything you worked so hard to hide is unraveling. “You never answered my question, how did you find me?”

“Soloman. How do you know ‘im?” Tommy said as his steps got closer. Knowing you wont get out of this you glanced at Polly with pleading eyes, causing her to let out a sigh and place her hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Tommy, let's wait and give her a few minutes to get those two up stairs before you start a fight.” Aunt Pol said softly as she led Tommy back to the couches to sit down. But Tommy nudged her hand off of his shoulder and took a step closer to you, his patience running thin as you kept your hold on them.

“No. I'm tired of waiting. Y/n answer my question, now.” Tommy hissed out in annoyance. Charles sniffled and buried his face in your neck his eyes full of tears as Kenji glared at Tommy, eyes just as full of tears.

“‘nside ‘oice!” Kenji called back with a shaky voice, his dislike for Tommy at the moment was clear as day. Arthur chuckled and patted Tommy on his shoulder as you walked toward the stairs.

“‘e’s definitely your son Tommy. Looked ‘bout ready tah fight ya too, all for ‘is mum. What are their names?” Arthur teased. Biting your lip you didn't answer, instead you shifted them in your arms and made your way up the stairs carefully, whispering sweet nothings to them as you did so. You didn't need to ask your boys how they felt. That much was obvious to you as their heads moved on your shoulders to stare at Tommy as you walked, they didn't like the way he talked to you. Once you made it to their shared room next to yours you placed them in their beds and kissed their heads after wiping their tears.

“Nap time boys. If you need Mommy I’ll be down stairs. Don't hesitate to call me if you need something ok?” you said softly as you brushed their curls from their face and kissed them again. “Mommy loves you.”

Giving the boys one last look you closed the door behind you as the got under their comforters. Once you were back down the sound of the kettle going off lead you to the kitchen. “Would anyone else like some tea?”

Polly’s voice came immediately as she smiled at the thought, “The sleepy-time mixture that you used to make every morning for me! I have yet to taste anything as good as yours.” She loved your tea after all. Even though they couldn't see, you nodded anyway as you prepared two separate tea pot, one with Arthur’s mixture and one with Polly’s. When you opened the cupboard you grabbed one of your matching set of 5 and placed it on the tray with the pots of tea, carrying everything into, including some cookies. Placing the tray down on the coffee table, you poured some Arthur his cup first and handed it to him, careful not to spill the hot liquid. Silence was all that could be heard through the home you owned after serving tea to those who wanted it. “You didn't have to take them upstairs you know.”

“Knowing Arthur, Tommy and their… colorful vocabulary I felt like that was the best choice.” You teased softly as you lent back into your seat and crossed your legs, taking a careful sip from your tea. “But never mind that, why did you come searching for me? Why are you all here and what do you want?”

“We need you to comeback.” Tommy said shamelessly. “We’ve grown our business in the past 3 years and now were the third largest bookkeepers. We plan on expanding to London with the help of the Soloman as well.”

“It sounds like you’ve got everything all planned out and know what to do. So what do you need me and herbs-” you rebuked only to get cut off by John as he decided to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Cut the bullshit Y/n, You’re one of the focking best -no, THE focking best- weapon maker we know. Even though Tommy wont admit it, everyone else will when I say you're irreplaceable. We need you back.” John explained clearly.

“I stopped doing that after the boys were born. The only inventions I have left and haven't sold are in the basement.”

“Wait you sold your weapons!? The same ones you made just for the Peaky Blinders?”

“Of course I did. You think making this house with all these secret entrances and paths was free? I sold my old invention from back when I was teen and some newer ones. I do miss weapon making but at the same time I don't. Coming up with new ideas and actually testing them out cost a lot money. And that money I rather use on my baby boys.” you scoffed. Tommy stood up, rubbing his hand down his face as he groaned in frustration. Your inventions were top of the charts, never before seen, easy to hide the use of, conceal and use. And knowing that other people all around London had it in their possession made this process a lot harder. “If it makes you feel any better Tommy the only gang I’ve sold huge loads to was Alfie. He helped me a lot when I was pregnant, even got me workers to build this very house since no one I went to wanted to work for me. So if any of the expansion shit hurts his business in any way I hope you know what you're getting into.”

“Fine. Fine… Fuck. We can work this out. We just need to go back home, have a family meeting and make a plan.” Tommy grumbled as he began to pace back and forth.

“We? No. No. No Tommy. There is no WE in this, not any more. This is your problem. Not mine or my sons.”

“Our sons, Y/n.”

“I said what I said, and I meant it. They're my sons.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and turned to look at you with cold blue eyes of annoyance. He must of thought this would all be easy, but hell hath no fury like a protective mother. “Y/n, now's not the time to argue. We need you back at Small Heath. I need you back.”

“I thought Thomas Shelby needed no one but himself. What changed that? What changed you?” you mocked, causing Polly to take a large gulp of her tea, holding back her laughter as she watched the two of you interact. You were the only person she knew that would step to Tommy, win, and repeat the cycle over and over again. It was amusing to her no matter how old the two of you were. You were a spitfire and a beautiful girl, looks and smarts perfectly dangerous together and you knew it. Polly was the only one watching and listening though as she drank her tea, John and Arthur were too busy stuffing their faces with your cookies at an alarming rate. It was a wonder how they haven't choked yet. Both men stared at each other as a grabbed more cookies and shoved them into their mouths, causing you to roll your eyes. “If I were you I’d slow down. You might choke.”

“Things change Y/n, I changed ok? Now are you coming back or not.” he huffed out, towering over you as he stood at your feet. Your head tilted to the side and you switched the position of your crossed legs as you took a sip from your cup.

“If I come back with you, if I get back with you, you have everything to gain. My home, my inventions, my herbs, my sales, my intellect, my money, and most importantly my sons and I. There's nothing for me with you, Tommy. Nothing but more heartbreak.”

Tommy opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing you were right. A growl escaped him as he threw the only thing in his hand into the fire place, which was the tea cup. The sound of it breaking caused you to jump slightly but you didn't bat an eye. Tension began to rise as you stared into each other's eyes, neither of you backing down. Polly- seeing the way you gripped your tea cup- decided to cut in to calm things down.

“Your sons Y/n, their beautiful. So unique as well, as expected of you, so beautifully different.” she praised with a wide smile as she placed her empty cup down to pour more. At the mention of your sons, you smiled widely and broke eye contact with Tommy who was still fuming.

“They are.” you gushed immediately, a wide yet soft smile traveling across your face as you thought of them. “They love chocolate milk and yoga and they're so protective of each other it's absolutely adorable! They talk in sync sometimes and their laugh! Oh god their laugh, it's just Tommy’s back when we were kids! You should see all the pictures I have of them as babies!” tension began to dwindle as you continued to gush about your sons. But the elephant in the room only seemed to grow bigger.

“What are their names? I ask yah before but yous never answered.”

“Oh! Sorry.” you giggled softly as you drank from your cup finishing the last of your tea, placing it down on the coaster only for Tommy to take it and fill it up with tea from Arthur’s pot. “It’s Charles and Kenji. But I call them Charlie and Kenny. They don't like loud sound that much either.”

“Y-You kept the names.” Tommy said barely above a whisper, almost as a question as he looked at you incredulously. “You kept the names.” his voice was stronger that time but the smell of his cologne was stronger as he embraced you, placing a sudden kiss your lips causing you to melt into his arms. You weren't nearly as over him as you thought, it seemed. “You’re coming home.”

“No Tommy. Not yet at least. If I come back it's on my terms, not yours. I already agreed to come back. Now you just have to wait.”

“My wife and kids aren't going to be away from me Y/n. You're coming home and that's fina-”

“When are you going to understand that this is my home. I built it from scratch and I’m not leaving.”

“I'm not leaving you here.”

“This isn't Small Heath Tommy. I can make my own decisions and I don't need you hovering. I don't need you dictating my life. This is my house, my home, and it was made with my money. You have no authority here.”

No one said a word, Tommy still had you in his arms you still didn’t pull away. Tommy clenched and unclenched his jaw as he stared into your blazing eye. He nodded his head a few times and for once you thought the fighting was over. “Fine. Arthur, you're driving. Aunt Pol, John can you get the boys?”

“Get the boys? Tommy you are not taking my kids from me!” you hissed, squirming in his arms ad you tried to get free of his grasp. His arms moved down to hold your waist and in one swift movement Tommy was standing and you were thrown over his shoulder. “TOMMY! PUT ME DOWN!”

“You're right, I’m not taking our kids from you, Y/n. I'm taking all of you with me. But since I’m feeling nice and you said there were weapons in the basement this will be our holiday home for next month.” Tommy said, completely unfazed by your yelling and kicking as Polly and John hesitated to get the sleeping boys upstairs. You were still in your robe as you thrashed around in Tommy’s arms and knowing that it was getting you nowhere you sighed and resorted to kicking. But before you could get good kick in Tommy’s free arm held your legs in place. When John and Polly came back down the boys were still asleep as they carried them.

“What about the tea and biscuits?”

“Forget the fucking tea and biscuits John. She can make some more when we get home. Aunt Pol’s been taking care of her plants for the longest now.”

“Tommy! Put me down! This is kidnapping!” you hissed lowly, not wanting to wake your boys up, but your words fell on deaf ears. Tommy’s hand was perched on your ass as you continued to squirm around furiously, but a slap on your ass caused you to gasp and still. “Tommy!” John was behind everyone and the last one to leave the house. Since the key to the house was in the foyer he locked the door behind everyone, careful not to wake Kenji. “You can't seriously be kidnapping me and my kids right! Aunt Pol! Are you really ok with this!? I thought you were the voice of reason of the Shelbys! Y’all can't be serious right now! I’M NOT DRESSED! I'M INDECENT!” you pleaded, but Tommy’s grip on you tighten and Arthur opened the car door.

“As long as you sit still you wont get exposed. And if someone does look at you that isn't family, as your husband I have the right to kill them.” Tommy said smoothly as he sat you in the back with him. Polly gently held Charles up for Tommy to pick up, and then he passed Charles to you. You held the sleeping Charles close to you and kissed his forehead as you glared at the male next to you.

“You kill anyone and my boys see it and I’m cutting off your dick Thomas Shelby. You're on thin ice.” a chuckle escaped the man as he took Kenji from John. With his son in his arms Tommy was able to observe the similarities between him and the toddler. His eyebrows were dark and similarly shaped, and even with his eyes closed Tommy could remember the deep blue that Kenji had in his right eye. The boy on his lap was 33% of the proof that you loved him. The other 66% being Charles and Ruby. He was the lucky one. Not the other way around like he always thought. You were smart, loyal, funny, and an amazing inventor as well. He didn't want to think about how wrong he did you, because then he’d end up hating himself even more than he already does. With Charles in your lap, your arms held him protectively as he began to stir. Glaring at the Shelbys around you the thing that calmed you down was when Charles snuggled closer into you. And at the same time Kenji did the same to Tommy, causing his heart to clench and Tommy to hold him tighter, afraid that this was all a figment of his imagination and the worst nightmare he could ever have. The one where his brain shows him everything he’s thought about, everything he’s wanted to have with you. Only for the shoves to start again, just like they did when you left.

But instead, Tommy kissed Kenji’s freckled cheek when he thought no one was looking, being a lot more gentle with the boys than you expected him to be, almost making you happy to be near him again, almost.

“Mama?” came a soft voice from below you. Your dark eyes met the heterochromatic brown and blue of Charles eyes and you smiled.

“Yes Charlie?”

“Are ‘e living wif Daddy nows?”

You knew Tommy heard him and Tommy knew you knew as well. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him watching you, waiting for your response, but you didn't directly look at him. You both knew what your answer was going to be without you even having to say it, Tommy’s smug smile only proved so.

“For now? Yes baby. But just for now. We wouldn't want the chickens to feel lonely now would we?” you whispered back causing a chuckle to escape Tommy. Having enough of his shit you kicked him in the shin, careful not to disturb your sons. Now it was your turn to chuckle as Tommy bit his lip to hold in the sound of pain. Polly laughed softly at the face Tommy was making, and to save himself from further embarrassment he shifted the attention away from him.

“You ‘ear that Johnny boy? She has chickens! Maybe you should take her home instead.” Tommy teased with a smile. John rolled his eyes but the smile on his face was apparent as Tommy laughed, tilting his head back in the process. The same laugh he passed onto your sons came out of him, and if anyone asked you would deny the fact that it was calming to hear. “Now we have to come back, wouldn't want the chickens to starve either.”

Charles fell back asleep in your arms without another word as Kenji’s thumb rested in his mouth. The way their eyes fluttered was a tell told tale to you that they were in a deep sleep. Allowing you the chance to finally speak your mind. “You know. You all have a lot of fucking nerve to come searching for me and then take me from, excuse my language but, my goddamned home. And you have even more nerve that if you think for a second that I’ll just turn over and do what ever the fuck you say. Tommy for one, you look like shit and that tells me just how much control you have over all the shit you've caused. Who the fuck did you double cross this time you bloody idiot.-”

“Ahh, and there she is. It was weird not hearing you curse.” Polly cut you off with a soft chuckle as she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out away from you and the boys.

“You're all inconsiderate jackasses sometimes, you know that? I have two toddlers to take care of and yet you still want to drag me into this. Tell when the people that hurt you Tommy, did they go after anyone else? Who died? Who got hurt?” you asked calmly, your voice betraying how you actually felt. But even as you ranted, your eyes never left the figures of your sons. “It’s been three years but it seems like the only one who has changed is me. And now you wanna drag me into all of this to solve the mess you made. Well guess what, if you think I’m going to forgive you and come crawling back you have another thing coming Thomas Shelby. I loved you with all my heart and the only thing I got in return was a bullet and a broken heart. So how about for once in your goddamn life you take responsibility for the mess you've made and clean it up yourself, cause I’m not making you shit other than tea.”

“Y/n-”

“Save it Tommy. I dont need to hear any more of your fucking empty promises.” you hissed as you throat tightened and your eyes became glossy.

“Y/n please don't cry..”

“How can I not Polly? He cheated on me. He broke my heart. I watched him fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. I know I’m not pale, blonde, not extra skinny or dripping with femininity like she was. But I didn't think it would matter, because I loved you Tommy and I thought you loved me. I gave you everything I had to fucking offer and even that wasn't enough for you. Because you're never fucking satisfied Thomas Shelby.”

‘Y/n please..” Tommy mumbled as he shifted Kenji on his lap. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, scared that if he moved you’ll cry even more. Pol watched with sad eyes, but didn't say anything, it wasn't her place after all.

“I gave you everything I had and it wasn't enough… No, because instead you fell for the barmaid spy. The same one that ratted you out. And even after finding out what she did. Even after I took that bullet for you, the same bullet that killed my baby and almost killed me, you spent the night with her. I-I- I can't forgive you for that and I never will Tommy. And if it wasn't for these two sleeping angel that I gave birth to alone, none of this would be happening. My boys deserve the chance to know you, and to love you. The same way I loved you. And if they choose to hate you instead that will be no one’s fault but your own.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tommy finally said after a minute of tense silence.

“It means you have a week. That’s how long you have before I take my sons back home. Because at the end of the day the barmaid may have tempted you but she’s not the one that said ‘I do’ at the altar. Nope, that was you Thomas Shelby and now because of that I love you just as much as I hate you.”

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