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arealphrooblem · 9 months ago

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Kidnapped by the Boss Part 7

Hey guys! Sorry it's been like a million years since I updated anything! I got burned out for a while and I'm slowly getting back to it. Hopefully with summer break looming, you'll see more of me!

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

Part one here

Part six here

"What is this?”

It looked harmless, a small metal rectangular wrist band with no buttons or engraving or adornment of any kind. She didn’t trust it, regardless, not that that mattered to Rook, who kept his explanations to himself as he grabbed her hand. She tried to jerk it back, but his grip turned bruising and iron tight as he latched it shut.

It hugged tightly on her, a nearly imperceptible hum against her skin. Only a tiny seam remained on the bottom, with no button or latch or catch to open it.

“What is it?” she demanded, swallowing down a flutter of panic.

Rook rolled his eyes. “Relax, princess. It’s just a tracker.”

“A tracker?”

“Yeah. Consider it your freedom. Now you can go anywhere you want and no one has to worry about you slipping out to somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

She gave him an appraising look. “Are you going to come fetch me if I go somewhere I shouldn’t?”

“No. I’m just going to push a button and an electric current will take you out until someone finds you.”

He gazed back, utterly impassive, and Val couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare her or not. She refused to be cowed though.

“How strong of a current are we talking about?” she asked

A smirk spread slowly across his face. “Why don’t you get near an airport and find out? If it doesn’t kill you, then you’ll have your answer.”

Val jut her chin up, meeting his smirk with a glare. “Do you get a kick out of trying to make me afraid? Does it make you feel tough?”

He snorted and stepped closer to her. She stood stock still as he linked their arms together.

“You’re in enemy territory, Val,” he murmured, ducking his head down close to her ear, like he was sharing a secret. “I’m just trying to keep you on your toes.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted up. “My king wants you down for lunch in his office. I’ll show you the way.”

The king’s office looked much the same as it did when he was Eugene the Prime Minister. Papers scattered in random piles, post it notes scribbled with cryptic notes only he understood. Reminders taped on walls, the desk, the door.

A table was cleared off, the papers clearly dumped on the desk. A spread of soup and sandwiches sat on it, the king sitting in one of the chairs, waiting. Val was hit with a pang of nostalgia, because this set up looked exactly like the ones they had during campaign season. She didn’t know if he did it deliberately or if this was just how he ran his life.

“Afternoon, Val,” he said with a smile. “I see you have your tracker now.”

“And potential execution device,” she added dryly.

He shrugged. “Only a stupid person would need to worry about the electric shock and you are not stupid.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

He smiled again, ignoring her sarcasm. “Have a seat.”

She reluctantly joined him and helped herself to a sandwich, knowing this whole charade was just to watch her eat. Rook did not join them, preferring to lean against the wall next to the king. It felt a little unnerving to eat under both of their stares but she knew there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t.

And she had to admit, the food was painfully delicious.

“You now control the lock on your door,” the king said (Aris? It still didn’t feel right but neither did Eugene). “You may stay or leave your room as you please. All unlocked areas of the castle are open to you, as well as the grounds. If you wish to head into the city, Rook will escort you.”

Rook’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You cannot be serious! I babysit her enough as it is and you want me to take her out for ice cream and shopping? Who is protecting you while I run bullshit errands with her?”

“Hey! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have a shopping addiction,” she snapped.

“Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to blow all the king’s treasury just to fuck us over.”

“What the hell am I going to be buying to drain it — a super yacht?”

“Children, please.” The king — Aris — held up a hand. “It’s not an ideal situation for any of us, but the two of you will have to give each other a little faith.”

Val and Rook let out twin snorts of derision and then shot each other matching glares.

“As I was saying,” Aris said with a warning look, “you have been given a probationary amount of freedom, Val.”

“Probationary?” So this was temporary?

“Yes. Your privileges will change depending on your actions. If you stay obedient, prove yourself, then you freedoms will grow. If you try to circumvent your restrictions, you will lose your freedoms and live in a cell much less cozy than the rooms I’ve given you.”

Obedient. Like a toddler. Like a dog.

Not for the first time did helpless rage well up in her throat like acid. So many retorts and screams crowded her mouth that it rendered her speechless, unable to choose which to say first and terrified to say any of them.

Eug— Aris — looked at her in such smug satisfaction, as if proud of himself for bestowing a phenomenal gift. If Rook wasn’t in the room, Val could have hit him. Her fingers curled in on themselves to fight the temptation regardless.

“Do you have any questions?” Aris tilted his head slightly, studying her.

She used to love having his full attention on her — something made rare and precious because of his busy schedule and bouts of scatterbrained day dreaming. Right now it made her skin crawl, adding fuel to the feeling of constantly being under surveillance, never able to relax.

“Can I go now?” she asked tightly.

His gaze ducked down to her half-eaten lunch. “You haven’t finished your food.”

The rage leaped up, like a kerosene drenched campfire. She felt reckless and wild with it and without a second thought, flipped her plate off the table to watch it shatter to the floor, food spraying over the lush carpet.

“I’m done,” she said. “Now?”

She had no idea what her face looked like at that moment, but whatever Aris saw on it made him sit back in his seat.

“Yes,” he said slowly, warily. “Of course.”

Val stood so far that her chair fell backwards. “Thank you,” she bit out, dripping venom, before striding out the door.

She had no idea where she was headed, and she didn’t care. Val picked a direction and walked as fast as she could towards it. If it led her to a so-called restricted section of the palace, then maybe that would put her out of her misery.

The padded footsteps sound too close and too late to react before a hand grabbed her shoulder. Val whirled around, fist striking out in pure instinct at the warm body behind her. In less than a second, that body gripped her wrist and shoved her against the wall of the hallway.

Rook.

Of course.

“Someone is very cranky today,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk.

“Let me go,” she snarled, pushing ineffectively against him.

Rook complied, releasing the bruising grip on her wrist and taking a wide step back, hands up in mock surrender.

“Not many people can scare the king, but I think you managed it just then,” he said.

“What the hell do you want? You have a tracker now. You don’t need to stalk me anymore.”

“We never finished our tour. I wouldn’t want you wandering somewhere you shouldn’t and getting electrocuted on your first day.”

“I’ll figure it out on my own, thanks.”

Rook gave her that same kind of stare Aris did — an assessment. Complete with head tilt. They must spend a lot of time together.

“You’re very angry for someone who was just given a significant amount of freedom that they quite frankly don’t deserve,” he said slowly.

She gave him a poisonous look. “I am not talking about this with you.”

And now that smirk again. “Thank god. I’m not paid to be a feelings person. But I think I know what you need.”

“A long walk off a tall cliff?”

He snorted. “Tempting. But no. Follow me and find out.”

It was probably a stupid decision to follow the most untrustworthy person she’d ever met, but having more opportunities to hate Rook offered her a welcome distraction. So, against all sanity, Val followed him down to an elevator and watched him push the basement button.

“Is that where you keep the torture chambers?” she asked, half joking, half . . .not joking.

“Sometimes it feels that way,” he muttered back.

The elevator dinged and opened to gleaming wooden floors and bright lights. It looked like the reception of a swanky business more than a typical basement. Down a short hallway sat an interior room lined with windows and inside sat various mats, weights, and other equipment.

“You brought me to the gym?” she asked dubiously.

“Yep.”

He made a bee line to a tall metal cabinet and pulled out boxing gloves. “Catch.”

Too fast for her to react, they hit Val square in the face and fell to the floor. She sent him another glare as he snickered before bending down to pick them up.

“You want me to hit something?”

Which actually sounded great, come to think of it.

“I want you to hit me.”

Oh even fucking better.

It felt too good to be true. But Val watched as he pulled out two wide padded circles and fitted them over his palms before he stepped onto one of the mats.

“You gonna put them on or are you chickening out?”

She yanked them onto her hands, their weight surprisingly heavy and then followed him onto the mat.

Rook held up his hands in the mock surrender pose.

“Hit these as hard as you can.”

“You’re serious?” She eyed him dubiously. “What if I hit you in the face?”

“You won’t.”

“You sure? It seems real tempting.”

He grinned. “The day you land a hit on me, I’ll smuggle you back home myself.”

As much as she wanted to deck his face, Val knew a trap when she heard one. Instead, she followed his instructions, landing a blow square against the right hand pad.

He didn’t even budge.

“Come on, Val, I know that’s not all you got. You were so full of rage earlier. Don’t tell me it left already.”

Oh, it didn’t. But she felt nervous putting her full effort in. Either it would hurt him and he’d make her pay or it would be pathetic and he’d mock her.

“You can’t laugh,” she said.

“Oh, I’m going to laugh. Now fucking hit me already.”

She took a deep breath and then slammed her fist against the pad with all her might. He never lost his footing, but she was pleased to see his body sway a fraction.

“Much better. I knew you had it in you. Do it again.”

“What’s the point of this?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Stress relief. I love hitting things when I’m mad. And if you’re hitting me then you’re not hitting my king. So come on, Val. Give me everything you’ve got.”

He asked and she delivered. Val channeled all the injustice, the fear, the grief that the last week had brought her into her fists, driving them over and over into Rook’s padded hands. She didn’t stop, not when her arms started to shake, not when sweat soaked her back, not when a lancing pain hit her shoulder with each impact. It was mindless violence with no victim and it blocked out everything else.

“Ok, okay, Val. That’s enough.”

His voice echoed distantly and she dismissed it instantly. He took a step back and she chased him. It wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around her from behind, trapping her arms against her sides.

“That’s enough Val,” he said in her ear.

She was breathing like a winded rhinoceros, her chest burning with it. But with each slowed breath, exhaustion threaded itself through her limbs and tugged. Eventually she slumped against his chest, happy to let him take all the weight of her. Even then he did not budge.

She was too tired to be angry now.

“Your form is absolute dog shit,” he said, his grip cautiously loosening. “But you have some potential. I could train you, if you wanted.”

“Train me?” With supreme effort, she pulled away from and turned to face him. “Train me in what?”

“Boxing. Mixed martial arts. Basic self defense. You can have your pick.”

“You want to teach me how to fight?” She crossed her arms. “Is this some kind of trap? What’s the catch?”

He raised an eyebrow. “There’s no catch. It would get you in shape, get your mind off things. Give you some sense of control.”

“And then I could use it against you.”

He had the gall to laugh at that, head thrown back. “Not in a million fucking years.”

“You think I could never be a threat to you?” Now she felt insulted. “Is it because I’m a woman?”

Rook rolled his eyes. “The scariest people I’ve ever met have been women. But a few weeks or months of the basics is never going to match years of intensive training. If you ever manage to hit me, it’s because I let you for your pride.”

He held out his hands for her gloves and she pulled them off with surprising reluctance.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the way back to your room. You need a shower.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

But a tiny flicker of gratitude wormed its way through her chest as she followed him back to the elevator. The exercise had cleared her head. She felt soothed, the tightness in her chest dissipated. Rook undoubtedly had ulterior motives for helping her, but he still could have let her drown in her own rage until she did something stupid that he’d gleefully punish her for.

Instead he gave her a much needed outlet.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

Let me know in a comment if you want to be tagged!

Part 8 here

Taglist

@rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog @clover-sage

#hero x villain #enemies to lovers #my writing #villain x civilian #original fiction #writeblr #named characters #kidnapped by the boss

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sea-salted-wolverine · 10 months ago

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In honor of the moose/Iditarod rule 34 chaos post reaching 1000 notes and then Dallas Seavy winning the Iditarod here are all the unhinged stories and things I know about that race

They changed the rules and schedules so you can't do this anymore, but there was a subset of mushers who would race the Yukon Quest and the Iditarod back to back. That's a 1000-mile race followed by another 1000-mile race through some of the harshest terrain on earth in late winter. And the Yukon quest doesn't even finish where the Iditarod starts. To do this required putting dogs in a plane OR having another team of dogs waiting in anchorage and someone to deal with both teams of dogs.

The first woman to win the Iditarod was Libby Riddles in 1985.

Only to have her finish promptly blown out of the water by Susan Butcher who won the race in 86', 87', 88', and 90' while setting speed records the whole way.

Susan did race in 85' but she ran into a moose early and it killed two of her dogs and hurt the rest so she scratched. Dallas got lucky this year.

She was also the first person to mush a dog team up to the summit of Denali, the tallest mountain in North America. This is not what dog teams are intended to do, I don't know why she even wanted to, other than to prove it was possible. I don't think anyone has since.

The race now requires GPS trackers on all the racers and you would not believe the bitchfit everyone threw over those. Mushers can either hop between checkpoints or camp on the trail and it may surprise you to learn that these are the kind of people who have secret camp spots in the woods that they don't want anyone to know about. So now, everyone has acquiesced to the tracker requirement but you must have an account on the race website if you want to see them.

The race has 2 paths that alternate even and odd years with different checkpoints but every year includes a section of race that crosses the sea ice, approximately 50 miles from Shaktoolik to Koyuk. so forget landmarks. point the sled north and hope you're going the right way.

the race is in honor of the 1925 Serum Run and the diphtheria outbreak, but the trail itself is the old freight route which is almost twice the length. also, it's a freight route for hauling freight which means the the racers are going at more or less lightspeed as compared to the intended use.

the most effective way to avoid frostbite on your face is a fur hood and duct tape on your cheeks and nose. Cold-related injuries are rare but far from unheard of. The average number of toes and fingertips among mushers is lower than that of the general population.

The finish line is a massive burled arch in the middle of main street in Nome. There is not a lot going on in Nome at any given time and this time of year is the exception. Every racer who finishes the race gets the same reception, which is everyone in town crowding into the finish chute to cheer them on and the city fire siren going off. The last racer in gets the Red Lantern Award which means that they finished dead last but didn't scratch.

the 2020 race had started and was fully underway when the pandemic lockdowns came into place. as far as social distancing goes, you really can't do much better than being isolated 100 miles into the middle of frozen nowhere but the checkpoints are itty bitty villages with no medical infrastructure and the finish was reportedly terrifying because instead of a crowd to cheer at the burled arch, it was just the siren going off in a ghost town.

there is no way I can tell this story that doesn't sound like I'm making it up as I go. The sign says no sniveling and they fucking mean it.

no really, click that link. here's the YouTube vid (non-graphic, after-the-fact interviews)

#from the far north #wolverine warbles #iditarod #dog mushing #alaska

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 7 months ago

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Talking Heads - Kosei Nenkin Kaikan, Tokyo, Japan, April 28, 1982

We just checked in with the B-52's around the time of Mesopotamia (which David Byrne produced and played on), so let's see what Talking Heads were up to back then, too. The band was in Japan, naturally. A bit of a transitional moment for TH — right in between the epochal Remain In Light tour and the Speaking In Tongues / Stop Making Sense era.

Even though SIT wasn't ready for prime time just yet, the Talking Heads universe was rapidly expanding, as the advertisement above tells us. David Byrne's Catherine Wheel collection was out; Jerry Harrison's solo LP The Red and the Black was out, too; and, of course, the Tom Tom Club was riding high on "The Genius of Love." At this point, Talking Heads must've seemed like an unstoppable engine of creativity and innovation — some kinda peak! Despite (or because of) this lofty summit they'd climbed together, they were all no doubt exhausted and sick of each other to some extent.

But this Tokyo audience tape shows no sign of weariness — it's a great time. The expanded band had changed slightly since the previous year; Adrian Belew had jumped ship to sail proggier seas with King Crimson and Bernie Worrell was missing for some reason, replaced ably by Chic's Raymond Jones. Nevertheless, it's all killer no filler, with a setlist that draws from the Heads' back catalog, as well as some more recent jams from The Catherine Wheel. We even get a Jerry spotlight with "Slink" from his record — kind of funny, though, you'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference between his vocals and Byrne's. And what about the Tom Tom Club??? It's not on this tape, but I believe they opened the show with their own set — you can check out what they were up to as a live act via this great video from later in the year at the Montreux Jazz Festival ... and then you can check out Talking Heads burning down the house, too.

#talking heads #jerry harrison #tom tom club

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stoppingo1k · 4 months ago

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operation veggie villain. herbert's summit lair was the very first room i made for cpj. everything except for the trees, rock, and some corn assets were drawn from scratch. i took special care to ensure this room was as accurate to the lair from the mission as possible, down to the exact placement and number of every corn cob and kernel. the ski villages are room edits i made, with the projector asset being stolen from the psa missions.

the psa hq rebuild phase 2 is an edit that required a good bit of drawing for the fixed screen structures and such. the deadline for this room was a single day because the team realized only last second they needed it iirc, so i really should've rushed the job, but i put so many little details in it because i kept being like, wait this would be so fun! i left the cracks in the wall where the desk initially broke through, patched up the broken wires with electrical tape, there's the closet half open to tease the epf of course, and i realize this was blocked by the ui in the end, but the crate in the corner holds various electronics, including parts of the popcorn bomb. lore-wise, in my head they were going to salvage the good parts of the machines. and of course we can't forget the little trashcan in the corner :] it holds the stuffing from the gift shop salon chair. i loved the idea that despite all of the popcorn and mess still around, they bothered to use the tiny trashcan

#club penguin #club penguin journey #stoppy.png #i dont think it was like this in og but the psa hq file i was given to work with #had over 2000 layers. like 2600 actually #not exaggerating in the slightest. for some reason every line and dot exported as separated layers...#not to mention every screen showing a different image means a lot of different assets #a nightmare to work with!! but my sappy secret agent loving heart means im so glad to have been able to

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kirschteinoir · 6 months ago

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[3] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 2.9k

[i went a bit cray cray (positive) with kita's desc but also... jealous!osamu hehe...]

chapter masterlist.

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀. 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨.

normally you had every other sunday off. despite your protests, osamu would insist that you deserved the break and that he was just fine managing whatever inventory needed sorting or floors that needed sweeping. however your sunday off happened to be the first of june, and the day of your rice delivery from the kita farm.

osamu had called your grandma’s landline late on saturday night, apologising for what he was about to ask you. he had other business to take care of tomorrow so he couldn’t be at the shop for the rice delivery - you had to go instead.

“‘m sorry y/n, i really am. y’know i wouldn’t ask if i had any other option,” he was uncharacteristically contrite and you could hear his pout over the phone. you bit back a giggle at the visual image and assured him that it was alright, you were more than happy to take the delivery on his behalf.

the way he breathed his thanks into the phone had your stomach fluttering, his accent stronger as he became more emotional.

“yer a lifesaver, i swear. what would i have done without you?”

so here you were outside onigiri miya, early on sunday morning. you cursed your past self when your alarm went off at a time no one should have to wake up at and you groaned, eventually sliding out of bed in a few clumsy movements. but with a clean OM uniform and some fresh air in your lungs, you were excitedly awaiting the arrival of the rice farmer.

you glance up and down the street, straining your ears for the sound of a diesel engine struggling up the slight incline that onigiri miya was at the apex of. not that you had to listen very hard, for there was hardly another soul alive at this time of day. you began pacing, over-checking your wristwatch whilst fighting the anxious feeling that had begun churning in your lower gut. the corner of the delivery sheet attached to the clipboard digging into your hip became mangled as you absentmindedly fidgeted. just as you debated calling up your boss, a pick-up truck appeared over the summit like a boon from the gods.

the red paint was patchy and flaking off in some places, which you politely ignored, and the whole vehicle looked like it was being held together by duct tape and a single can of WD-40. you try to spy the driver (or drivers) behind the wheel but with the sun in your eyes, you couldn’t do much more than squint stupidly as it cruises to a stop right outside the entrance. softly clearing your throat and smoothing down the front of your black t-shirt, you put on your best customer service smile.

“hello! you must be from kita farms! i’m y/n and-”

your voice peters out into silence as the driver (and there was just one, thank goodness) slinks out of his seat, walking around the front to greet you. he was already smiling, and you quickly noticed that he probably didn’t do so that often. it was small, barely friendly, but it was kind and you found yourself flustering. this guy wasn’t as tall as osamu but he was still fairly built, clearly comfortable in his life of physical labour. in fact, you could see the fruits of his work well-displayed by the thin white tank-top he adorned. it was practically stuck to his skin, chiselling out the curves of his abs, pecs and other muscles you couldn’t name from the marble that made up his body. your cheeks flush as you not-so-subtly check him out, your gaze honing in on the tanline that would reveal itself ephemerally every time he swayed his arms.

like osamu’s, his features were strong and hard-set. his eyes were wide but upturned, vaguely feline, and his hazel irises held you in sharp regard. if it hadn’t been for the smile, you would’ve thought he was about to chew you out for standing in the middle of the road like an idiot. his hair was an unusual colour - stark white, much like freshly cooked rice, with jet-black ends that were curled with sweat and you wondered what he had been doing so early in the day to be this sweaty already.

when he spoke, you couldn’t help but groan inwardly at how unfair it was for someone to both look and sound so attractive.

“mornin'. i’m kita shinsuke. you must be the new hire? osamu-kun’s told me all about ya’. nice to finally meet you.”

in one swift movement he removes one of his gloves using his teeth and extends his hand towards you. you shake it tentatively, staring at the fabric lodged between his lips. it's surprising how soft his skin is and how tidy he keeps his nails - odd for someone who’s hands are their entire livelihood.

since you weren’t expecting someone so attractive (and also similar to your age), your chirpiness from earlier was thrown for a loop and you felt deja vu from your initial meeting with osamu. either kita was used to this or he genuinely didn’t notice how you stared at him with a mixture of attraction, intimidation and surprise - nonetheless he was already unlocking the back of his truck.

“don’t worry, i can carry it in myself. usually i’d just dump it for osamu to deal with, since i know he’s got this freakish strength but ya look like ya might need a hand, hmm?”

you could hardly do more than squeak out your gratitude as you watch this hunky farmer haul bags of rice as if they weighed nothing. before your thoughts could run away with you, you jump into customer service mode again and offer him a drink and some breakfast.

“i’ve got a fresh batch of barley tea in the fridge if you’d like some, kita-san. and i know where osamu keeps his own secret stash of onigiri - i’m sure he wouldn't mind if a few were missing!”

you were looking at him so attentively. his eyes widened slightly before he averted his gaze, hiding his blush with a gloved hand.

“ah, sure. thank you kindly, y/n.”

you glowed as you prepared the food for your guest, stealing glances at him as he worked and beaming at him every time he would walk past you to get to the storage room, two bags of rice hoisted over his shoulder each time.

“that should be all. osamu is our best customer - i’ve never seen a business go through more of our rice!” he chuckles to himself, signing the delivery invoice before taking a gulp of the barley tea you’d poured out for him. he hums in appreciation and you laugh nervously in relief.

“so, how’s it been working for onigiri miya?” he asks, eyeing you as he bit into his first onigiri.

“well,” you begin, endeavouring to answer his question earnestly. “it wasn’t easy at first. it was probably almost as difficult as working for my degree back in tokyo. mentally, i mean. i have no idea how osamu has managed to run everything on his own until now,” you muse out loud, much to kita’s enjoyment. every few bites or so his eyes would glean the details of your face - the way your eyelashes flutter when you laugh, how the colour of your eyes changes as you move in and out of the sun, how you would wrinkle your nose when the heat became too much.

cute, he thought.

you take his silence as an opportunity to continue your rambling, rather enjoying his company.

“i can tell osamu does a lot of the work behind the scenes too. if he’s not working he’s probably crunching numbers at home,” you giggle, relishing in the small freedom of poking fun at your boss without him peering over your shoulder. kita chuckles too, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“i’ll tell ya now - yer right on the money. him and atsumu used to mess around a lot back in high school and osamu was only ever serious about food. like what to eat for his next meal, that kind of thing.” he pauses for a second, his eyes filling with fond memories you didn’t know about. “it’s nice to see him all grown up now, running his own shop at twenty three! and i’m glad he’s doin’ business with me.”

“you knew osamu in high school? what was he like?”

shinsuke opens his mouth to reply, wanting to satisfy the curious sparkle in your eye but the sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps interrupt your moment. you peek behind shinsuke’s shoulder to see none other than the topic of the conversation himself stretch towards the two of you.

“osamu-kun, nice to see ya,” the farmer greets him, swallowing down the last of his drink. he slides the empty glass and plate towards you with a shy smile. “i’ll get going then. got a couple more deliveries to make. i’ll see ya ‘round, y/n.”

osamu hardly glances at his old volleyball captain as he stalks into the kitchen without another word, leaving a trail of electricity in his wake, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up as you see kita out. the older rice farmer says nothing, choosing to stare at the swinging door to the kitchen, the only sign left of his presence.

“see ya, y/n,” he turns to you and bows politely. you reciprocate with a more nervous touch, watching him leave with a seedling of warmth blooming in your chest.

your giddy moment is quickly dampened by osamu’s attitude as he makes you hang around the shop to do things that honestly could be done tomorrow morning before opening. he eyes the plate that kita had eaten his onigiri from, gaze darting over the grains of rice stuck to the ceramic. he orders you, not rudely but not with his usual flippant edge, to clean everything up and then go look for umeboshi from the store room as he’s about to make a new batch to sell tomorrow.

you keep your grumbling to a minimum and follow his instructions, muttering to yourself about how much of an ass he was being and that kita was only being friendly.

osamu watches you sweep the dirty plate from the counter and wash it in the sink from the corner of his eyes, his hands on autopilot as they shape the boiled white rice. he turns his head imperceptibly in your direction as you saunter into the store room, hearing noise leave your lips and assuming (correctly) that it was about him.

seeing you and kita together instilled a foreign tightness in his chest, one that he did not like one bit. he’d quietly observed you both from the window before stalking in, his gaze repeatedly flickering to how you’d laughed around his former volleyball captain and conversed with him like you’d known each other forever. but osamu knew you first. way before kita.

it didn’t even occur to him that he was being childish as he suddenly dropped the onigiri he was working on and inhaled sharply. he slips off his plastic gloves and scrunches them into his fist with frightening intensity before marching into the storage room after you, his rational side quickly dwindling as he wondered what was wrong with him today.

it was comical, the way his shadow fell over you. you were slightly crouched, one arm stretching all the way to the back of the shelf to rescue the jar of plums that had miraculously gotten themselves lodged between the wall and the shelf. you were scolding it like it was a naughty child and if osamu’s head was in the right place he would have laughed at you for being so juvenile.

you fell silent and stopped squirming as osamu’s thunderous presence announced itself behind you. you hung your head slightly as you immediately assumed you were in trouble with your boss; perhaps he had heard you complaining about him earlier? his silence was starting to perturb you and you wasted no more of his precious time wrestling your arm free and standing amidst the onigiri ingredients, trying to look as small as possible. you couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid you’d combust on the spot if you did.

“is everything okay, osamu?” you finally ask, your voice sounding less assured than you’d wanted it to. osamu doesn’t speak and only continues to stare at you with those analytical slate-grey irises of his. they dart within their ivory prisons, his long lashes fluttering as he analyses your body language. his hands twitch at his sides, one of them still clenched in a fist around his gloves. he realises you’re looking up at him so obediently and with such concern for him and something within him stirs, your widened gaze eagerly awaiting his next instructions.

he steps closer slowly, his heartbeat lurching into his throat - what was happening to him? he saw how you sucked in a sharp breath, searching his face for an explanation for his actions. but osamu couldn’t give you one; instead, he swallowed thickly, his free hand shaking as he brought it to ghost over your cheek. it was barely touching your skin but he could feel the voltage emanating from you, pulling him ever closer. his eyes search for yours, waiting for you to call him a freak and for you to leave hyogo again.

to leave him again.

instead you simply stood in front of him, caged between the shelves and his body. his broad shoulders block any view behind you and the sandalwood smell of his cologne with undertones of the citrus detergent you both used to clean the kitchen lull you into a daze.

you open your mouth to speak but the words dissolve on your tongue as you match osamu’s stare. the second your gazes lock, you feel the wind being pushed out of your lungs: your six-foot-whatever hunk of a boss who looked uninterested on his better days, was gazing upon you like he didn’t deserve to be in your presence, unworthy of your divine attention. his eyebrow was furrowed and you could almost hear him pleading with you, begging you to bring the torture of his heart to an end. if you didn’t know him any better, you’d have thought he was about to start crying as he leaned down towards you, his own mouth slightly ajar.

he was looking at you like you were a divine statue, gracing his makeshift temple that he had constructed in a wild attempt to bring your good fortune back home to him. he dared not touch you, afraid to chip or blemish your skin as if it was made of ceramic, and the hand by your cheek was shaking with the effort of restraint. the rice bags at your feet became his humble offering to you: he was nothing more than a lowly peasant with his hands clasped in prayer pleading for you to bring him miracle after miracle until he can worship you no longer. you were his deity and his deity alone, and he would wreak havoc on those who dare taint the goodness you’ve bestowed upon him.

his face is inches away from yours now and you can tell that his eyes are glossed over like he’s no longer in control of his own actions. you’re torn between your morals: either you succumb to his stupidly good-looks and kind heart and irrevocably change your relationship dynamic, or you protect what you’ve built for the past two months and snap him out of it. your own selfishness surprises you as you find yourself leaning towards the former option, but before you can even speak again, osamu seems to wake up.

you can almost feel his laboured breathing on your lips as he stiffens in front of you. he blinks a couple of times and you suppose he’s reorienting himself. his back straightens and his hand falls back to his side, the air by your cheek noticeably colder in his absence.

“y/n..i-” the way he’s looking at you as if he’s hurt you, like he regrets what happened just now, causes a pang in your chest so hard you visibly wince. he must’ve misinterpreted your reaction though as he draws back from you with the practised speed of an athlete, his face returned to its usual deadpan. “...sorry. ‘m so sorry. i shouldn't have-”

once more he’s gone, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your own heart as you attempt to process what had just happened. the air in the storeroom is stifling and you clumsily switch the light off and slam the door. for a while you stumble around onigiri miya, looking for osamu, but he’s not in the kitchen (having abandoned his current batch of onigiri), nor is he fussing about the storefront. you sigh in exasperation, bringing a hand to massage your temple, and decide to call it a day, leaving your apron neatly folded on one of the tables ready for tomorrow, leaving without a second look back.

osamu watches you trudge down the hill from the shadows of the side alley, his lip tucked between his teeth and his fists clenched at his side.

about me.

ao3 link.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq fanfic #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu fluff #osamu x reader

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chestcongestion · 8 months ago

Text

Losing Your Grippe- Ch.1: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Chapter one of the Ha/zbin Flu Longfic here we go! I'm having so much fun already with this one and I'm excited to see where we go from here. I hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 4,432

Content Warnings: Contagion, Really Really sad Cha/rlie (not triggering, but I know it broke my heart to write sometimes, it's hard seeing her sad)

“Eh’ptschew!”

Charlie pinched her nose using her non-dominant hand and rubbed at the sensitive skin with her fingers, shuddering under the harsh air conditioning of the elite boutique where she was being fitted for a dress by two succubi- a pair of twins named Isla and Irma.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, was I holding the tape measure too tight?” Isla asked, sheepishly backing away and examining Charlie’s skin.

“No, no it’s okay!” Charlie replied with a chuckle, “My nose was just itchy… snff! Can I have a tissue?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Irma- who had a measuring tape around Charlie’s thigh- replied, snapping her fingers and whistling for a tiny female imp who was standing against the wall, “Clover! Go get the box of tissues from my office!”

Clover nodded, scurrying into the back room and coming out with a freshly-opened box of lotion-soft facial tissues, hopping onto a step stool and presenting Charlie with the box, her head held down to avoid meeting the princess’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Charlie said, plucking a tissue out of the box and wiping the underside of her nostrils before attempting to blow her nose. The attempt was in vain, and after a short burst of moisture Charlie’s sinuses yielded nothing.

“E-Eih��KtSchhew! ‘KzZsHEW!” Charlie sneezed, her nose trickling slightly as she plucked three more tissues from the box in Clover’s hands, trying and failing once again to blow her nose.

“Please try and hold still, Your Highness, I’m almost done with your measurements,” Isla pleaded, measuring Charlie’s hips with the tape measure before measuring her inseam.

“sNFF! Sorry,” Charlie giggled, sheepishly, dabbing at her nostrils while trying to keep still, “Thank you for accepting my order on such short notice, I promise I’ll pay enough to make it more than worth your while.”

“Oh of course, Your Highness, it means the world to us that Hell’s heir apparent chose our little boutique to make her first ever overlord summit dress!” Isla said cheerfully.

“I wanted to be sure I got something that looked nice, this is my first time getting invited to the overlord summit, usually my dad just sends the sovereign and lesser overlords one of his advisors in his place,” Charlie explained, “This is going to be such a great advertising opportunity for the hotel!”

“Well, we’ll make sure that you look absolutely stunning on the big day,”

“Thank you so much!” Charlie said, her voice straining slightly, words grating against a suddenly-scratchy throat in a way that made her cough.

Stepping down from the measuring platform and getting dressed, Charlie scrolled through her phone while the boutique staff charged her bank card for the cost of the dress.

“Hey… I just remembered, the seamstress who I made the appointment with, the taller succubus with the star-shaped tail… is she on vacation? I wanted to speak with her about where I could buy a pair of shoes to match my dress… E-Eiih’kShhuu! E-Ehh…Eihh’ksSs-CHEW!” Charlie asked, still holding the tissues underneath her slightly-runny nose before moving a piece of her hair out of her face.

“Oh, Zurie? She’s been out for a couple of days, she has the flu,” Irma said, nervously fiddling with the buttons on her shirt.

Charlie wilted a bit, frowning, “Aww, that’s terrible, I hope she feels better.”

“We hope so too, the flu really seems to be going around,” Isla replied solemnly, “Hope you have a lovely day, Your Highness, your dress should be ready by tomorrow morning!”

“Thank you, I’ll be back to pick it up,” Charlie said, finger-combing her hair and leaving the boutique, muffling an irritated cough with her fist as she climbed into the backseat of her car.

“Where to now, Your Highness?” the driver asked.

“Uhm-” Charlie paused, still overcome by her cough, letting a few more loose before the scratchy sensation in her throat settled down, “- Sorry. I need to go to the shoe store across the street from the Richest Cup, please!”

“Understood, we should be there in fifteen minutes,” the driver replied, turning the key in the ignition and pulling away from the curb.

Later that afternoon, back at the hotel, Husk was taking inventory of the liquor behind the bar counter, writing down the bottles and fullness quantities on a clipboard as he went through the roster. While he was eyeballing the amount of liquor in a bottle of blue curacao, the front doors to the hotel swung open.

Razzle rushed through the lobby holding an array of shopping bags, scurrying to carry them upstairs so they could be put away in Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom. Trailing slowly behind him, visibly overwhelmed, was Charlie, who quickly flopped into a stool at the bar, planting her face against the counter.

“Rough day?” Husk asked, writing down the amount in the bottle of blue curacao on his inventory sheet.

“Mmphhh,” Charlie muttered, her shoulders vibrating slightly as she shivered, turning her head so that her voice wasn’t muffled by the countertop, “I have so much to do to get ready for this event.”

“You’re workin’ yourself up over the overlord summit?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow, “Pfft, it ain’t even worth the trouble. Then again, ‘suppose I’ve never had to go to a formal event as a lady, let alone one who gives a shit about lookin’ nice.”

“I’m so nervous, I’m getting my dress made and I looked everywhere for a pair of shoes to match my dress, and I found three pairs but I don’t know which one I’m going to go with because they’re all different heights and they have different decorations and they’re all going to be so uncomfortable on my feet and-” Charlie’s rambling was interrupted by an aggressive hacking cough that she had to quickly cover with her forearm.

Husk winced, scooping up some ice into a pint glass and pouring Charlie a glass of water, sliding it over to her on a coaster.

“Thanks,” Charlie choked out, guzzling down half of the glass before turning away to cough again, “My throat’s been so scratchy, it’s killing me.”

Husk frowned, going back to examining the bottles of liquor, “Maybe your body’s shuttin’ down because of how much you’re stressin’ over the summit,” he remarked casually, writing out the amount of cointreau behind the bar counter onto his sheet.

Charlie polished off the rest of her glass of water, shuddering a bit as she tried to compose herself, “It’s just so hard… I want this to be perfect, I have to examine all of my jewelry and figure out which pieces would go with my dress and whether or not they’d also match my shoes, and I still want them to complement what Vaggie’s gonna wear and I still have to figure out which hairstyle I’m gonna choose and whether that’s gonna go good with my outfit and my shoes and.. And…-” Charlie’s stressed rambling began to falter as tears welled in her eyes.

Husk stopped working on taking inventory and focused instead on Charlie as she tugged at her blonde locks, her face suddenly coated in a thin sheen of sweat and bags forming under her eyes.

“I still have to- khff!- have to decide whether or not I’m- Khff! Khff khff!- carrying a purse or not and-” Charlie paused, taking a wheezy inhale and turning away from Husk to release another hacking cough, and another, and another, barely having time to stop and take shallow inhales as her cheeks flushed a pinkish-red and sweat trickled down her face, dripping from her chin and nose to stain the neckline of her suit jacket.

Husk walked around to the other side of the bar, resting a hand on Charlie’s back and feeling her lungs spasming in her chest with each unproductive and throat-scraping cough, “That cough sounds rough… you alright?” Husk asked, gently patting Charlie on the back in the hopes that it would help.

Charlie’s coughing fit stopped for a moment and she gasped, finally able to fully catch her breath, wiping at her watery eyes and looking at Husk with a pitiful, exhausted expression on her face, “H-husk?” she whimpered, shivering and leaning into his touch, “I don’t feel well.”

“I figured,” Husk replied, feeling Charlie’s cheeks with the back of his hand before pressing his heart-shaped palm against her forehead, “Damn… you’re burnin’ up. Here, I’ll help you get to bed.”

Husk gently grabbed hold of Charlie’s wrists and pulled her onto her feet, not noticing Charlie’s wobbly legs and weak, staggering stance until she collapsed to her knees once he let go of her. “Charlie!” he exclaimed, panicked as he leaned down to the floor and gathered Charlie in his arms, “I’m sorry, I thought you could stand, did you hurt anything?”

Charlie shook her head weakly, coughing into her fist before wrapping her arms around Husk’s neck, “My hips hurt… and my thighs hurt, but they were hurting before I fell down,” she mumbled, “I don’t wanna go to bed, I just need to lie down… I just… just… E-Eihh’PtSsHEW!”

Husk cradled Charlie in his arms, rubbing her back as she coughed, before setting her down on the softest sofa in the parlor and watching as she struggled to settle into a reclined position, wincing with every movement as though she was in pain.

“I’m cold,” Charlie said, her voice wavering as she wiped away tears, biting her lip when her febrile shivering only aggravated the aches and pains in her body.

Husk hurried into the hallway, grabbing a plush blanket from the linen closet and returning to the living room to spread the blanket out over Charlie’s shivering form, “That any better?” he asked, his stomach twisting in knots at Charlie’s discomfort.

Charlie took in a sharp breath, letting out another aggressive cough, “A little, I’m still f-freezing,” she mumbled, her teeth chattering as she attempted to relax under the blanket, her eyelids drooping, “My head hurts.”

Husk panicked, fiddling with one of his ears as he wandered back over to the bar and soaked one of his clean dish towels in cool water, wringing it out and returning to the sofa to place it over Charlie’s eyes. For a moment, out of concern and a deep desire to feel somewhat helpful, Husk gently brushed the back of his hand against Charlie’s face, a bit of relief blooming inside of him when she sighed out of comfort.

“Better?”

“M-mhmm… E-eihh’kSShuu! Eih’KsSshew!”

“Alright, you try and get some rest, I’ll make sure you’re alright,” Husk said, gently patting Charlie’s back as she began to cough again, her eyes watering and her cheeks growing flushed again as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Vaggie…” Charlie whimpered, blinking away her tears and clutching her abdomen, “KHFFF- Khff!”

Husk’s heart swelled in his chest, and he crawled onto the sofa, gently moving Charlie until her rocket-hot and shivering body was resting against him as she sat in his lap, coughing violently over his shoulder.

“Vaggie’s still out shoppin’, she’ll be home soon, I promise,” Husk whispered, patting Charlie’s back, “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“My… chest hurts,” Charlie said, her voice growing hoarse from her constant coughing as her nose began to trickle, the skin on her nose bridge flushing pink, “I can’t… can’t be sick, have to go to the- KHHHFF!- overlord summit… already bought my dress.”

Husk sighed, gently cradling Charlie’s back as she phased in and out of consciousness, occasionally shooting awake to cough violently for a few minutes before dozing off again, still clinging to Husk like a feverish koala.

Three hours later, Vaggie returned from her shopping trip with Alastor, and Angel returned from his shift at the porn studio at the same time. The three were flanked by Niffty, who had accompanied Vaggie and Alastor on their excursion but was hopped up on sugar from chugging slushies out of boredom while waiting for Alastor to pick out a new bowtie.

“Fuckin’ finally, you’re back,” Husk groaned, still sitting on the sofa and bouncing a barely-conscious Charlie on his knee as she coughed weakly over his shoulder.

“Yeah, took longer than I thought, I wanted to pick a dress that would match Charlie’s but I ended up just getting a couple in each color, I tried to text her to ask what dress she’d picked but she never… texted me back,” Vaggie said, her voice trailing off as she noticed her shivering girlfriend still clinging desperately to Husk, her suit jacket draped over the back of the sofa and her dress shirt soaked so heavily with sweat that her bra was visible through the sheer wet fabric, “What happened?”

“She came back from shoppin’ and faded fast, she hasn’t stopped coughing since I got her on the sofa,” Husk explained, patting Charlie’s back as another violent series of hacking coughs ripped through her chest and scraped her raw throat. Briefly, Husk pressed the back of his hand against Charlie’s neck, frowning at the searing heat of her skin.

“How long have you been sitting here with her?” Vaggie asked, raising an eyebrow as Alastor watched in anxious silence from several paces away.

“Few hours,” Husk replied, “She wouldn’t let go of me and she can’t stand up without fallin’ down.”

Vaggie chewed on her bottom lip, her stomach twisting a bit with worry as she reached out to feel Charlie’s forehead, her cool fingers sending such a wave of relief across Charlie’s hot and sensitive skin that tears of joy trickled from her eyes, “Holy shit…” she said in a hushed voice.

“Yeah,” Husk said before bracing himself to stand while still keeping a firm grip on Charlie, rising to his feet while Charlie still weakly clung to him in spite of their noticeable height difference, “This ain’t just a cold… somethin’s wrong, I think we should take her to the hospital.”

Charlie whimpered, pushing away from Husk, forcing him to hold tighter onto her to keep her from crashing and slamming her head against the hard floor, “Noo… no hospital… ‘m not sick- K H FFf- khff-khfff!- mkay, I’m a little sick… but I-I’m okay… KHHFFF-KHFF-KHFF! KOFF-Khhff-khff!- I’m fine,” she pleaded, sweat still running down her flushed cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath, her voice hoarse and her nose slightly runny.

“Sweetheart, you look awful, I just want to be able to take care of you and make you feel comfortable, and we might not be able to do that without a doctor’s help,” Vaggie said, brushing her manicured fingers against Charlie’s face and smiling when Charlie managed a small, weak smile in return, “Don’t you want to feel better?”

“Mmhm,” Charlie nodded.

“Okay, it won’t take too long, we’ll be back before you know it, mkay?” Vaggie explained, smiling when Charlie gave her another weak nod, “Alright, c’mon Husk, let’s go to the urgent care center.”

“Right behind you,” Husk said, following Vaggie back out to the car with Charlie still in his arms, leaving Angel, Alastor, and Niffty to their own devices.

“Awww, poor Charlie,” Angel crooned, combing out his fluffy pompadour with his fingers, “I oughtta make myself useful while they’re gone, c’mon Niff, let’s go make sure she’s got somethin’ to eat when she gets back.”

“Okay!” Niffty cheered, speeding past Angel to the hotel’s kitchen, still riding on a bit of a sugar high.

“You comin’ Alastor?” Angel asked, resting a hand on his hip as he scrolled through his phone with another hand for a notes app folder filled with recipes he saved.

Alastor shook his head, sticking out his tongue and shuddering as he pictured the parlor and lobby to be crawling with microbes, practically feeling them on his skin, on his clothes, in his hair, “No, I’m a bit preoccupied… I’m going to go have a bath and then have a few refreshing shots of disinfectant,” he grumbled, snapping his fingers and vanishing into his own shadow.

Angel shrugged, “What a wimp,” he said with a teasing smile until he heard pans clattering to the ground in the kitchen, “Niffty, don’t break anythin’, I’m comin’!”

An hour later, Angel and Niffty were looking at silly videos on Angel’s phone after making a large pot of tomato soup that was simmering quietly on the stove, when they heard the sound of Charlie’s coughing as she, Vaggie, and Husk entered the lobby.

“Welcome back, that was quick,” Angel said, leaning against a wall as Niffty ran in a tight circuit around his feet, still a bit hyperactive.

“Urgent care was packed, but we got seen pretty quickly once they realized who we brought with us,” Vaggie explained, holding Charlie upright even as her legs shook independent from her febrile shivering.

“Nice, so what’d they say was wrong wit’ Goldilocks?” Angel asked, reaching out to help Charlie stand as she struggled to stay on her feet.

“They did a swab test and found out she has the flu,” Vaggie said, “According to the doctor we spoke to it’s been going around like crazy.”

“e-EIih’KTtSsSHEW!” Charlie sneezed, rubbing her nose with the heel of her palm, “I’m tired…”

“I know, I know, let’s get you a cool shower so you can get nice and comfortable in bed, Hmm?” Vaggie offered.

“Okay,” Charlie sighed, leaning against Vaggie and grimacing in pain before turning to cough into her fist, “I’m sorry… it’s so hot… everything hurts.”

“I know, Babe, I’m so sorry you’re sick,” Vaggie said, gently patting Charlie’s back.

“I’ll carry ‘er upstairs for ya,” Angel said, scooping Charlie into his arms and glancing at her with concern when he felt the overwhelming amount of heat radiating off of her feverish body. Pushing that sensation aside, Angel held onto Charlie and slowly climbed up the steps toward Charlie and Vaggie’s shared bedroom, Charlie occasionally taking a shaky inhale and coughing into Angel’s shoulder while clinging to him with her arms and legs.

“You took good care of her while everybody was gone,” Niffty said almost teasingly, standing on Husk’s shoulder, “That was nice.”

“What? I can’t be nice?” Husk scoffed, tossing Niffty to the floor as though she were a clingy kitten, watching as she climbed him again effortlessly and accepted defeat, letting her use him as a perch.

“You can… it’s just rare that you’re this nice to anyone… even to Angel,” Niffty observed, “But that’s good, you’re a good kitty.”

Husk rolled his eyes, “I’ll wear it like a badge of honor, thank you Niffty,” he said, poking her before setting her back down on the floor, “I gotta finish inventory on the bar and I’m sure there’s cobwebs somewhere inside the roof or the storage attic that you can clean up until the sugar wears off.”

“O o oo! You’re right, that sounds like fun! Bye bye Husk!” Niffty giggled, sprinting up the stairs and vanishing on her way to crawl into the hotel’s makeshift-attic storage space, leaving Husk at the bar with his bottles.

Relishing in the quiet, Husk scanned his inventory sheet and decided to pick up where he left off, “Okay… I finished cointreau, onto the next one,” he muttered to himself.

Upstairs, in Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom, Charlie had gotten out of her cool bath and was wearing a pair of lightweight cotton pajamas. Exhausted, Charlie climbed into bed and curled up under the covers, still deeply frustrated that she’d managed to fall ill so close to such an important event.

“You comfortable?” Vaggie asked, pulling a thermometer out of the drawer in her nightstand and turning it on.

“I guess,” Charlie sighed, opening her mouth and letting Vaggie slide the thermometer under her tongue, suppressing the urge to cough until the thermometer beeped, “What’s it say? K HFF- koff-koff!”

Vaggie squinted briefly at the viewing window on the thermometer, “104,” she said, cupping Charlie’s face with one of her hands.

Charlie sniffled, a pitiful frown on her face as tears ran from her eyes and trickled down her fever-rouged cheeks.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I’m so mad at myself for getting sick- snFF!- I feel hot and everything hurts and I’m so tired and I’m going to miss the summit and it was so important that I got to go this time and the overlords are gonna be mad at me and they aren’t going to invite me again and I paid so much for that stupid dress and now I’m not gonna get to wear it and-” Charlie rambled fretfully as tears continued to fall, hiccuping sobs interrupting her as she struggled to keep it together, “This is the worst and there’s nothing I can do about it and nothing can make it better!”

Vaggie leaned forward, embracing Charlie in a tight hug as Charlie sobbed violently, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sure the overlords will understand and you’ll be able to go to the next summit… and we can go on a date when you’re better so you can wear your dress!” she said, rubbing Charlie’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“KHFF-Koff! I don’t wanna wear my dress- SnFF!- I-I wanted to wear a pantsuit but the ladies at the boutique said a dress would look better,” Charlie sobbed.

“Okay… well, I’ll call the boutique and tell them to make a pantsuit instead!” Vaggie said cheerfully, her heart aching desperately at seeing Charlie in such turmoil, “Does that help?”

Charlie sniffled, wiping her eyes with a tissue, “I-snFF! Snff!- I guess… I’m sorry Vaggie, I really don’t feel good,” she said, her voice still hoarse and weepy as she tossed the tear-soaked tissue into the trash.

“I know, Honey, I know… you’re really sick, I completely understand,” Vaggie said with a comforting smile, “What’s one thing I can do to make you feel better before you take a nap?”

Charlie coughed violently into her forearm, struggling to catch her breath afterward as she rubbed her chest with a splayed hand, “Uhm… E-eihh-KtSshheww! Could I have a glass of apple juice? I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast but the thought of food makes me queasy.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back,” Vaggie said, giving Charlie a thumbs up and hurrying out of their bedroom and down the stairs, pouring a glass of apple juice into a large plastic cup filled halfway with ice cubes before turning to head back upstairs. On her way toward the staircase, Vaggie was interrupted by Husk, who had gotten to the letter T on his inventory list.

“She gonna be alright?” Husk asked, his tone slightly curious as he tapped his lengthy claws against bottles of tequila, counting them in his head.

“I think so… I’m not too worried about anything happening to her, if an explosion can’t kill her I don’t think the flu’s got a chance… but it’s still heartbreaking to see her so miserable,” Vaggie said solemnly, “She’s really upset that she’s going to miss the summit and I’m trying to calm her down.”

“She’ll be fine, there’ll be others… she isn’t missin’ much,” Husk scoffed, turning to shoot Vaggie an amused smile, “Best of luck, lemme know if there’s anything I can do to help while you’re takin’ care of her.”

“Will do,” Vaggie replied, rolling her eyes playfully before saluting Husk and walking back up the stairs with the large glass of apple juice in hand.

Alone again with his bottles, Husk began writing down the amount of tequila bottles behind the bar on his inventory sheet when he felt a looming presence around him and scoffed, completely unfazed and unamused with the perpetrator’s antics.

“Alastor, if you’re gonna skulk in the shadows like a dick, I’m not gonna humor you, either get up or fuck off,” Husk grumbled, looking over to the left of the bar as Alastor appeared out of the shadows, dusting himself off.

“Euch, no amount of bathing managed to get me clean enough,” Alastor gagged, sticking out his tongue, “Charlie is a lovely young lady, very kind, but also the thought of her germs being on me makes my skin crawl.”

“Oh please, you weren’t even near her, if anyone should be worried about gettin’ sick it’s me, and you don’t see me freakin’ out now do you?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms, smirking when Alastor gave him nothing but a flustered mess of indignant grumbling in response, “Mmhm, exactly.”

“I’m half inclined to avoid you for the foreseeable future if that’s the case,” Alastor said, taking a couple of steps away from Husk and wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Catching this is absolutely not in my plans for the upcoming week… or ever.”

“You don’t gotta worry about me, I’m fine,” Husk said, looking at Alastor with an unbothered look in his eyes and a playful smirk, “Nobody else is sick, not even close, you’re just a fuckin’ germaphobe.”

“Indeed I am, and I wear it with pride,” Alastor said, turning his nose up in the air, indignant that Husk was mocking him for his sense of caution.

“Well, can you wear it with pride someplace else? I’m busy,” Husk said, going back to counting bottles, his heart-shaped nose twitching slightly as he focused.

“Hmph! If you insist… I’ll be back,” Alastor sighed, retreating into his own shadow and vanishing to go back to whatever he was doing, leaving Husk alone behind the bar with nothing but his own breathing and the quiet ambience of the evening to keep him company.

For a moment, Husk pondered Alastor’s overblown concerns, realizing that for him the concerns were much more realistic, he spent the better part of three to four hours neck-deep in Charlie’s germs… and the flu was known for being particularly infectious…

“Nahhh, I’m fine, Alastor’s got the immune system of a wet sock in a wind tunnel, I’ll be fine,” Husk said in a futile attempt to reassure himself, “It was only a few hours, it takes longer than that to catch it from somebody… yeah.”

Husk paused, going back to examining his inventory sheet in silence when a violent tingling sensation from an unknown irritant radiated through his nose, causing his adorable heart-shaped button to twitch and wiggle. His nose grew itchier and itchier and itchier until-

“HRrr’SsCHOO! H-hRrr’SSCHUHH!”

Husk gave a damp sniffle, wiping at his nostrils with the back of his hand. Slightly nervous, Husk swallowed, choosing to ignore the fact that he felt a faint tickle in the back of his throat.

“I’m fine… I’m fine,” Husk insisted, chasing his willfully ignorant affirmations with a swig of whiskey.

#ha/zb/in ho/tel #snz #illness kink #gingey.rtf

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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

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Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: All it took was one phone call and one visit from Ada to destroy the paradise Arthur had spent one full year building. No matter what he does, his past crimes always seem to catch up with him. Now that you are in danger, he decides to come back to Birmingham and handle the Changretta problem without you.

Words: 5,3K

TW: Angst, canonical description of violence, smut, foreplay, masturbation, self-harm, from the end of this chapter the story will take a darker turn. You've been warned.

Notes:

✞ Based off EP1 S4 of Peaky Blinders but contains many changes and variations for the sake of this series' plot.

✞ Each act features two chapters with smut in it, and they all serve the story's purpose. No more.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT CHAPTER

When Ada’s piercing eyes finally caught sight of the house’s roof through the trees’ thick foliage, she sighed relieved. While the landscape was breathtaking, the walk from her car to the front door had been tedious despite the short distance. In fact, the only way to access the house was to walk a sloped dirt road leading the visitors up to the hill’s summit — which was an almost impossible task to do when wearing classy high heels as was Ada’s case. Arthur did not lie when he said they were living far from the city. The young Shelby sister quickly wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and knocked at the door. She was welcomed by the sight of Arthur, whose magnificent steel blue eyes lit up when he saw his sister, delighted to see her. But far from a courtesy visit, the words that left her mouth broke their siblings' reunion. Like red-hot blades, they slashed Arthur’s hopes of straying away from his gangster life.

All the quietness and peace he had built throughout the year, rendering his anger outbursts less frequent, shattered like a glass smashed on concrete under the power of one sole visit from Ada and her bitter statement: the family was in danger.

No.

You were in danger.

And it was all his fault.

Something had changed in Arthur when he came back from his little talk with Ada. He had barely stepped into the house when you noticed how all the muscles of his body were tensed and how his facial features had turned into a colder expression.

“Arthur.” It has been the third time you called him, but each previous attempt had been left without any reply or reaction. Slumped on the sofa, the oldest Shelby brother was staring at an invisible spot on the wall facing him, his eyes blank and his fingers nervously taping on the left armrest. At first, you thought he just needed a bit of time with himself to swallow the visible bad news he had received from his sister, but two days had passed and now his behavior was starting to worry you.

“Arthur Shelby Jr.” You called with stricter tone this time.

All of sudden, your voice cleared the black fog of his mind and brought him back to reality. Arthur blinked several times as if he could shoo his messy thoughts away by batting his eyelashes, and finally raised his piercing blue eyes toward your graceful frame, that was standing in front of him with its arms crossed. At the serious expression on your doll face, he nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, his gaze not shifting from you one sole second. God, how gorgeous you were in your silk nightgown, as white as your hair and adorned with complex laces. That was the first thought that had crossed his mind when his gaze fell on you. In truth, he would have probably pinned you to the wall and made your legs shake until you could not walk straight anymore if he hadn’t been plagued by the dreadful news Ada brought upon your harmonious life “Eh, I know…” He started, slightly raising his almost empty whiskey glass towards you, “I shouldn’t be drinking.” He admitted, before lowering his eyes to look at his own reflection in the alcohol. With one small movement from the wrist, he made the amber liquid softly spin in the glass. Arthur was still traumatized by Linda’s constant snarky remarks and humiliations each time he was indulging in whisky, that was why he had felt the need to justify himself now that you saw him drink alone.

“You don’t need my permission to drink, Cheri.” You replied with a soft voice, as soft as a feather’s caress on his poor aching soul. You were definitely not like his former wife: he could do whatever he wanted as long as it wasn’t taking drugs or cheating. That had always been the tacit deal between both of you when things got serious — and to be honest, you had feared the first temptation far greater than the second until you realized that Arthur’s new favorite drug was you.

Your crystal irises had been observing the slightest trait of his face with slightly furrowed brows for one solid minute when you finally let out a little sigh and slid one long ivory strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m just worried. You haven’t eaten anything nor slept for two days straight.” Worst, he had been hugging you tight, burying his face in your breasts and trembling like a leaf because of panic attacks for the last two nights.

“Worried? Eh, no need to be worried, love. Cm’here.” He replied with a little smile, moving one of his long leg to invite you to have a sit on him.

Arthur did try his best not to make you feel anxious but the truth was he was literally unable to hide something from his beloved wife even if he had wished to shield you from it. He had been mulling the news over for days and nights, and it was starting to eat him alive.

You walked to him without further ado, your hips graciously swinging to the rhythm of your steps, and finally sat on his lap. Once you straddled him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently rested your forehead against his as you usually did. Arthur let out a sigh of relief as your bodies found each other again, his hands grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. He was often a bit blunt, but how much you loved his possessive and suffocating way of touching was indescribable, “Ye didn’t know how much I needed it, eh.” Arthur’s husky voice mumbled, referring to his obsessive and desperate need to constantly have physical contact with you, “How much I needed your touch.” His steel-blue irises dived into yours, losing themselves in the vastness of the frozen ocean that constituted your eyes. He could have stayed like this for eternity, hypnotized by your beauty and lulled by the oh-so-tender way you had slipped your fingers in his hair to gently scratch the shaven back of his head.

“There. I finally see a smile!” You faintly teased him, “Not that I dislike that adorable grumpy face of yours.”

Nothing much had changed since your wedding day, except for your family name and the regular discussions about trying for a baby, all nestled in each other’s arms in your bed with Kaiser sleeping near, in front of the fireplace. In truth, it has been a miracle you were not already pregnant considering Arthur’s stamina and unquenchable desire. The thing was you never left the honeymoon stage despite living together. Against all odds, Arthur Shelby was a sweet and caring husband. He never missed an opportunity to bring you gifts, whether expensive clothes, jewels, or just little flowers he picked on his way back home because it was pretty and made you think about you. Moreover, he had this ability to always manage to find awe in your daily routine, the last example of it being him spending hours observing you and discreetly drawing your frame in his sketchbook because he had spotted you swimming naked in the nearby lake, and was star-stricken by such a divine vision. He had felt like an incredibly lucky Greek artist catching sight of the most stunning nymph the Gods had ever created. Little you knew, his sketchbook was filled with portraits and doodles of you he was too ashamed of to show you. Not that he wanted to keep them for himself, but Arthur always ended up frustrated not being able to properly translate your mesmerizing and ethereal beauty on paper.

Besides your idyllic and peaceful domestic life far from gangster’s troubles, Arthur had also opened a small garage and fixed cars for a living, even if his past activities with the Peaky Blinders gave him enough money to live comfortably without working. But Arthur was surprisingly handy when his patience did not fail him, and he genuinely loved to fix cars — what had been his surprise when you reacted with joy and kissed him tenderly the day he suggested the idea, for Linda never allowed him to do so.

Regarding your own occupation, you had simply followed your mother’s path and worked as both a herbalist and healer — the second occupation being known among people only through word of mouth. That was what your life looked like prior to Ada’s unexpected visit two days ago. Yet, when she left, Arthur’s eyes had turned into a darker shade, the same one he had when he was in Birmingham dirtying his hands on Tommy’s orders.

“Arthur, love. You really need to tell me what’s the matter with your sister…” You gently asked, your fingers still massaging his scalp and your juicy lips sprinkling honey pecks on the corner of his mouth from which the whisky bitterness could be tasted. But despite all your tenderness, your husband remained closed to the idea of sharing his concerns with you.

“It’s… A bit difficult to explain,” He mumbled, shutting his eyes tight, “I don’t want ye to panic or something. I can handle it and…”

“Please.” You cut him off, tightening your arms around him to pull him in a deeper hug. All his body finally relaxed a little bit when your fragile and frozen being collapsed with his, your breasts flattened against his chest and your hips firmly embracing his, “When we’ve met you told me that, from now, it was us against the rest of the world. Even if it was raining and the wind was blowing. You don’t have to face it all alone Arthur, no matter how awful or frightening it is. Let me fight it with you.” You pleaded, your lips grazing his with utter desire and genuine love.

“But I don’t want ye to be in danger.” Arthur finally admitted, reopening his gorgeous eyes to look at you. How much he hated not to share information with you, but Tommy told him it would be better if you ignored everything. Yet, the sensation of your mouth brushing his without kissing it soon stirred a bit of frustration in him. It had been enough to make him flip. With a grunt, he caught your lower lip between his teeth and gently sunk them into your soft flesh, to which you replied with a small surprised moan. Now that he got all your attention, he proceeded to kiss you almost furiously, his worries, dawning anger and blazing desire mixing together. His movements became blunter all of sudden, “I’ll fookin’ kill myself if something bad would happen to ye, eh,” He growled a bit louder against your mouth, his husky voice highlighted by an aggressive tone you hadn’t heard in one full year, “But I’ll destroy ‘em first, eh. These fookin’ wops won’t lay their fingers on ye. They won’t.” He repeated, his venomous anger wakening up slowly and coursing through his rusted veins. A little surprised whimper escaped from your mouth as Arthur’s tongue forced its way between your lips a bit too eagerly.

“Arthur —“

“Fookin’ bastards, how dare they eh?!” The gravel in his voice boomed louder, underlined with a palpable rage now. As he pestered, his mind spinning in a whirlpool of negativity, Arthur grabbed your wrist and led your hand between his legs, pressing it on his half-hardened shaft, for all his brutal emotions more than often led to sex when you were around. It was his, as well as your, way to release tension, “How dare they threaten me eh?” The tall gangster started to breathe loudly through his nose as his rage was increasing. All he needed was the smallest sparkle for him to explode. While he kept your wrist in one hand, his other one ran up your thighs in a rough caress to lift your nightgown eagerly, “Shift these panties, woman.” He said a bit more aggressively than intended, maddened by the overwhelming urge to feel your wet slit all around him. Growling, Arthur’s mouth worked its way down your neck to leave small red marks on your divine ivory skin.

“Arthur, no.” You breathed as you bite down a moan, doing your best to sound strict. As good as it felt, you did not want to give in now: getting distracted by rough sex was out of question, what you wanted was the truth first.

Arthur, no. As soon as your words left your tantalizing lips, they echoed in his head and were enough to snatch him from his violent thoughts. The tall gangster blinked and raised his slightly confused gaze to you, shocked by your vivid refusal. After all, you would usually let him ruin you whenever he needed it so why would you refuse? “You’re hurting me.” You reiterated with a sweeter tone now that you got his attention.

“Oh shit!” He released your wrist in response, guilt beating him down when he realized your skin was redden because of his grip, “I’m sorry…Oh, Angel, I’m bloody sorry…”

Still, you kept your hand there to his greatest surprise. The only difference was that your free fingers went for his cheek to bless him with soothing caresses to reassure him. As always, the cold sensation of your flesh against his managed to tame the wildfire that was burning in his soul, “Calm down...” Your voice was merely a whisper now, similar to the enchanting murmur of a siren singing in the far away distance, “Is this what you want?” You backed up a little bit on his lap to create a little gap between your hips so that you could get a better grip on his bulge. The palm of your hand started to languidly rub it.

“Heaven?” He gasped, the anger in his cold blue eyes suddenly turning into an astonished and beseeching look. But for Arthur Shelby no meant no, hence the fact he did not dare to touch you back, “Oh bloody hell, please…” He gritted through his teeth. As strong as he was, he felt his body weakened and his throat tightened with an unsufferable arousal.

“Now you tell me,” Leaving your sentence hanging, you grabbed him a bit stronger and he whimpered at your unexpected roughness. A long exhale escaped from his nostrils as he focused on both the electrifying sensation that shook his core and the enchanting sight of your lips he dreamt to fuck. Yet, Arthur gathered all his strength and willpower to remain calm, afraid you wouldn’t let him sink into your welcoming warmth if he misbehaved, “What happened with Ada?” You inquired, tilting your head on the side, “What did John tell you when he called you?”

“Eh… Nothing— Ah..” Arthur’s lips parted under the coiling pleasure when you tightened your grip on his shaft, “I— Can’t tell ye, love.”

“No, no. You’re going to tell me. Do you know why? Because you’re a good boy for your wife.” You cooed. Your almost chilling aquamarine irises were anchored in his, burning with an unflickering gleam of power and confidence. Sometimes Arthur wondered how such a delicate and fragile-looking angel like you could hide the seductive and fearful which you truly were. A witch to the others, a goddess to him — And how he liked both of those facets of you, feeding his dominant behavior but also fulfilling his more submissive tendencies when he needed to but was too ashamed to admit it. To be true, you both knew how to balance the power you hold over the other one, and tonight, you were clearly the one in charge, “Are you a good boy, Arthur Shelby?” You teased, one brow raised.

He clenched his fists around the sofa’s blanket in a desperate attempt to find a way to control himself for he almost cum at your praise, “I am…” Arthur slowly rolled his hips, “I’m a good boy for me wife…“ He replied, sucking in a sharp breath, with his quivering hoarse voice, “Please…” He growled in discomfort because his trousers had become far too tight. Nevertheless, you remained unmoved by his supplications and stopped moving your hand, waiting for an answer, “Alright! Alright… Im gonna tell ye!”

“I hope so.” You replied, kneading his bulge again.

“Ada and John told me we’ve all received a Black Hand.” He started, looking at you with impatience. Satisfied, you unbuckled his belt and let your hand work its way into his underwear to grab his hardened cock by its thick base and free it from his trouser. Arthur let out a loud groan, a drop of sweat beading on his forehead. Not only at the sensations but at the sight of your small fingers around his erection.

“What’s a Black Hand?” You kept asking all the while enjoying the sight of your husband’s enamored, begging, and fascinated gaze. He was looking at you, obliterating everything else, for only the words that came from your holy lips mattered.

“Oh fook, Angel… Touch me harder.” He begged in a trembling, almost broken voice. If there was one thing Arthur could not stand that was being teased. Thus it did not take much for you to have him wrapped around your finger. He suddenly bit his lower lip, eyes glistening with ruling passion, for the way the moonlight reflected through the window behind you created a heavenly halo around your head, “Touch me!” Another husky whine. The gangster rolled his hips eagerly, nails digging into the sofa’s fabric.

“Focus, Mon amour. The Black Hand. What is it?” You repeated, pressing a little kiss on his starving and slightly parted mouth while your hand started to jerk him off in slow up-and-down movements. At first, Arthur thought it would soothe the painful hardness of his cock but your far too languid movements only worsened it.

“Ah! The Black Hand yes. It’s a death threat from the Sicilian mafia. They send one to everyone they wanna — oh fook! — wanna kill…” He said through gritted teeth at the feeling of your thumb rubbing the glistening tip of his cock in circular motions, smearing precum on his skin. Arthur rolled his eyes, holding back a desperate cry as your hand pumped him in a way that brought him closer to heaven — or closer to hell, it was getting hard to tell.

“Why would they send you one?” You frowned, stroking a little bit faster.

“Oh bloody motherfucking hell!” He yelled, the gravel in his voice making the house shake as he threw his head back. Yet, he did not shut his eyes tight for looking at you while you masturbated him only strengthened his pleasure. He felt as if he was burning from within, “Cause I killed Changretta’s dad! I’ve put a fookin’ bullet through his skull. And now Tommy wants us to have an emergency reunion!” He spat very quickly, unable to stand it anymore. With a bit of luck, you’d allow him to spill himself now that he told you everything. Arthur let out an ashamed and submissive whimper, turned into a begging mess, “Let me cum! I’ll fookin’ beg on my knees if that’s what ye want! On my bloody knees, I will! but please… Please, Angel… I can’t take it anymore, oh God.”

“Tommy wants you back. Of course.” You winced, as if the bitterness of your own venom had exploded on your tastebuds, still caressing your man absentmindedly.

“Heaven…” He lamented, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, abandoning himself to the pleasure. Arthur moved his hips, trying to thrust his length in your fist in the hope of releasing himself but it wasn’t enough. The way you stroke him kept him at the edge of climax without allowing him to reach it and it was driving him crazy. Your focus shifted back to your husband, whose legs had started to shake like leaves in the wind.

You snapped back to the present moment,“ Oh Arthur,” You purred when you realized that your poor man had reached his limits but still tried to behave himself by not throwing you on the sofa and making you pay for teasing him. Bringing your face closer to his, you laid a myriad of kisses from his scarred throat up to the corner of his mouth, his mustache pleasantly scratching the skin of your face as you did, “Cum for me like the good boy you are.” You whispered in his ear, your siren-like voice intoxicating even more and causing him to whine no matter how hard he tried to bite it down… Goosebumps adorned your body at the arousing sight of Arthur, usually tough and rough, almost crying from pleasure and frustration. A little feverish sight escaped from your mouth, your walls clenching onto nothing. It was enough: he had been good and deserved some kind of relief. Hence, you finally stroked him how he wanted to be stroked, “I’m proud of you Arthur. So proud… Cum for me, my strong and lovely husband.” Your praises definitely got everything of him. Arthur’s fingers clenched so hard on the blanket that he almost tore it. He arched his back and the gravel in his voice chanted your name on repeat like he never did for any women, whores, or good girls, like a preacher imploring the mercy of his divinity. One minute later his cock throbbed in your palm before he finally released the tension in hot spurts of milky ropes in both your hand and your thighs. With a little satisfied smirk, you brought your fingers to your mouth and licked his release while looking at your shaking man.

“Christ…” He let out a long sigh, his body collapsing back on the sofa. The arm with which he hid his face fell limp after he tucked himself back in his trousers. Left as a panting mess, Arthur was trying to catch his breath while his half-closed eyes were still staring at you with a blissed-out gleam in their magnificent blue irises. But that extraordinary post-sex peace had to come to an end: the worst part of the discussion was awaiting. Arthur moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, stars still dangling in his vision, and, without the slightest warning, pulled you in a strong hug. His arms wrapped around you, pressing your ribs so hard you almost suffocated: He was afraid. Fucking afraid to lose you, “You need to stay here. Safe and sound.”

“Sorry?” You suddenly exclaimed, lowering your gaze toward him to ensure you understood correctly what he just said, “That’s absolutely out of question, Arthur. I’m coming with you back to Birmingham. We’ll go through this shit together and we’ll be back in our forest as soon as possible.” You said, your fingers gently fondling his neck.

“No, love.” His hoarse voice, rendered raspier by the orgasm he had, retorted with a bit more authoritative tone as he regained his composure.“Ye ain’t coming with me. It’s too dangerous. Trust me, I’d love too but I would not forgive myself if Changretta would hurt you.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t let you go alone and risk your life,” Panic had already started to kick in at that idea, twisting your guts and accelerating your heartbeat. Who will take care of him if you weren’t by his side? As the one who had pulled the trigger, you were more than aware that Arthur was probably the first name underlined in red on that Changretta’s list, “You know I can be useful. Arthur please.”

“I’ll be back very quick, love.” Arthur tried to reassure you, but parting from him was far too painful for you to agree with him, "I'll be back soon and we'll have a little one together right? The perfect couple…" The corner of his mouth stretched in a tender and soothing smile right before he crashed his lips against yours. You kissed him back but it did not made you feel better. Quite the contrary. Shaken by his decision, you sighed and moved away from him. Despite his attempt to hold you back, you still managed to break his embrace and walked towards the window, wrapping your arms around your own tiny frame to hug you.

Arthur bit his knuckles, frustrated by the whole situation, and utterly in pain for you had just rejected him. After a short while, he got up from the sofa and joined you near the window, his legs still weak, “Listen. You gotta trust me. I don’t want to be away from you either — God knows I’m already scared of withering without your heavenly presence and your arms around me neck. But I can’t risk losing ye. I would fookin’ die, I swear would. I want you to stay safe here, guarded by Kaiser and by the forest, rather than with me at the mercy of these Italians. If you come with me they’ll assault you… Because of me. Because yer me wife.” Arthur explained in a slow and distinct voice, his feathery fingers rearranging one of your white strands of hair. Tears blurred your vision at his words — since your wedding there hadn’t been one day you’d been away from each other more than a few hours, hence the overwhelming misery you felt that such a plan. , “Look at me,” He asked, gently grabbing your arm to make you spin. His hands, big and calloused, cupped your face, “Heaven,” he dived into your fleeing eyes, from which crystal tears were rolling down your pearly white cheeks, “Everything’s gonna be fine, ey.”

You slowly nodded, defeated. “Tout ira bien.” You repeated in French, looking at him with the most heartbreaking pout he had ever seen. In truth, you were trying to convince yourself more than actually believing it. Your little fists clenched discreetly —and they clenched so hard that your knuckles turned white.

No, it was not going to be fine.

Definitely not.

Snuggling in one of Arthur’s shirts, you buried your nose in the collar to smell the musky and reassuring perfume of your husband. A frustrated growl escaped from your juicy lips. You were sitting on the wooden floor in front of the fire, hugging your knees against your chest as you watched the flames die in the hearth. Only two weeks had passed since Arthur’s departure for Birmingham and you were already at the edge of the abyss, ready to fall into a pit of madness. Locked up here between the walls of your own house, you feel estranged from your home, trapped in a doorless maze. Just like a wonderful Siberian tigress in a zoo, you were spending your day pacing back and forth in the living room under Kaiser’s saddened and worried eyes, before collapsing on the floor or the nearby sofa. Devoured by anxiety and another frightful gut feeling no one was there to listen to, you usually ended up rolling in a ball with the guard dog’s big wet snout poking you in a desperate attempt to cheer you up. How could you carry on with your life when your soulmate was far away from you, hunted down by a whole mafia whose every member wanted to see him dead? No matter the protective spells you had cast upon Arthur, you could not help but give in to panic. After all, he was the only one you had. And you were quite unfortunate considering how every people you had truly loved always tended to end up dead and cold, six feet under.

Giving one last kiss on Kaiser’s head, you got up from the floor and went to the small silvery cigarette case that was on the coffee table. You slipped a cigarette between your plump lips and lit it up, immediately taking a long puff in the hope of calming your nerves. As the nicotine burnt your throat and lungs, you felt your nervousness alleviating a tiny bit. I should not be here, you thought, I should be by his side. These were the words that were playing on repeat in your head. In your rambling, your mind focused on Thomas Shelby, whose past mischiefs made you believe he was the only one responsible for your role —or rather for your non-role— in this new war against the Italians. Even if Arthur did not tell you anything about it, you knew he had managed to fill your man’s mind with the idea that you’d be safer here only because he did not want you back in Birmingham. That son of a bitch — he was well aware that he had to get rid of you if he wanted Arthur to behave like his dog. You let out a furious cloud of smoke from your nostrils.

As it as been the case before Thomas had sent you all in jail, your sharp witch instincts were ringing emergency alarms in your very soul. Your chest tightened at the sudden boiling rage that coursed through your veins. How ridiculous that was? You were stuck here, completely useless, as Arthur, John, Polly, and Ada were all facing unnamable dangers. Pressing your lips tight around the cigarette, you pinched your nose to calm your nerves. That was at the moment you had almost managed to calm down a little bit that one of the living room windows crashed in hundreds of little sharp shards of glass. The cacophony of it made Kaiser jump before he immediately reacted by rushing near the gaping window and aggressively barking at the outside darkness: the beast hundred pounds Cane Corso was ready to tear throats to protect you. With a pounding heart and eyes wide open, you looked at in the distance: All you could see was a car’s headlights located at the bottom of the hill, but they quickly disappeared when the driver left the place with haste.

“Putain!” You whispered, cigarette still hanging in your mouth and one hand pressed against your chaotic heart. What the hell had happened? Still shaking from the shock, you looked at all around you and noticed the huge brick that had been thrown at the window. However, what stirred your panic was not the tool of the mischief itself but rather the letter that was tied to it with barbed wires. You did not wait any longer and grabbed it, untying the letter without minding the small cuts the wire left on your skin. As you opened it, your crimson blood drenched the fabric of the paper in dozen of stains.

To Arthur Shelby’s whore,

If you think you are safe hidden here in the wild you are utterly wrong. We haven’t forgotten about you, and despite the fact you are outside of our economic interests, you evil witch have to pay for Father Hughes and Simon Conrad’s death.

We have understood from your past crimes that you are a great advocate of retributive justice so here comes the other side of the coin. Hereby, we wish to inform you that we will come for you one day. You can hide. You can run. But you won’t escape us.

In the meantime, check twice under your bed, in your closet and behind you, because we are the shadow that follows you. Also be sure that if the Mafia does not succeed in killing Arthur Shelby, we will.

Every witch can burn,

Your heart missed a beat so big you felt dizzy. The letter slipped from your wounded fingers and fell on the floor. You took the cigarette out of your mouth and, instinctively stubbed it out on the back of your wrist without the slightest wince for it was the only thing you had found to calm yourself down. The crackling sound of burning flesh echoed in the room as the red-hot ashes marked your delicate and immaculate porcelain skin with a black and red circle. The pain, vivid and stingy, did not seem to bother you though, judging by the way your face remained absolutely neutral: the truth was the burning of your wrath outmatched the one on your flesh. No matter Thomas’ orders and Arthur’s worries, you had made up your mind: you were going back to Birmingham, and you were going to make the whole city shatter and shake at your fingertips if that was what you needed to do to retrieve your peaceful life.

If all of Birmingham was afraid of Arthur Shelby more than anything, it was only because they had never seen the fury of his wife.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader

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beatbude · 1 year ago

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#Walls & Birds #Paingel #Monarch Berlin #BB 022 #Maximilian Schweizer #E-Fuels #BB 023 #Tape Summit #Sameheads #Garagen Uwe

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ravingrackoon · 13 days ago

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The only photo I managed to get before my night hit the gas pedal. (Which Subtronics also performed his and Tape B's John Summit remix liiiiveee oghhhhmyyyygaaqwwwd.

Night 2 went. It full sent. Those 2 tabs, also full sent (me on a tRIip). Philadelphia you have given me such a special and rare experience, Subtronics b2b Zeds Dead was my perfect last set for 2024. Ending it where it began for me: A Zeds Dead set while I'm peaking with nothing but love and gratitude for myself and the music and the man sharing this life with me. I can't believe this is my life.

ALSO this new Aaron Brooks jersey is about to become my new go to rave fit. Francis tried to bleed on it, but I handled it, and got a new pair of rave shorts out of it too. (Carmic year circle poping up again? Not Francis in December when she was supposed to be GONE by February...)

Lastly, I made it back to my hotel room safely and in enough time to pack AND SHOWER before I make the lengthy journey home. Hijinx24 is over.

#i appreciate you #if you read all of that #if not #i still appreciate you #me #my rave fit #end of 2024 #festival life #this picture feels like a life time ago somehow #like. I'm not even that person anymore.#omg i cannot express how happy i am rn #that might be from the psychedelics #but its definitely from my heart #got wierd and sappy in the tags #oh fuck yeah!!!!!!!!#ian. hijinx. alone. 👀 he is having a bad time #Spotify

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beardedmrbean · 4 months ago

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The man charged in connection with an apparent assassination attempt against Donald Trump in Florida this month dropped off a box at a person’s home that included a letter that declared, "This was an assassination attempt," a court document revealed Monday.

The note came to light in a U.S. District Court filing asking that Ryan Wesley Routh, 58, be held in pre-trial detention.

Law enforcement was contacted by a civilian on Sept. 18 who said that Routh had dropped off a box at his residence several months earlier, the filing said. The witness opened the box after learning of the Sept. 15 incident at Trump International Golf Club in West Palm Beach, Florida.

In that box was ammunition, four phones and various letters.

One handwritten letter addressed to “The World” said: “This was an assassination attempt on Donald Trump but I failed you.”

The letter said in part: “He ended relations with Iran like a child and now the Middle East has unraveled.”

Routh was arrested on Sept. 15 after a Secret Service agent moving ahead of Trump as he was golfing at Trump International spotted “the partially obscured face of a man” in the brush along the fence line and the barrel of a rifle “aimed directly at him.” The agent fired at Routh, who fled. He was spotted by a witness and was soon after arrested on Interstate 95.

Routh has since been charged with possession of a firearm by a convicted felon and possession of a firearm with an obliterated serial number. He is due in court Monday.

The FBI searched Routh's Nissan Xterra and found six cellphones — one of which contained a Google search of how to travel from Palm Beach County to Mexico.

Cell site records from two of the phones revealed Routh had traveled from Greensboro, North Carolina, to West Palm Beach on Aug. 14, 2024.

Further, on “multiple days and times from Aug. 18, 2024, to Sept. 15, 2024, Routh’s cellphone accessed cell towers located near Trump International and the former president’s residence at Mar-a-Lago,” the filing said.

Also found in the vehicle were 12 pairs of gloves, a Hawaii driver’s license in Routh’s name, his passport and documents. One of the documents was a handwritten list of dates in August, September and October and venues where Trump had appeared or was expected to.

Agents also found a notebook with “dozens of pages” filled with names and phone numbers about Ukraine, discussions on how to join the fight on behalf of Ukraine and notes criticizing the Chinese and Russian governments.

The filing said law enforcement learned that the license plate on the Nissan Xterra was not registered to the vehicle, and two additional license plates were found in the car.

A search of the area where Routh had been hiding near the golf course led to the discovery of a rifle with a scope attached and obliterated serial number, an extended magazine and a backpack and reusable shopping bag that both contained plates “capable of stopping small arms fire.”

On the rifle, investigators found a latent fingerprint on a piece of tape attached to the firearm that preliminarily matched Routh.

NBC News observed heavy police presence and tape on Friday near a row of palm trees and bushes lining the golf course on Summit Boulevard. The area featured an opening in the bushes behind the palm trees, which is easily accessible from the public sidewalk. The gap had a view of the golf course and was large enough for someone to occupy.

#nunyas news

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

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I'm Your Venus - A Robin Buckley Story

Robin Buckley x f!reader

Robin really likes candy, and also the new girl in town.

warnings | 18+ nothing specific, just queer angst (sigh)

a/n | this is just a little intrusive thought I had inspired by Bananarama's "Venus" - highly recommend listening to the song as you start reading - also this doesn't follow the timeline of the show's plot, just a lovely indulgent snapshot

update: read how Steve's night went here :)

another update: I'm turning this into a series! find the masterlist here

Robin has always had a weakness for candy. Specifically, the kinds of candy that take you a while to work through. Taffy, caramels, gobstoppers, lemonheads, even those nasty hard candies shaped like root beer barrels. Her most preferred option, however, were lollipops. She liked these tooth-rotting confections because so long as she had something sweet to roll around in her mouth, she could keep herself from going off on some long rambling tangent, preoccupied with the sugary sensation. Tonight, arms hanging over the half-wall of the roller rink, she was working on a cherry tootsie pop, no interest in how many licks it’d take to get to the center, keeping it pocketed in her cheek.

She wouldn’t normally be spending her time at the new Hawkins’ rink, except Dingus was going as a chaperone to his scraggly, adopted brood, and where Dingus went, so too did Robin follow. Somehow Max had goaded Steve into putting on a pair of skates and was now dragging his very rigid body around the ring. The kids had no such luck getting Robin onto wheels, she sometimes still had trouble walking straight, there was no way skating was in the cards for her. So, she relegated herself to the sidelines, watching everyone rolling to blaring, glossy pop music. It was packed tonight, the middle of summer, and everyone just bored enough to go skating.

Even amidst the crowd, there was one person Robin couldn’t stop looking at. She had come into Family Video the other day, Steve had set her up with an account, Robin eavesdropping as she restocked shelves. Steve was laying his so-called “Harrington charm” on thick, very shamelessly flirting with the girl. She told him that her family had just moved to Hawkins, she'd be a freshman at Indiana State next year, going to the same college as Robin. Even Robin was shocked by how forward Steve had been with her, asking her out as he handed her her tapes. But, she had politely declined, and Robin knew it was silly but her heart did a little kick at that, because what heterosexual girl in her right mind would turn down the hair? She hadn’t even realized that she’d crunched right through the cinnamon-y fireball she’d been sucking on until the girl was out the door.

Robin watches her skating, making it look effortless as she links arms with a friend, laughing, glossy lips glinting under the disco lights. Bananarama is blaring through the speakers.

A goddess on a mountain top

Was burning like a silver flame

The summit of beauty and love

And Venus was her name…

Robin feels like such a guy, but she can’t stop looking at her legs, perfectly sun soaked and framed by cut-offs. She tells herself it’s just because she’s checking out her technique, in case she herself wants to skate later. Yeah right.

She's got it

Yeah, baby, she's got it

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire, at your desire

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire, at your desire…

After she made sure Steve wasn't watching, Robin had looked up the girl's account at the store, seeing that she’d checked out Young Frankenstein, Gone With the Wind, Rocky Horror, and Cleopatra. It was classic, it was bizarre, it was delightfully eclectic. Robin was smitten, and she hadn’t even talked to the girl.

Just then, she caught sight of Vickie, skating cozily with her boyfriend who was home from college. It still stung, to see the girl she’d been pining over completely oblivious to her feelings, but Robin had gotten good at avoiding it, avoiding her. She pressed up off the rink barrier, getting ready to meander over to the snack bar and drown her romantic sorrows in plasticky nacho cheese. As she spun around, however, she ran smack into someone on skates, a blur of gorgeous legs and cut-offs. Lord help me, she thought. The girl shrieked, giggling a little as they both held onto each others’ forearms to steady themselves.

“Oh god, sorry about that! Totally wasn’t looking where I was going,” she’s smiling so widely at Robin, who for maybe the first time in her life is rendered completely speechless, lollipop dangling loosely from her lips.

“Hey, I saw you working at Family Video, Robin right? I think that’s what that dude with all the hair called you,” Robin wills herself to nod at that. The girl was still holding onto her forearms, cracked cherry red nail polish contrasts against her freckled skin.

Robin finally tries to speak, to say anything, but all that comes out is “I– you– um, I–” mumbling around her tootsie pop. The girl’s smile softens.

“Here, let me hold onto that for you, then you can say what you wanna tell me,” it happens so quickly, Robin thinks she’s having an aneurysm. The girl lets go of her arms and reaches up, taking the lollipop right out of Robin’s mouth before sliding it between her own glossy lips, grinning around the quickly dissolving treat.

Robin lets out a stuttering exhale, “I’m Robin.” Nice, real smooth. The girl’s grin just widens, she speaks around the tootsie pop. “It’s really nice to meet you, Robin.” She extends her hand, and Robin stumbles to shake it as the girl tells her her name. Robin’s brain immediately starts to chant it like a prayer.

“You seem cool, can I give you my number? It’d be rad to hang out with you sometime.” Rad. Normally Robin would roll her eyes at a word like rad, but now she’s just nodding frantically, “yeah, uh-huh.” The girl smiles, “you don’t happen to have a pen do you?” Robin pats at her jeans, and thanks the merciful universe when she finds one in her back pocket.

When she takes the pen from her hand, their fingers brush and it feels like the tiniest fire running up Robin’s arm. She glances around briefly, worried that people are watching them, but then she figures they just look like two really good girlfriends chatting. But when the girl holds her forearm again, turning it over and scribbling out her number, nothing about it feels platonic, not even with a lower-case p. I’m never washing this arm again.

She hands Robin back her pen before taking the lollipop out of her mouth. She holds it out in front of Robin for a moment, quirking her eyebrow until Robin understands what she wants her to do. Robin feels her entire face burning as she jerkily moves forward, taking the tootsie pop back into her mouth, swiping it into her cheek.

“Call me soon, okay?” Robin nods, mute again, as she watches the girl flash her one more smile before she’s rolling back into the rink.

Robin thinks she needs to find Steve immediately. He has her inhaler in his stupid fanny pack and suddenly, Robin can’t really breathe.

#robin buckley fluff #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley oneshot #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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