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infin1ty-garden · 4 months ago

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BAND TOGETHER

✧. ┊ summary: your rival is in a band ✧. ┊ character(s): blaise zabini, draco malfoy, lorenzo berkshire, mattheo riddle, pansy parkinson and theodore nott ✧. ┊ warnings: mention of alcohol consumption ✧. ┊ word count: 847 ✧. ┊ author note: it's a day late. verry sorry

masterlist. & 100 follower celebration

BLAISE ZABINI

✧. ┊ Blaise was a guitarist in the band. Your relationship wasn't exactly a good one but you respected each other. You were surprised one of your friends was a fan of said band.

✧. ┊ All in all their music was pretty good and you ended up listening to their songs. That's what you were doing in the library, when Blaise interrupted you.

✧. ┊ "You like my voice that much," he just had to interrupt you as one of his rare solo parts came on. For weeks he didn't let you live it down. He visited you after class and shoved a ticket in your hand. Didn't say anything else.

✧. ┊ He couldn't keep his thoughts straight. You are listening to his voice. Well, songs but same thing. The scene kept replaying in his head. Do you like him? Does he like you?

DRACO MALFOY

✧. ┊ You were in rival bands. Known to dislike each other. Most of your songs containing lines to make fun of the other band. What you didn't expect was finding Draco in your dressing room.

✧. ┊ "What are you doing here?" He didn't say anything as he made his way to you. Stopping right in front of you. His expression is unreadable. "I wanted to ask you out on a date."

✧. ┊ Your head was spinning. Your rival is asking you out for a date. What has the world come to?

✧. ┊ Draco didn't really hate you. How could he? You were talented, great, caring and just awesome. He had to ask you out if he'd end up waiting for too long. He didn't want to regret not asking you out sooner.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

✧. ┊ Lorenzo was trying to impress some girls with his guitar skills. You rolled your eyes as they swarmed around him. A sensible person would run in the other direction. "I could do better."

✧. ┊ "Try," he heard you, passing you the guitar. Everyone was looking at you but then the gryffindors crashed the party. Saving your ass.

✧. ┊ "I still wanna hear you play," Lorenzo insisted. A few days after the incident, Lorenzo asked you to play him something. You prepared in advance and asked one of your friends to teach you something simple.

✧. ┊ he was mesmerised, watching you play. He isn't sure why he feels like that. He hates you, doesn't he?

MATTHEO RIDDLE

✧. ┊ You had gotten drunk at another slytherin party. Barged into a random unoccupied room. To find a drum set and decided to fool around.

✧. ┊ Mattheo stumbled in with a girl in his arms. Confused once he spotted you on his drum set. Ignoring the girl he'd been making out with a moment ago.

✧. ┊ "What are you doing?" You stopped. Looked around finally realising this was Mattheo's room. "Sorry, I d-didn't..." you left the room. Letting them continue what they were doing.

✧. ┊ Mattheo was so confused. Why were you in his room? Why didn't it bother him? He cornered you. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it was your room and I was drunk."

✧. ┊ "Would you like to learn how to play?"

PANSY PARKINSON

✧. ┊ Pansy was a great singer. You randomly found out she was apart of a band. You can't deny her singing capabilities. You can't stand her but she is talented.

✧. ┊ You decided to go to one of their shows. It was a small venue. You still hoped she wouldn't see you. Just your luck as soon as she got on the stage, she spotted you.

✧. ┊ She kept looking at you while singing certain parts of songs. You thought she hated you. Clearly you thought wrong.

✧. ┊ After the show she came up to you. "What did you think?" She'd placed her hands on yours. "I...um loved it?" You were uncertain what she wanted to hear your opinion on. "Yeah?"

✧. ┊ Pansy didn't realise her feelings for you until one of her friends pointed them out. What she thought was hate was actually love? She couldn't deny it anymore.

THEODORE NOTT

✧. ┊ "What's this bullshit," you found Theo in the courtyard writing. You assumed it was an essay or something but it was lyrics. You grabbed his notebook and started running. "Is it about a girl you're madly in love with?" He chased you as you read the lyrics. Slowly coming to the realisation that they were about you.

✧. ┊ "You can't come up with a better title than I hate you, die," he took back his notebook and ignored you for the rest of the week. "Hurt, I read your little diary?" He threw a paper at you. You read the top 'I hate you, die'. The lyrics had been reworked to include a certain event. Despite this the song was a love song. He loved you?

✧. ┊ Love and hate can be mistaken for one or the other and Theo knew he loved you. He just didn't know how to say it. Words left him when he was around you. He felt like a fool. It was a dumb idea but he did it anyway. Writing a song for you.

Thanks for reading!

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cowboyemeritus · 4 months ago

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Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter Five

Series Masterlist

Summary: You sit in on an Emeritus Family business meeting.

Content Warnings: organized crime, prostitution, very vague references to sex trafficking

Read on AO3

Notes: hey! thank you all for sticking around. this is going to be a two-parter — i had more planned out for this "episode" but before I knew it this chapter was already at 3k words. i would like the next few chapters to be more episodic, which means they'll probably be longer, but it's been a while since i've updated this story and i wanted to have something for you all sooner rather than later.

feedback is always welcome — enjoy! :)

It’s a rare Friday night when neither of you are working. Mary lounges on the beat-up couch with a beer in hand, a slasher flick he’s seen a million times playing on the television. You’re in the kitchen hovering over a pot of sugar water, waiting impatiently for it to cool so you can refill the hummingbird feeder. Other than the screaming coming from the living room, it’s an unusually peaceful evening.

The phone rings. Neither of you move. It rings again. Still nothing. You count five bursts of sound before Mary, with a loud, agitated groan, sets his drink down and goes to pick it up. It’s a well established fact that between the two of you, he gets pretty much all of the calls, so answering the phone is his responsibility. That doesn’t stop him from glaring at you as he trudges into the kitchen, picking up the receiver from where it hangs on the wall.

“Howdy.” Mary’s face immediately twists, like he’s sucking on a lemon, when the person on the other end begins speaking. “Yeah, she’s right here.” He holds out the receiver, a severe look on his face. “It’s for you.” Confused, you shuffle over and take it from him, holding it up to your ear. With a grunt, Mary goes back to the couch.

“Hello?”

“Dolcezza!” Copia’s voice is so loud you cringe, moving the phone a few inches away from your head. “How are you?”

This is already weird. It’s been a little over a week since your last encounter with your handler. Normally, he arranges for fights every three or four. You’re still battered and bruised from your last bout, in what he would normally call “no shape” to perform.

“Is there a fight,” you ask. From the couch, Mary turns his head in your direction, already concerned. Copia chuckles.

“No, no, no. I thought that maybe I could take you out tonight.”

What?

“Dolcezza?”

“I don’t know.”

“It will be fun,” he pleads, sounding more like a petulant child than the man you know. “My treat, of course. There are some people I would like for you to meet.”

“Please don’t make me.”

There’s a pause. He sighs. “Cara, this is important. It would mean a lot to me if you came.” You can hear the puppy-eyes through the phone.

God fucking dammit.

“Okay,” you mumble, regretting it the second the words leave your mouth. “Do I need to — I dunno — dress up or anything?” You own very few clothes other than your sweats, a pair of jeans for work, and an assortment of ratty, old t-shirts, mostly hand-me-downs from Mary. The last time you looked at yourself in the mirror, the bruising under your eyes still hadn’t cleared either. Knowing Copia, that won’t cut it at whatever place he has in mind.

“I have made arrangements for that. Kevin is on his way to pick you up. He should be there soon. ”

Then what was the point of asking? “Alright.” You cover the receiver with your hand so he doesn’t hear you sigh. “See you soon.”

“Stupendo! I will see you soon, bella.” You promptly hang up, glancing over at Mary. He looks more curious than anything now.

“Booty call?”

The Pinnacle is really the only legitimate business the Emeritus Family operates. It’s more-or-less your average, high-end gentleman’s club, nothing to really bat an eye at. As the car pulls into the parking lot, bathing the cab in neon purple light, your skin prickles, a tightness forming in your chest.

You weren’t expecting Copia to take you to a strip joint.

“Here we are,” he says. You sit there, motionless, as he steps out of the old Buick, rounding around the front to open your door. He extends a hand and, because you know it’s too late to turn back, you take it. The night is misty with a slight drizzle, so he tries to get you inside as fast he can. It’s a challenge; Copia has provisioned you with a pair of heels and though they’re short, you’ve never worn anything like that before. The test laps you took around his living room were clearly not enough, and there are several points on your way to the entrance when you nearly twist your ankle.

There’s a line of men waiting to get into the club. You get a few looks, some confused and some intrigued, and instinctively pull down the hem of your silky black dress when you hear a snicker. Copia leads you right to the door, bypassing the line entirely. Two large men are stationed at the entrance, one checking IDs and the other collecting cover fees. When they see Copia, they let the two of you through without a hassle. He nods at each of them as you pass by.

“Alpha, Omega.”

The door opens, and you’re immediately hit by booming music. The inside of the club is dimly lit, illuminated by more purple lights. You obverse that there are two bars on opposite ends of this main room and there are two levels of seating, booths lining the top with tables and chairs organized around the stage. A thin woman with short, silvery hair spins around the pole as the audience whistles and hollers. It takes you a moment to realize she’s completely topless, and you whip your head in the other direction, feeling embarrassed. The wall closest to you features a collage. Looking closer, it appears to be a collection of stills taken from CCTV footage, displaying the faces of various men. Plastered above it is a sign that reads “WALL OF SHAME” in dainty handwriting. The pictures are blurry, but to your surprise, you recognize a few of the faces.

Small world.

Still holding your hand, Copia leads you through the crowd. You stare at the ground as you walk, avoiding looking at the stage like the sight could turn you to stone. The journey ends at an innocuous door labeled “EMPLOYEES ONLY” by the further bar. Copia scans your surroundings once, twice, before opening it, revealing a poorly lit staircase. The room at the bottom is just as dark as the rest of the place.

“Welcome to The Pit, cara,” Copia says quietly. He holds the door open, gesturing for you to start descending the stairs. Though hesitant, you obey, grasping onto the railing for dear life as you take your first few steps into the dark. He follows close behind, at one point grabbing your arm when you misstep, steadying you. At the bottom seems to be a private lounge, much smaller than the hall upstairs. Several couches and chairs, all opulent velvet and leather, furnish the space. Occupying them is a mix of clients, men of a variety of ages but all clearly Emeritus associates, and a few of the entertainers, all exquisitely beautiful women in various stages of undress. There’s another, smaller bar and a long hallway off to your immediate left. It smells heavily of cigarettes and weed. Copia receives several waves and shouted greetings when he enters the room. You largely go unnoticed, which you’re thankful for.

“This way.” With a gentle hand on your back, Copia ushers you down the hall. There are multiple doors on each side, with one at the very end. Only one of the side rooms has light coming from under the door. As you walk by it, you pick up on the sound of creaking, punctuated by moaning. It’s only then that you realize what this place truly is. Unnerved, you peek over your shoulder at Copia. If he heard it the noise, he doesn’t acknowledge it, looking forwards to the end of the hall. That knot in your chest gets even tighter.

“There are some people I would like for you to meet.”

It feels like the door is coming to meet you instead of the other way around. Copia reaches over your shoulder to knock, then has you shuffle awkwardly out of the way as he turns the knob. The room beyond appears to be an office. There’s a desk by the far wall, although the space is dominated by a set of parallel couches with an antique coffee table between them. Two older gentlemen are seated across from each other. One of them has wispy white hair and deep-set wrinkles. The other is bald with an aquiline nose, pronounced frown lines, and a pencil-thin mustache. They both have the Emeritus eye, burning like white-hot stars in the dimly lit room.

“Fratellino,” the older-looking man says, smiling pleasantly. It takes him a moment to stand up, his joints creaking audibly as he does so. He takes a few shuffled steps over to the door, pulling Copia in for a hug. The bald man follows him, but is more reserved in his affection, giving him a quick pat on the back. When their attention turns to you, his face remains neutral, but there’s gleam of… something in his eyes. “And who is this lovely young lady?” Copia tells them your name.

“Dolcezza, my brothers.” He gestures to the older one. “Primo.” The man takes your hand and gives it a firm shake. “And Secondo.” From him you receive a nod.

You know a little bit about Copia’s family, mostly from offhanded comments he’s made in the past. Now you can put faces to names. He’s the youngest of four half-brothers, all Nihil’s sons from different mothers. From an early age he had groomed them to join the family business in the hopes that at least one of them would be competent enough to someday take his place. Whether that’s true or not remains to be seen. Primo, you know, is responsible for the procurement and distribution of various illicit substances. Secondo takes part in this to some extent, but the impression you got from Copia is that he handles the more… unsavory aspects of the business.

“Human resources,” he had once said jokingly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you mumble, still on edge. Primo beckons you both inside and motions for you to take a seat. You end up on one of the couches, sitting between Copia and his oldest brother, who make small talk for the next several minutes. Though you keep your gaze directed down at the coffee table, you can feel Secondo’s eyes on you from the opposite couch.

“We do not usually allow visitors to sit in on our meetings,” he says during a lull in the conversation. Something about his voice adds to your uneasiness, although you can’t tell why. “What makes you think you can bring your whores around unannounced?” You’re not a fan of that at all, whipping your head up to meet his piercing gaze. Copia winces, giving you an apologetic look.

“Try to be polite,” he begs. “This is a… business partner of mine.” Somehow, you like being called that even less. “Where is Terzo?”

Secondo shrugs. “Knowing that asshole? Probably dead in a ditch somewhere.” As if on cue, the office door flies open. In strides a man with raven black hair and a strong, square jaw. He’s holding two stemmed glasses in each hand, a bottle of wine tucked under one arm.

“Gentlemen.” His voice has a raspy quality to it, like he has a horrible case of laryngitis. He approaches the sitting area, swaying a barely-perceptible amount as he does so. The three brothers share a look when he stumbles into the coffee table, but none of them say anything. It’s not until he flops down on the couch next to Secondo, having deposited his precious cargo on the table, that he notices you. He quirks an eyebrow.

“I did not realize we had a guest. Forgive me, bella; if I had known, I would have brought another glass for you.” He reaches over the coffee table, offering his hand. You take it, expecting a handshake, but he instead brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. For a split second, his gaze wanders across the scars that adorn them, before flicking back up to you. “Terzo Emeritus,” he purrs, an intrigued look in his eyes. “I am the proprietor of this establishment.” Next to him, Secondo grunts.

“Let us get on with this,” he says, looking to Copia. “You called this meeting. Now tell us about this ‘proposal’ of yours.” All eyes are now on your handler. For the first time since you’ve met him, he actually looks nervous.

“Yes, well.” He swallows, placing a hand on your knee. “I am looking to expand my operation. Our client base is growing; they want more fights, more often. That is hard to arrange, though. The biggest issue is usually the venue. We find the space most of the time; warehouses, old gyms, et cetera.” Terzo already looks bored. “But we cater to a more, eh, refined audience. They like nice things.” It doesn’t look like he’s getting his point across. “What I am saying is that I would like to start by adding some classier venues to the rotation. I think The Pinnacle would be perfect.”

The image of you up on that stage, knocking the lights out of another girl while men throw dollar bills at you, briefly flashes through your mind. You get a queasy feeling.

Terzo laughs out loud, adjusting the scarf tied tightly around his neck. “You cannot be serious, fratellino. Why would I give up my club for your silly games? Do you know what that would do to our revenue stream? I have to make sure my girls are paid, you know.”

Does that include the ones down here?

“I know what you are thinking,” Copia says, learning forward to look at his brother. He’s got an intense look on his face. “But I am not asking for a whole lot. One night, every few weeks. You could have the bar open. Your girls could work before and after the fight. And you charge, what? Ten dollars per person to get in?”

“Fifteen,” Terzo spits.

“That is chump change.” Copia reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Terzo. “Copied from Psaltarian’s books. In case you remain unconvinced.” The third Emeritus brother unfolds the paper, his eyes widening as he reads whatever is written on it. He passes it to Secondo, who raises his eyebrows and gives Copia a mildly bemused look. The paper travels once more, this time to Primo.

“Well,” he says, handing it back before you can see it. “That is certainly something.” Copia’s posture straightens, vindicated.

“I still have my doubts, though,” Terzo interjects. The grip on your knee tightens. “Those numbers are impressive, yes, but what makes you think you can pull in enough people to make this whole endeavor worth it? I am not handing over my establishment so that a handful of horny men can watch some girls beat each other up.” He looks at you, pityingly. “Mi dispiace, signorina. I am sure you are quite an athlete.” He’s perceptive. Copia perks back up at this.

“That is why I wanted you to meet her.” You look at him, confused and nervous for what he might say next. “She is a remarkable fighter, una demionetta. Dozens of people come to watch her, and that number is only increasing.” He sighs. “Nihil does not understand, but I thought you all might. If you were to see her in her element, you would get why I think she — why this — is worth investing in.”

You feel like Copia has just dropped a bomb in your lap.

Four pairs of green and white eyes are now focused on you, clearly expecting you to say something. “I, uh.” You swallow. “Yeah, I guess.” Your face is burning, pulse racing.

“What do you say, gentlemen?” There’s a long pause. Terzo is first to break the silence.

“You know how I despise violence, fratellino.” He chuffs. “But if you are serious about this, I would be willing to see what this ‘demionetta’ of yours can do, provided everyone else is on board.” The attention of the room turns to Secondo, who has been sitting quietly with his arms crossed.

“Fine,” he grunts. “But it had better be worth my time.” His eyes bore into you as he says it.

“I will pass,” Primo says. “But I can tell that this young lady is indeed formidable. Copia, you are right in that we must expand our holdings if we wish to compete with the other Families. They have been making trouble for us already; incoming shipments have been going missing recently.”

“The Giordanos, I suspect,” Secondo states. “Sons of bitches…”

“Bloodsports it is, then!” Terzo exclaims, throwing his hands up in front of him. “This calls for a toast.” He rises on steadier feet than before, rounding around the desk to rummage through a drawer. Copia is busy looking at you with a reassuring, proud smile when his brother pulls out a bottle-opener, tossing it in his direction. The device hits him in the back of the head. You can’t help but feel it’s justified. Copia glares at him before turning his attention to uncorking the wine bottle on the table. You watch as Terzo opens another drawer, pulling out a liquor glass and another bottle filled with a green liquid. From a carafe on the desk he pours a small amount of water into the glass before unscrewing the top of the bottle and adding a generous pour of what you presume is absinthe. It’s Mary’s drink of choice when he’s songwriting, but he normally adds more water and a sugar cube.

Beverage in hand, Terzo returns to the couch as Copia pours out equal measures of wine in each glass. He hands one to Primo, then to Secondo, and is about to give one to you when Terzo snatches it from him, taking a claiming sip. Your eyes meet his, and he smirks.

“Go on,” he says, holding out the glass of absinthe. “If you are really so tough.” A fire is lit inside of you at the prospect of a challenge. Copia is about to protest but before he can, you accept, taking a sip of the green liquid. Even watered down it’s fucking strong, the taste of licorice assaulting your senses. You manage to keep your composure. Terzo looks amused, raising his wine glass. “To new business ventures. Saluti.”

#my writing #the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #frater imperator x reader #also sorry if you are sicilian i needed a generic rival family

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