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honeybeezx · 4 years ago

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Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 2

Author’s Note: Hey all! Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! This one will have a lot more of our favorite prince and paramour and the reader is such a badass. I’m really having the most fun writing this you guys have no idea😄

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, mentions of sex

Enjoy, love you all and as always, feedback is welcome!

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The brothel smelled of incense and sex. The men who had paid for the services apparently had no reservations about silencing their pleasure, nor the women. You were mildly annoyed by it all. You didn’t care or consider it lowly to work or attend a brothel, but it just seemed so...fake. People pretending that what they were feeling was love or passion when really it was just men finding release, both from sex and from their normal lives, and women getting their coin.

Not that you really knew what actual love was like, but you did know it wasn’t this.

One of the girls brought you to a room near the back. The ornate doors swung open to reveal who you could only assume was the prince and his princess. You weren’t really sure what you expected, but you found yourself shocked. He looked princely, certainly, but you weren’t expecting him to be so...striking. Bronzed skin against golden cloth...he looked like a work of art. And his princess was equally captivating. Her dark locks cascading against her dress seemed to compliment her lover’s own clothes. They both seemed to have a strong demeanor, even while they were allowing themselves to be vulnerable, wrapped in each other’s arms. Both of their heads turned to look at you, brown eyes meeting yours. You wondered how their gaze could even fall upon you when you were presenting them with the finest women the capital could offer.

The women you now know as Ros introduced you by both birth name and the one bestowed upon you through the tales spread throughout Westeros. The prince smirked and narrowed his eyes at you. The woman in his arms might as well have been undressing you with her eyes.

“The Silver Hawk.” He smiled, taking you in. He left his paramour’s side to stand before you. Your guard wasn’t easily lowered by attractive people, but even you had to admit they were both intimidatingly beautiful. The prince’s exposed chest and the heat of the princess’s eyes had your heart beating faster than you cared to let on. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My brother told me the stories about you and your silver arrows. Is it true that they were enchanted by the gods so that you can never miss?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I trained hard to achieve the level of skill I possess, I assure you.” The stories people told about you these days were becoming more absurd by the day. And you were slightly offended. To just be handed a gift with no hard work, no sense of accomplishment was no gift at all.

“Will we get the chance to see you prove that?” Ellaria asked hopefully as she joined her prince’s side.

“Perhaps.” If the Lannisters or any other of the terrible people in this city continued to annoy you, you didn’t doubt it, but you were not going to put on a show...Even if the Dornish woman did make your heart beat faster in your chest.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” She smiled with a wink.

You cleared your throat and focused. You were here for a reason after all, and that wasn’t to entertain the guests with your skill. “The hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister apologizes for his absence this evening, but he wanted to offer these ladies as a welcoming gift and hopes you’ll excuse him.”

“A gift indeed.” His eyes raked over you, the woman behind him smirking. “A shame that Tyrion hides such an exquisite woman behind the ugly walls of the Lannister dwelling. You should be out in the sun, letting more people admire your beauty. Too bad...In Dorne, it would be a crime to hide such a rare gem.” It almost seemed like the prince couldn’t hide his desire, even if he wanted to (which he most certainly didn’t). His eyes traveled everywhere, from the tips of your boots to the smallest hair on your head.

You’ve never experienced whiplash before, but you imagined it felt a bit like this. To say you were surprised was an understatement. Not many people could catch you off guard, but not many people were so bold, especially towards you. You could do little to disguise your shock and you took a moment to find your voice. “Prince Oberyn, I am not an option here if that is what you are implying.” You retorted, rather defensively.

“That is not what I am implying, but it is interesting that the thought occurred to you.” He flashed a devilish smile and you wanted nothing more than to punch it off his handsome face.

“That is not what I-“

The prince placed a finger to his lips and you wanted to scream with anger at how easy it was for him to silence you with one simple action. He grinned before backing away, returning to the Dornish woman. “Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

“It’s a pleasure.” She greeted, her voice dripping with a sultriness that would have made someone with less composure than you blush.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You replied, trying to recover from their boldness. You tried to remain calm, you made a promise to Tyrion that you would make the guests feel welcome. Why he trusted you with this particular task was beyond you.

“Hmm, I doubt it.” Ellaria grinned her eyes still raking over you.

A room full of half-naked women and they settle on me.

Both of them, flirting with the same woman right before their own partners. It intrigued you that they both shared the same lover. Neither of them seemed to care much about the gender of whom they chose to sleep with, only their beauty. They possessed a different type of freedom, one you were unfamiliar with. Your freedom was found when you were hunting, climbing trees, the rare times you found yourself near an ocean. For them, it was shameless passion and love, taking pleasure anywhere they could get it unapologetically. Life was theirs to enjoy, nothing could take that from them.

Which is why you found the fact that they were singling in on your armor-clad body so shocking. You couldn’t comprehend how anything you were wearing could draw their attention in a lustful sort of way.

“You should reconsider, by the way. We are very generous lovers. What a privilege it would be to say we made love to the stunning Silver Hawk of the North.” Oberyn raised a brow at you as he took a berry between his teeth, tongue swiping against the tips of his teeth, making a show of himself before actually eating it.

You cursed your skin for becoming so hot.

“Let me make myself clear Prince Oberyn.” You began, finding some strength to your voice again as you remembered your place, your. “I am not a whore. These women here, they are your options. What you decide to do with them is your business, but I am a guard to the king’s hand and I demand to be treated as such. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the palace.” You turned on your heel to leave, impossible without the prince having the last word.

“One more thing.” His voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned just enough to face him.

“When was the last time you experienced pleasure?”

All you could see was red.

“The first time I shot an arrow through an arrogant man’s chest.” Before you could stop your words they were already hung in the air. You were prepared for the prince to draw the dagger you noticed hanging at his hip, but he made no such move, his hands still around his paramour.

And he smiled.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Silver Hawk.”

“If I see the Red Viper again it will be too soon.”

You stormed out of the brothel, drawing looks from all those around you, but you didn’t care. They both got to you, in more ways than one. How did they break you down so easily? Not even the queen regent possessed such power.

And you prayed to the gods old and new that neither of them would tell Tyrion. You knew it was a false hope, but the last thing you needed was Tyrion scolding you and even worse, letting people know they could both get to you. Your whole life you let your rage burn quietly in your chest, letting it fuel you rather than consume you. But their smirks, their roaming eyes, their words made you feel something you hadn’t in a very long time.

And you threatened him, the Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t as if his reputation and stories escaped your ears. He was skilled with every weapon you could think of. To top it off, if he didn’t wish to kill you with a weapon, he was an expert in poisons as well. It was a relief that he wasn’t staying in the palace now, you’d have to find somewhere else to eat and drink every night just to avoid death.

King’s Landing was becoming its special sort of war zone. This was the game of Kings and Queens, Prince and Princesses, none of which you were. It was as if you had been dealt a hand that everyone knew you were going to lose. The Lannisters and the Martells, amazed you how two completely different families could be toying with you, a pawn in this royal game.

Oberyn and Ellaria were just the most skilled players.

As if you needed more people in King’s Landing to worry about.

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“I like her.” Ellaria laughed, still in the arms of her lover. The couple had chosen their girls for the night but sent them waiting for a moment as they discussed you. “You were right, she’s stunning lover. And she has a bite, not many people would challenge you, a prince and a fearsome warrior. I fear we may have scared her off though.” Her smile faltered a bit at the idea of losing their next lover. She wanted you, and there was only so much time before they would be separated by their return to Dorne.

“She is a wild one. Not many women like her. I’m not sure I know many soldiers with her reputation and skill, whether they be man or woman.” He noted as he tucked a strand of his paramour’s hair behind her ear. “I did not expect her to be so offended by us. I don’t think she is as familiar with the pleasures of the bed as we are. We may have to...coax her.” He suggested, scanning Ellaria’s dark eyes, as if he were attempting to read her thoughts.

“She is a strong woman, in every sense of the word. That it itself is something rare, and she knows that. I suspect she thinks we are mocking her, somehow undermining her.” Ellaria noted, recalling your behavior. “She thinks we want to pay for her services, thinks she’s just another girl for us. You may have chosen the wrong moment to be so bold, my love.” Ellaria tried putting herself in your shoes, but it was difficult. Many people knew the legends of the silver hawk, the assassin who never misses, but fewer knew the origin of your tale, how a young woman came to possess the skill of men twice her age, maybe even better than that. But she imagined if she worked as hard as you said you did, only for a man, a prince, to single you out among brothel girls, as if you were one yourself, she could understand your anger.

“Think about it my love,” she began, “you did not exactly explain to her what we were proposing. You cannot blame her for assuming we saw her as another one of Little Finger’s girls.” Ellaria chided as she traced featherlight touches against her lover’s exposed chest.

“A gentler approach may do us good. You are anything but withholding when it comes to who you desire, and at least now she knows. But you may want to start winning her favor with some sort of peace offering.” She ran her hands through Oberyn’s dark curls as he looked at her like a man in the desert looked at water. The Sand woman knew her lover like she knew her own heart, and she knew she was not the only woman who had turned him on this evening. “Go to King’s Landing tomorrow and find her. Don’t apologize for wanting her, never that, but offer our friendship. That may be a good place to start?” She asked, wanting to know what her lover thought.

Oberyn gave a hum of approval before taking his lover’s hand and kissing her palm. “You are the wisest of women.” His hand moved her own so that her palm was now resting on his cheek, his soft, brown eyes still raking over his paramour. “I will go tomorrow to offer our friendship and make peace. I have a feeling that even if we remain friends with her, she will be a powerful and useful ally. She could be just the person we’re looking for to get me information on my sister’s murder.”

The prince’s face turned somber. Ellaria closed her eyes and placed a kiss to his exposed chest. “Do not forget that she works for a Lannister, lover. She may not be so willing.”

But Oberyn shook his head. “No. When I went to the palace the Hawk had her sights on Cersei the entire time. I thought she was going to pierce her with an arrow right in the throne room. She makes an exception for Tyrion, but otherwise, I suspect she has a distaste for Lannisters as much as we do. She may be at least willing to listen to my proposal.”

Ellaria sighed and ran her hand down the prince’s toned arms. “Perhaps, but I don’t want her slipping through our fingers. I want justice for your beloved sister, but I want her too. She is a strong woman, capable of defending herself, but she should not be put in harm's way.”

Oberyn nodded, but he could not shake the deep-rooted desire for vengeance. Every time he saw a Lannister all he could think of was his enchanting sister and her sweet children, and the unfair fate they were given. “I will simply speak to her and offer friendship tomorrow. Her spying was just a thought.” He added, keeping his calm. “We have to earn her trust first and foremost, a task that I’m sure will prove difficult all on its own.”

“Neither of us have been known to back down from a challenge.” She laughed before kissing his collarbone.

“We will just have to convince her of our desires.”

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#armor #oberyn x reader #oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn x you x ellaria #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #got #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #prince oberyn #oberyn martell imagine

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chuckbass-love · 4 years ago

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Johnny storm fic rec where he had a daughter young and even though he is an arrogant fuckboy he’s a really great father

Hi lovely. First of all, thank you for the request, i love it and second of all, i’m so sorry for the long wait. I’ll be saying this to everyone who has requested because i’ve been terrible with writing.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

Warning: None, all cute and fluffy. Soft Johnny.

Word Count: 1,481

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @pantherclawz go check them out❤️

My World

First things first, you’re not the usual type that even drives past bars like these let alone stepping a single foot in one and secondly, you’re not the type to talk to a stranger at a bar like this and yet here you are.

Sat next to said stranger, drink in hand and 10 minutes deep into a conversation but soon enough you get bored. It’s blatantly obvious that he’s a fuck boy, after sex or any kind of fooling around. And to say you’re opposed would be an understatement. You don’t do that. You actually prefer to get to know the person before any kind of intimacy takes place.

He continues to go on about his plans for the rest of the night before turning to you “so, fancy joining me?” he asks, a hint of optimism in his voice and what he will never admit to anyone right now is that he just wants the company. He knows all about the reputation his name holds but he’s not after anything like that. As much as it comes across like he sleeps with anything that has a pulse, it’s not entirely true. He too likes to get to know the other person before jumping into bed with them.

But you made a snap judgment, something you tend to do quite a lot.

“Um, yeah. i’ll pass” you turn your head away, rolling your eyes and trying to catch the bar mans attention so that you can order another drink but the mystery dude speaks up again “did i do something wrong?” and you’re back to looking at him again.

You’re quick to defend yourself, stuttering over your words “y-yes, i mean n-no. No, you didn’t. I’m sorry”

“Sure seems like it” he chuckles nervously and silence falls upon the two of you, an awkward one at that.

The bar man brings you your drink and you flash him a smile which he reciprocates, he can probably sense the tension.

Since you’re not talking to this stranger, he takes this as his opportunity to pull his phone out, his lock screen photo appearing and catching your attention. And once you see it, you’re instantly intrigued. It’s a photo of him with a little girl, she must be around 5 at least.

It couldn’t be... could it?

“Who’s that?” your voice makes him jump a little before he sighs “it’s my daughter” his muttering is more than enough of an indication that he really just doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe you were too much of a bitch to him.

“Look, about before, i’m sorry. I really am i just got the impression that you were after sex”

“You assume the worst a lot then?”

“Yeah it’s kinda my deal, but i’m sorry”

More silence falls upon you both and you have no idea why. Maybe your apology hasn’t been accepted which is understandable. You finish the rest of your drink before checking the time on your watch, it’s getting kind of late now so you should definitely get home.

The only reason you came here in the first place was because you broke up with your boyfriend. It destroyed you to even say those words to him but you just weren’t in it anymore. You fell out of love and this was the only place you could think of that wouldn’t involve you bumping into someone you already know.

“How much for the drinks?” you ask and the bar man stalks over to your spot “2 shots of tequila and 2 vodka sodas. That’ll be 35″ he winks and you rummage through your purse to find the money before eventually sliding it over to him and putting your coat back on.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks up.

“For the record, i wasn’t after sex and i accept your apology”

That alone makes you smile and soon after he turns around to face you again.

“I was talking to you because you seemed down. I was hoping to maybe cheer you up and maybe get a kiss along the way” he smirks, chuckling to himself about his joke.

“You really know how to change someones perception don’t you” you giggle, taking your seat next to him again “i’m Y/N by the way” you hold your hand out to shake his.

“Johnny” he takes your hand in his, shaking it and somehow causing shivers to run down your spine.

“So how old is your daughter?” you scoot a little closer and he turns his phone on to give you another glimpse at her “5. Yeah i was young when i had her. Her mom and i split up shortly after, it was mutual and i guess it made us better parents”

“Really how so?”

“Well we certainly don’t argue anymore that’s for sure”

“How was it, having a daughter so young” you enquire

“It was hard, i’ll admit. But she’s my world, i wouldn’t give her up or change her for anything”

You can’t believe this, you had him all wrong. You go to ask him more about her but he beats you to it.

“Anyway, enough about me, what about you, what brought a gorgeous girl like you here all alone tonight?”

“Fresh off a breakup and so i decided drowning my sorrows and guilt here would be a great decision” and somehow the compliment catches you off guard but you cover it.

“Well, whatever it is try not to feel bad. I’m sure he’ll heal and if you weren’t happy then you did what was best”

“Quite the advice giver aren’t you?”

A smug look appears as he agrees without even so much as a second to hesitate “i am indeed”

All of a sudden his phone lights up with the name Eva appearing.

“Hey”

“Yeah sure, i got time, is she okay?”

“Put her on the phone”

“Lily honey, why aren’t you asleep?” he asks, different pitch in his voice and now it’s obvious he’s talking to his daughter.

“Well, what would help you sleep?”

“Daddy? Um, is mommy okay with this?”

A loud laugh escapes his mouth as you watch him happily, he seems so fulfilled with being a dad. Like it’s second nature to him to take care of his daughter and put her needs before his own. The definition of a great dad.

“Okay, i’ll be there soon sweetie okay?”

“Okay, i love you too”

He hangs up the phone, a huge grin plastered across his face “sorry about that”

“No, don’t apologise. Was that your daughter?”

“Lily? Yeah. She can’t sleep and has pretty much demanded i go over to read her a story so i better get going” he takes out some money to hand the bar man before slipping his leather jacket back on and standing up. You do the same following him out of the bar and into the street to hail a cab.

“It was really nice meeting you by the way” he stops as a cab pulls up next to the pavement and he opens the door for you “yeah, it was nice meeting you too. Short but sweet” you say, unsure of whether or not a hug or a kiss would be appropriate right now.

After the events of the last hour, you gotta say you’d love to see him again.

Before you can even make that decision though, he leans in, his lips touching yours ever so slightly. Enough for it to be a kiss but you can see he’s holding back so you close the gap between you and place your hands either side of his face to deepen it.

Somehow you get the feeling that you were supposed to meet him, even if you only spoke to him for an hour. It was enough to make you feel good and take your mind off of your current situation.

Plus it’s not often you’re wrong about people and he totally took you by surprise.

Once you pull away and open your eyes, he’s even more smiley than he was previously.

“Do you mind if i get your number?” he scratches the back of his head nervously and it causes butterflies to form in your stomach “sure”

After giving it to him you get into the cab and he shuts the door before leaning into the window “see you soon then”

“See you soon, Johnny”

Yeah you were more than wrong about him.

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General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @kaminorogers @yassspose @randomsevans

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @whxre4cevans

LMK if you wanna be added to my tag list...

#johnny storm #johnny storm fluff #fantastic four #chris evans #chris evans fluff #johnny storm x reader #x reader #reader inserts #fanfiction #fluff #requests #johnny storm x fem!reader #johnny storm x female reader

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wisherbysharlight · 5 years ago

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I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now

Word Count: 4084

Pairing: Analogical

The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.

Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.

They are both kind of idiots.

Warnings: none that I can think of

AO3 Link

Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.

He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”

“The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.

“Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”

Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”

Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”

“I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”

Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”

Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”

“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.

Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”

Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”

They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.

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The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”

Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.

“Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”

Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”

Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”

Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”

“I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”

Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”

He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.

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Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.

Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.

“Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.

“That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.

Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”

Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”

An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”

“Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”

Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough, I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.”

Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.

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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”

“Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”

“Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”

Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.

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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

“Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”

“That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.

“You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.

Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”

Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.

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There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”

Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”

Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”

Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”

“Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.

“Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”

“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.

“No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”

“I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.

”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”

“Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.

“I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.

“Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”

Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”

Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.

It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”

“Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”

“Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”

Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”

Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”

“I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”

“Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”

Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”

“I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.

Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”

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5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my writing #sanders sides fic

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years ago

Text

And he said, I hope you know how to swim

A/N: this is for the gift exchange from @itfandomprompts! My giftee is @iheartthoreau who asked for shy skinny dipping lovers and jealous Eddie. I’m sorry it’s out so late, I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Summary: The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s bare foot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent.

warnings: skinny dipping, mentioned of nudity (but nothing graphic)

read on a3o

The atmosphere of six best friends who’ve just moved past the worst stages in their life cackles in Eddie’s brain.

He’s buzzed up, energized beyond all logic by the laughter and loving gestures so carelessly tossed around in their group. Pennywise is dead, and with it the looming threat following each of them around and the teasing unhappiness hinting at what they were missing but not giving any clues as to what.

It’s all over now, and a road full of new opportunities lays ahead of them. Everyone is acting loose, ecstatic with the weight that fell off their shoulders. Eddie’s feeling a tad guilty too, for calling Myra and informing her that way about their upcoming divorce that he’s going to set in motion as soon as he’s had a good night sleep, but he felt so brave after surviving a literal killer clown, that he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

A part of him was also frightful that he’d lose his courage, between now and getting home, that he’d look around his house and accept that this was all he was destined for, a mediocre life with a wife he didn’t love and a job that sucked the joy out of all employees. Myra deserved better though, and that’s why Eddie’s guilty eyeing his phone, debating on calling her back. He won’t take back what he said, because he’s relieved to have put it out in the open, but he’s unsure if he should have been more empathetic towards her feelings in all of this. If he should have ended the call after telling her to take care.

Bev notices his wandering eyes from where she seated beside him on the couch, the woman still laughing a stitch, shifting forward and hiding his phone in between seat cushions. Out of sight out of mind so to speak.

‘We’ve got time to worry about it tomorrow Eddie.’ She says, and she’s right. Tomorrow both him and Bev will have to deal with the intricacies of divorce and separating a company and a home. Tonight is reserved for the losers only.

‘Yeah Eds, and here I was assuming that after twenty years we’d have some stuff to catch up on.’

Richie regards him from the floor, legs tossed up upon the couch with his body upside down. His glasses are sliding off, but he’s lazy to fix them, so he looks like even more of a goofball than normal. If Eddie could, if he didn’t feel like his intentions would be even more noticeable if he did, he’d scoot over to Richie, adjusting his glasses and letting his fingers trail his cheek and bask in the skin to skin contact.

‘You never did anything interesting before we went to college, what makes you think you’ve done something interesting after?’ Eddie’s tongue is sharp, a façade he builds to stop speculation about his feelings towards Richie, though the truth is that he is intrigued and he craves to know every small detail about his life outside of Derry.

‘No you guys are not starting this again. I’m sick of your bickering,’ Bill interjects, rolling his eyes at the pair.

‘I reject that big Bill, we’re hilarious, you can’t be sick of us bickering when you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing it for the last twenty years. Michael, back me up here buddy.’

‘Sorry Rich, I’m not getting involved in the slightest.’

‘Yeah guys come on, can’t we have one quiet night in?’

‘What so Eddie can just call me boring and I’m supposed to let it slide? Me? I’m the fireworks on the Fourth of July, the highest roller coaster in the park and the whipped cream on strawberries, but I am not boring.’ Richie changes positions, almost accidentally knocking over his beer bottle. He theatrically waves his arms back and forth, trying to animate his words and add conviction.

‘Okay, okay you’re not boring, but don’t overrate yourself either. The most adventurous thing you ever did in high school was skip a class to read a comic book in the school’s bathroom. Not exactly daredevil behavior.’

Bev sips from her whiskey, winking at Richie whose face turns beet red for a reason Eddie can’t decipher. It’s not until Bev conspicuously blows out a gust of air with her lips puckered that Eddie connects the dots.

‘Didn’t you say you ditched because you were smoking with Beverly? Dude did you fucking lie about that? I was worried you’d die and get cancer ever since that day you piece of shit.’

‘No I definitely did smoke. I swear.’

‘You’re not kidding anyone Rich, I vouched for you all those years ago, but I’m not doing it again. Little Richie was a comic book nerd who just pretended to be really cool. We never ever smoked together.’

The losers all holler, clapping their hands together and cheering on the exposure of their foulmouthed friend, debunking all the story Richie apparently made up where he and Be had to sneak out at night to smoke inconspicuously, with the exception of Eddie and Richie. Eddie, because he’s busy glaring at Richie and Richie because he’s busy tapping Bill’s hand away, teasingly disheveling his hair.

Eddie wishes he was brave enough to give these little affections to his friend, especially after witnessing how soothed Richie got when Eddie hugged him after Neibolt, when he had dropped his face into the nape of Eddie’s neck and stayed there, swaying on his feet of exhaustion. It would only make him a good friend, a best friend, but Eddie is still so damn afraid.

He might have had the power to separate from his wife and kill an abstract form of his deepest fears, but Bowers angry yelled words, such as fairy and faggot, swung to his head any time he and Richie graveted closer while walking, haunt him even now.

Touching is off limits the words tell him, so he shows affection the only way he’s ever known towards Richie, by bickering and pulling pigtails.

‘I should have expected that.’ Eddie nods vehemently, laughing as Richie’s mouth drops open in a shocked manner.

‘Are you kidding me? Eddie Spaghetti is the one telling me I’m a loser?’

Eddie flips him off, ignoring Mike’s whispered; ‘he’s got a point’, in favor of levitating his full attention on Richie. The giggling in the room elevates an octave higher.

‘You all laugh’, Richie addresses the entire group, ‘but was I not the one who came up with the idea for the list?’

Abruptly, all sounds snap off, as everyone is snapped back to the past. Even Richie is, at face value, confused about the word he spoke, until the concept and creation of the list is brought to the forefront of everyone’s mind.

‘Holy shit.’

‘Oh my god Mike please tell me you still have it.’

Mike shakes his head with a far-off look. ‘Sorry guys, I don’t know who had it last but I never found it again.’ He’s saddened by it, like he did them all an injustice by not holding on to a flimsy piece of paper.

The List, capital L, was nothing more but a checklist, composed with all the fun and dangerous things the losers all had hopes of doing after graduating high school. Eddie remembers now, the hushed laughter and uncompromisable joy that came with the simple idea of these things, how everyone pitched in and added dare after dare while him and Stan exchanged glances and hoped to god that some things would never be executed.

‘That’s okay Mike, I’m just happy we can all remember making it.’ Ben smiles reassuringly Mike’s way, who smiles back and takes a deep breath.

‘Wait, I think I can recall some of the things we wrote on there. Hold on’, Bev squeezes her eyes shut and snaps her finger in the hope it will get to her faster. ‘Oh’, she exclaims, startling Bill who chokes on his own saliva, ‘we were going to visit Europe, do a high rope parkour, rock climb and some other things I can’t remember right now.’

‘Didn’t we also agree to volunteer in a hospital and go camping in the national forest?’ Ben asks, awaiting confirmation.

‘Yeah we did, Stan was throwing a fit over going camping because of the environment and the dirt, but we were well on our way to convince him.’

‘Wow,’ Richie breathes, chest puffing up and head dropping back into the couch so his face isn’t visible to the rest. ‘I forgot all about that, but come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I did most of those things with Bryan.’

And who the fuck is Bryan? Certainly not Eddie, sweating in fear from the things that were being listed, searching for the most extreme dares he’d seen happen on tv to suggest, doing anything he could to impress Richie. Eddie was terrified of most of the activities on the list, like Bev’s idea to waterski in the ocean, or Mike’s zip lining idea, but he would have done them if it meant he could bask in Richie’s attention, impress Richie to rid himself of scared baby Eddie was so sure he must have been in Richie’s eyes. So who the hell was this Bryan stealing his thunder like that?

‘Who’s Bryan?’ Bev inquires with a smirk, winking at Richie blush ridden face. Eddie’s jealousy rears its ugly head, flaring up and making his head woozy. He simultaneously both considers choking Bev and thanking her for the question.

With Richie’s secret fresh on his mind, the way he’d so shamefully admitted that he was gay and they were the first people he’d ever found the courage to tell, Eddie wondered if Bryan was perhaps someone Richie had been romantically involved with.

Richie would have deserved it, Eddie argues in his mind, to at least for a short period of time have someone love him back as fiercely as he dons it out, but Eddie’s also furious that he stole Richie out from under his nose.

Which is illogical, because even if he and Richie had managed to stay in touch, and Eddie confessed – not much chance there, as Eddie didn’t even tell anyone he was gay when Richie did - there was no guaranty that Richie would’ve reciprocated.

‘No one snoopy’, Richie argues with a jittery leg, ’just some guy I hung out with for a while.’

Bev appears unconvinced, but she’s also respectful towards Richie's decision to not say anything. ‘So which ones did you complete?’

‘I went to Europa senior year of college, smoked a bunch of weed, went zip lining. The normal kind of stuff.’

Zip-lining, or smoking weed for that matter, causes Eddie skin to crawl, not that he’d ever admit it. He hates that that’s not the case for Bryan.

‘Well thanks Rich, none of us ever did anything on the list without the other losers. I guess you didn’t miss us too much.’ It’s not fair, of course it’s not. He can tell by the eagerness to spend time together that Richie was very lonely, and experienced the same aching emptiness where his friends were supposed to be as the rest of them.

The bitter tone of Eddie's speech, and the way Richie’s eyes turn a little dimmer extinguishes the fire of Eddie’s envy. Richie deserves better than him in every way. An apology lies at the tip of his tongue, ready to jump into the open and hopefully aid the wounds before they’re fully developed.

Sensing the impending hurricane of trouble on the horizon Mike is eager to intervene, playing mediator for two forces that are about to collide. ‘Well I mean, we probably wouldn’t have gone through with most of them anyway.’

‘Speak for yourself’, Eddie waves him off, spiteful that Mike has a good point. He would have found a way to undermine their plans and make it so that he could back out without appearing like a meek lamb, for at least half of the activities. If he had known about Bryan’s existence though, he would have done anything. He feels ready now to do anything, to one up him and establish his spot as Richie’s number one.

‘Prove it,’ Bill dares with a lopsided smirk, certain he’s got Eddie beat. He sustains eye contact, reaching for the bag of chips on the table and gnawing on it with the most smug aura Eddie has ever witnessed him having.

‘I would’, Eddie defends fiercely, ‘but we can’t do any of the things in Derry.’

‘Sounds like a cop out to me.’

‘Yeah, sure Big Bill, because you can easily find a zip line here in Derry. The town that refused to spend money on renewing the library back in the eighties is no doubt going to have that installed by now.’

‘What about skinny dipping?’ Ben proposes innocently, having no idea the kind of strain he’s putting Eddie under.

‘That’s a great idea Ben, I forgot we put that one on the list.’ Beverly acknowledges despite Eddie’s frantic head shaking. The room temperature drops down and rises back up steadily, at least according to Eddie. He’s starting to sweat, something he never does and takes pride in – in the office he’s the level headed one, and that’s saying something – and he pulls at his collar to allow some air to ventilate.

Everything except that. A swim in a dirty lake that was most likely infected was a whole plate of different bacteria, and being naked in front of the man he’s in love with is not something Eddie is particularly fond of. He almost asks for a different thing to do, but that would truly be a cop out, and he both refuses to back down in front of Richie and give Bill the satisfaction of being right.

‘Good luck with that Eds, question before this all goes down, am I allowed to use this in my next bit?’

‘Actually,’ Bev interrupts, ‘I think you should join him too.’

‘Hey I wasn’t the one that said I’d be willing to do anything.’

‘No, but you were the one who added it on the list in the first place. C’mon Richie, It’ll be fun. For us, not for you guys, but we’ll get a good laugh out of it.’

Richie is hesitant, same as Eddie, readjusting his glasses again. Eddie is sure that if he says the word Richie will tell everyone to back down for him. He wouldn’t even make fun of Eddie for it, should Eddie give any indication that he wouldn’t want him too. He thinks back to Bryan, and how he wouldn’t have backed down for such a thing, and how in awe Richie must have been seeing the man abandon all safety precaution and go for it, Eddie’s mind is made up instantly.

‘Let’s do it.’ He says without leaving room for argument, nodding at Richie as he looks to him. He hopes Richie will go with it, but is also confident that of course he will. As kids they followed each other everywhere, and surely that hasn’t changed.

‘Really? I mean yeah – sure I guess. Bring it on.’

-----

The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s barefoot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Eddie’s jumping from one foot to the other, annoyed that dirt is clinging to his skin and branches are piercing his soles, even more aggravated at the idea of cleaning them in infection filled lake water. Bev better keep her end of the promise, and be waiting near the end of the lake with a pair of fresh pressed towels.

Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent.

‘I forgot how high this was.’

It is high up, but they’ve done this jump at least a hundred times before, so Eddie’s not worried about the plunge. He’d assume Richie isn’t either, but the man keeps glances towards the path they took to get up here, uncharacteristically silent.

‘It’s okay if you're too scared to go through with it Eduardo, I won’t tell the others.’ Richie smirks when he notices Eddie’s glance, crossing his arms over his chest.

The movement makes his shoulders bulk, highlighting just how much bigger Richie is compared to Eddie. Eddie’s mouth waters, and he starts to worry about how he’s going to have to get through seeing Richie’s naked shoulders in the flesh.

‘Just get undressed will you? Hurry up.’

‘Why? Eager to see my bare ass?’

‘Yeah, because who doesn’t think jumping naked into a lake they frequented as kids is the epitome of sexiness? No you self-centered idiot, I want to get it over with so I can go back to the Inn and grab a warm shower.’

With one last peek, Eddie moves backwards, standing away from the ledge and begins to unbutton his shirt, before thinking better off it. Richie picks up on his hesitation, shifting backwards too and motioning his head towards the ridge.

‘Do you want me to show you how it’s done?’

‘No,’ Eddie objects, ‘I’ll go first.’

‘Why? I’m not going to stare at your junk while you're jumping in if that’s what you're worried about Eddie. I’m not that kind of gay.’ Rarely does Richie toss aside an opportunity to grant Eddie another humorous nickname, so the use of his real name spooks Eddie just enough that he opens his mouth to apologize without even realizing what he’s apologizing for.

Richie’s facial expression, set in a grimace and squinting his eyes defensively, are a dead give away that Eddie’s words are being taken the wrong way. If only Richie knew that Eddie wanted him to go in first so he could avoid the same temptation Richie thought he was forcing on him.

‘Richie no, that’s not what I meant I-.’ Heartfelt compliments are not something Eddie has had a lot of practice for these last few years, and he’s not doing a good job catching up on them either. Therefore he sighs and hopes that he can find another way to prove to Richie he’d never accuse him of something like that. ‘Whatever, just go first already.’

‘Fine but turn around okay?’

Eddie listens to him, back towards Richie and the jump off, though he doesn’t really understand the request. With Richie comes a lot of flair, and he was more or less been prepared for a joke about how Eddie got to confirm how big his dick is in reality.

He waits and listens carefully for the sounds of clothes being dropped on the ground, and he can’t stop his mind from secretly imagining how Richie looks like without them once he distinguishes it. Eddie shakes his head, scolding his own mind.

The next few moments are filled with raspy breaths originating from Richie, footstep sounding further away and then closer again in an erratic pattern. He must be scared of the jump. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would ask to jump in at the same time, but since Richie asked Eddie not to turn around, he won’t.

‘If you don’t jump in the next five minutes,’ Eddie teases, the way Richie used to tease him, ‘I’ll push you in.’ A second later Eddie hears Richie’s loud whooping as he plunges down into the dark water.

Eddie spins, the only thing greeting him the dark with very little light clearing up his path, from the moon. He’s having a hard time to even see where the cliff ends, and he can’t disguise Richie in the water at all.

‘I’m coming in’, he yells to the void, in case Richie can’t discern his body in time and needs to move out of the way. He takes off his clothes, goosebumps erupting on his skin, and folds his pants and t-shirt up neatly, touching the ground with his hands to find a dry spot to lay them on. The air is cold, and so Eddie refuses to linger on top any longer than he has to.

He jogs up to the ledge and darts off before his mind can conjure up the thousands of things that can go wrong from swimming in the dark this late at night. His body flies through the air and connects with the water in one swoop, a pit of glee bursting in Eddie’s stomach. Jumping from the quarry equals freedom, a hot summer day and love for all of his friends, but in particular Richie.

Eddie keeps his head underwater until his lungs burn, eyes closed and allowing himself to just feel all the sensations. Then, something tickles the back of his leg, and the peaceful moment is over. He kicks back the surface, away from the spot where he could swear something touched him, and searches around for Richie.

Richie, with his wet black hair clinging to his forehead, strands of it sticking out in every direction, and his droplet covered glasses, roving more of Eddie’s heart each minute they’re near each other. He’s never looked more beautiful, and Eddie has never had to fight the urge to kiss him as much as he does now.

‘See, I told you I wouldn’t stare Eds, I can’t even see anything with all these splatters on my glasses.’

The moon reflects on the water, so that it’s impenetrable, and neither Rich nor Eddie can look down and see their lower body parts.

What Eddie can see is enough anyway, Richie’s shoulders and part of his chest hold Eddie’s attention, and he forgets to respond to Richie’s comment.

His eyes land on a dark bruise, just on the bottom of Richie’s neck, a remnant of their fight with Pennywise earlier that day. Without thinking, without standing still on the consequences of such an action, Eddie swims closer, stretches his arm out, and lingers his fingertips over the bruise. He carefully positions his body to not touch any other body part of Richie’s except for his fingers on his neck.

He makes an inquisitive noise, thumb stroking over the injury in what he hopes to be a calming matter. He physically can’t pull away, entranced with the way he moves and responds to him, trying but failing to get his fill of Richie clenched.

‘Eddie’, Richie whispers, scared to break the silence and the intimate moment. ‘It’ll be fine. And hey, at least he didn’t do anything to my dick.’

‘Yeah, would have been a shame if it were to become even smaller.’

Richie snorts, retaliating the jest with a wave of dirty water aimed at Eddie.

Eddie gasps, spitting out a bit of water that managed to sneak into his mouth. ‘Oh you’re on.’

The two of them chase each other, and if it weren’t for the fact that they were both naked, Eddie would have thrown his entire body weight in the game to push Richie underwater. As it stands, they just splash back and forth until they’re exhausted and the remnants of their laughter dies out, barely enough energy left to stay afloat side by side.

‘Did you have this much fun with Bryan?’ Eddie asks, a bit envious. He hates how he’s still stuck on the Bryan thing, hates that his mind keeps popping images of them doing the exact same thing only to end it with a kiss.

‘What?’

‘With Bryan, the guy you did all that other stuff with?’

‘Oh no, me and Bryan – we were never together like that.’ Back at the hotel room, Eddie figured that that was a ploy to distract Bev, something Richie just said because he couldn’t comfortably admit the real intent of their relationship. But he’s never lied to Eddie, and his eyes, magnified by his glasses, seem so sincere, Eddie has no other option but to believe him. ‘I-I’m- some other guy already has that place all taken up.’

Eddie stupid, oblivious and dense and everything in between. He knows Richie isn’t talking about him, he knows he could never be the guy Richie would hold all hope out for – he also secretly hopes it’s none of the losers -, but he wants to be so bad. Just one time, just one kiss and he’d be sated enough to let go of his feral behavior towards any potential love interest Richie might have. Just one time.

‘Richie’, Eddie starts, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He’s taking a huge risk, by foreseeing a rejection but hoping that Richie won’t drop him as a friend because of this. If Eddie doesn’t do this, he’ll never stop wondering what it feels for their lips to meet. He’ll never get over Richie because he never got to experience any with him.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He risks releasing his lip.

Richie is visibly shocked. ‘What? What the fuck? Eddie is this a joke?’

The joke is, as usual, all on Eddie who regrets ever opening his mouth in the first place. He could try to laugh it off, say that it was a joke, but that would mean that he pretends to make a jest out of something Richie has struggled with for his entire life. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Left with no other options but to further dig his own grave, Eddie decides to be honest. At least that means he gets to keep part of his integrity.

‘No Richie of course not, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry. Look I like you but it’s obviously one sided and I just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you but it was a stupid request and I shouldn’t have asked you that. Oh god, I never even asked if you were dating someone –‘

‘Eds?’

‘- Fuck can we please forget I said anything so we can still hang out?’

‘Eddie?’

‘What?’

‘Yes. Please kiss me.’

Eddie gapes with his mouth open, struggling for breath and for words. He’s half convinced he misinterpreted the words, but his tilted head proves otherwise. Eddie doesn’t question it further, counting his lucky start for once, and leaning in to his emotions and Richie, breaching the water to get to him.

Their kiss is surprisingly gentle for the ungovernable lead up prior to it. Richie’s lips taste like lake water, but deeper underneath lies a tang of something distinctively Richie. Eddie can’t wait to devour him whole once he’s cleaned up. Their lips move together in tandem, a perfect harmony that for once neither are willing to break.

They pull back, Richie’s arms circling Eddie’s waist, and he smiles. His smile mixed with the love stricken gleam in his eyes, mysteriously tells Eddie that Richie feels the exact same way he does. His chest caves with happiness.

‘I like you too, if it wasn’t obvious. A lot more than Bryan.’

‘For the love of God can we never mention that again? It’s embarrassing. No, Hush’, Eddie says urgently, covering Richie’s mouth with his palm when he opens his mouth to conjure up another joke.

‘Fine,’ Richie says while pulling away from Eddie’s hand. ‘How about we talk about something else then? How the fuck are we supposed to get to our clothes?’

#my writing #reddie imagine #reddie fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #richie and eddie #adult losers #it chapter two imagine #eddie x richie

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sanktagenyas · 4 years ago

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alrighty so i guess coherent thoughts about this book might be a very generous estimate of what i’m about to write here but i’ll write down my thoughts anyway ‘cause i wanna share and possibly hear yours like for real interactions with my posts are not just welcomed they’re encouraged.

ok so to start our protagonists are alina and mal and our antagonist is the darkling and i pretty much related to alina right away because i love a hero with insecurities and doubts, i love an underdog so of course i was always meant to fall in love with alina starkov on sight. now the darkling... should be that i and everyone else would be beyond tired of the dark, tall, handsome and mysterious/scary men in fiction especially when they whisk our hero away for even more mysterious and/or nefarious purposes that they leave them completely in the dark about BUT the charisma fucking jump off of the pages i don’t know what else to tell you. and i am deeply intrigued about him and his backstory and also him and how he feels about our protagonist because when you catch the attention of a centuries old immortal being that says something about you but it says more about said immortal imo.

we come to learn that the darkling is beyond ruthless and yet he still a capacity for love after all this time even if it’s quite out of use to say the least. and just the fact that out of the thousands of people who have crossed his path there’s this one girl he saw and he was like well look at that someone who’s not unremarkable for once. and i know that’s not exactly a romantic sentiment but that’s how it starts, folks.

but anyway to cap my little ramble here despite the fact that i’ve seen that kind of villain before i do still really love the darkling. i like that we don’t have all the facts yet about what led him to become who he is so there’s just the right amount of mystery around him to keep you wanting to discover more and he is just human enough that he is not this caricature monstrous villainous figure (alina would beg to differ but i don’t listen to what alina yells at people when she’s angry)

now onto mal. i’m trying to word this in a way that doesn’t make me come off as a raging anti because the truth is that would require me to be invested in mal enough to hate him and as of now i’m just not. with book one being told entirely in alina’s perspective it’s pretty in your face that we should care about mal. our hero loves him and we want her to be happy, right? plus we really shouldn’t ship her with the villain there are so many wrong aspects about that dynamic just to name one aspect the deceit and the lies. the foundation of darklina is so fucked we should not ship it, right? well see that’s where i would argue that my biggest issue with darklina as a ship is the darkling in the final act all but saying fuck alina’s agency i’m going to make her my puppet for eternity not because that is necessary to accomplish my plan but because i’m jealous and resentful that she left me behind and didn’t embrace my plans for ravka and therefore embrace me.

and you might think wait i’ve lost the plot we were talking about mal and now we’re talking about darklina and the darkling but rewind back a little i said my issue with darklina in the final act of the book is the darkling pissing all over alina’s agency. and he might do that in more extreme ways than mal but mal certainly does seem to view alina as property at times and that implies him not respecting her agency. i could point to the fact that saying “don’t tell me we don’t belong together” is only framed as romantic statement because it comes out of the mouth of one of our protagonists and not our antagonist but that’s a cheap shot, it’s easy. instead i’ll echo my thoughts i shared about that malina reunion in chapter fourteen. mal was not one bit concerned about alina there and even though he says later on that not one hour was spent not thinking about her and wondering about her wellbeing all that flies out of the window the second he sees her with the darkling during the fete and here’s the thing if he had caught them mid makeout session i could understand him letting jealousy completely overtake him to the point that he doesn’t ask if she’s ok or how she’s been treated here and just assumes based on appearances (let’s not forget before she unlocked her powers alina was well and truly miserable regardless of the luxury afforded to her by her new grisha status so appearances don’t mean shit malyen) that she must be hunky dory and then tiptoes the line around slutshaming her but definitely crosses the line over into making her feel like shit for circumstances beyond her control territory and all that over seeing her do magic trickery at a party with another guy.

alina is allowed to be attracted to another man, she’s allowed to have feelings for another man. they’re both guilty of miscommunication as they obviously both feel the same way about each other but alina has the decency to keep her jealousy to herself and not have outbursts about mal getting close to other girls like she owns his ass or something. that put me off and then i was hoping there would be a talk that would clarify things and he would apologize and that happened but it also came with the revelation that mal was upset to see her happy with the darkling. so he’d rather see the woman he loves miserable and alone rather than happy and belonging? and that’s the romantic lead i’m meant to be fawning over? i’m just not seeing it right now and that’s why even as he so generously offers her absolution (idk if you can read my sarcasm but just to be clear it’s sarcasm) for having loved the darkling and tells her he loves all of her even the part that loved the darkling i’m like..... i don’t believe you boy.

i guess in summary my thoughts about mal as a love interest is i need some consistency you cannot have him throw a jealous fit over seeing alina standing with another man (that’s literally all they were doing for real) and looking happy about it and then have him be like i don’t care i love you anyway. you cannot have him act as though he owns alina and in the same breath throw in her face that the darkling owns her (i hate this foreshadowing thank you very much) and you cannot have him get cold or angry at so much of a mention of a life she might have that doesn’t include him and then expect me to believe he’s made peace with her having feelings for more than just him. he’s not even able to accept a scenario where she goes off and does shit that doesn’t involve him as he shows no interest in her life in the little palace for the longest time. meanwhile you can literally read all about alina wondering what happened to him and what he went through trying to get to her. and for the love of saints i would love it if alina would stop acting like she needs to be forgiven for these feelings i absolutely get that she feels conned and ashamed about it but you do not need to ask anyone for absolution for falling someone who made you feel seen for the first time in your life. fuck that noise.

i just know trust issues are gonna arise and i know he doesn’t feel that way truly. if alina turned around and at some point decided to show mercy to the darkling mal wouldn’t understand or accept it and i’d fully expect a guilt trip to ensue.

now that’s my thoughts on mal as a romantic lead and that’s about the biggest aspect of him we’re focusing on but i do think he is a brave man who genuinely cared for his friends and genuinely cares for alina as that whole journey to hunt morozova’s herd definitely proved. he loves her i don’t doubt that but one grand gesture doesn’t excuse the way he treats her earlier in the books is my point and as been pointed out by others i don’t like how much alina relies on him even when he isn’t here. her refusal to let go of him was directly affecting her happiness and overall health as she couldn’t come into her powers before she thought he was lost to her. if i’m not liking who the hero becomes when she’s with the love interest it’s a big indicator i’m not gonna love said love interest as much as i’m clearly expected to by the author. i like mal just fine, he’s not without redeeming qualities, i just don’t love him yet and i may never do and that’s ok.

now i wanna take a moment and a couple sentences (it won’t be a novel i swear, pinky promise!) to talk about the twist that i should have seen coming miles away and i already know once my sister watches the show or reads the book whatever comes first i will be mercilessly teased about not seeing it coming. but when i found out the black heretic and the darkling are one of the same my jaw dropped. as memers might say i took that personally. and even though we have a lot of grounds to covers still and unanswered questions such as is the darkling still alive? if he is what is he up to now? is baghra dead in a ditch somewhere or worse? will alina and genya ever see each other again? why was zoya so standoffish and violent with alina, what’s her story? the question in my mind most prominent is what happened to the darkling? what happened for him to become who he is. i love the quote monsters are not born they’re made and i much prefer to see a villain who wasn’t always one than one who is just evil for the evulz. so i want a backstory and i also wanna learn about baghra while we’re at it.

it’s all fun and well for her to denounce her son’s actions but and i hate to break it to her but YOU RAISED HIM LADY. so yeah baghra’s whole speech to alina is missing parts for sure because she’s not just gonna admit her hands are covered in blood as much as the darkling’s are. not without some pressing at least.

sooo to cap off all this i guess i would have just two throwaway remarks and that is that i am getting a lot of gay vibes from alina and if i took a shot every time she remarks on genya’s beauty or just gushes about genya in general i’d be drunk by now and i hope we get an actual queer romance somewhere in these books even just between side characters. second remark would be ivan i’m waiting for you to find some redeeming qualities my dude, i was rooting for you! at first he is a raging dickhead about it but seemed to mellow some and then near the end it’s right back to square one and i am really sorry about his brothers dying but having lost family members is not actually a get out of jail free card that gives you free range to mistreat people just because you can.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone book spoilers #i'm not putting anti malina tags on here because i'm not interested in engaging in disc-horse #that's why i'm also not tagging characters or ships but if it wasn't clear i am darklina trash yes hello #this is a) a mess and b) far too long but it's what it says on the tin aka my incoherent garbage thoughts

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panda-noosh · 5 years ago

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lets talk business {Finn Shelby x Reader}

Words: 9.4k

Summary: Polly Gray comes to you looking for a good business deal. It’s only luck that makes her bring Finn Shelby along with her.

Genre: fluff ??????????????

Warning: swearing

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

---

“Polly fucking Gray.”

The woman smiles. Sharp, all cheekbones. She somehow manages to keep her lips pursed, illuminating the mischievous glint in her eyes that much more.

Part of you still cannot believe she is sitting in front of you; the woman herself, one of the leading cronies of the Peaky Blinders, one of the most feared people in all of England. She’s certainly got an air to her, one you can’t dismiss as you sit on the other side of the table, hands folded on the wood, heart thumping no matter how calm you may look on the outside.

You’ve trained yourself to deal with people like her - people who think they can come into your office and twist your arm whatever way they want. Men, women, gangster wanna-be’s - you’ve dealt with all of them, and you have no intentions of letting Polly Gray be any exception to the harsh realities of your business.

She leans back in her seat, tapping her fingers against the edge of the desk; she has been in here for two minutes already and has not said a single word.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask.

Polly tilts her head to the side, examining you in the way only a Shelby really can. “I’m here to talk business, Y/N. Don’t waste my time.”

“I’m not the one who’s been sat in silence since I walked in.”

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

You raise a brow. “No? Maybe that’s why you and your little motley crew have been dropping like flies recently - bad communication can have detrimental effects on a business.”

Polly pauses. It’s brief, barely noticeable unless you’re paying extra close attention. “Is that what you think the Peaky Blinders are? A business?”

“No more than I am, love.”

“If I were you, I’d get that out of my head as soon as possible.”

You narrow your eyes. “Are you threatening me already? We haven’t even got to the good stuff yet.”

Polly slaps her hand against the desk. Globes and glasses rattle, only the security of your expensive storage units keeping them from shattering. Polly’s nostrils flare, her eyes glaring into your own - but you do not look away.

You just smile, tapping the little pile of papers to your left. “I’ve got all the details you want right here, Miss Gray. Feel free to start being polite at any time. I’ve got all day for you, love.”

Polly growls, slowly sitting back. “How many guns can you provide us in a fortnight?”

“How many do you need?”

“As many as you can get.”

You hum thoughtfully, despite already knowing the answer. Keeping her on her toes is a goal, a way to make sure she is aware that you are in charge right now, that you will not be taking orders from her just because everyone else is so willing to trail in her wake.

Polly inhales deeply, clearly trying to calm herself down. “I haven’t got all day, Y/N.”

“Let’s put this into perspective,” you reply, resting your elbows on the desk. “My people collect shipments from all over the fucking world, Polly. We get deliveries of twenty to thirty assault weapons every single day - at most, I can get you over four hundred guns in two weeks; it won’t be subtle, and you’ll need to have a hiding place ready for them before the first shipment, but we can do it.”

Polly’s eyes glisten. “Over four hundred?”

“If the money’s right on your end.” Her smile fades. You shrug, tapping your fingertips together. “This is an expensive world we’re living in, Miss Gray, and you are dealing with some very expensive business. You gather the funds, we’ll gather the guns. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

Polly tilts her head to the side, lips still pursed like there is forever something sour playing on her tongue. “I don’t think you understand who you’re making business with right now.”

You smile. “No. I understand just fine - I just don’t give a fuck. You people don’t scare me. I’ve got wages to pay, love. This isn’t a game.”

It takes a minute - perhaps a minute too long, but Polly eventually smiles. It’s small, barely there unless you’re looking for it. With her head still tilted, brown curls resting on her shoulder, she nods and says, “Fair enough. We can get the first payment to you before the end of the night, but we expect them four hundred guns in fourteen days. Or else consequences will be dire.”

“Oh, I know, Miss Gray. I’ve heard all about you and the Shelby boys.”

You’re not lying - it would be impossible to live on this side of town and not know who the Shelby boys are, the things they do to people who don’t follow their plans meticulously. You have no intentions of falling into that category - but that doesn’t mean you’re going to let them walk all over you, either.

----

The docks are cold this time of day, but the police are nowhere to be found.

Early morning starts are not high on the laws agenda, apparently, which is why you find yourself half-awake, bundled in layers upon layers of clothes, standing beside the boats currently delivering the guns you requested - the guns for Polly Gray.

It’s not like you to be there when the deliveries come in - you deal with the issues behind the scenes, often staying locked up in the dark office, sifting through papers and complaints, getting rid of people who have a bit too much to say about the way your business is run.

But Polly Gray is more than just a normal client. She’s Polly fucking Gray, someone you need to please or else face a wrath unlike any other. So, you dragged yourself from your bed at four this morning, and now stand by the boats, watching the crates of weaponry get dragged from their decks.

Fingers graze your elbow. You tilt your head to the side, a silent request for the stranger to talk.

“Someone is here to see you,” an Irish accent says. You turn, first catching sight of Mr Luther Murdock, one of the few men in the world whom you trust with your life.

Standing behind him, however, is someone you most certainly did not expect to see this morning.

Finn Shelby is a tall man - a tall boy? - with the slicked back, half-shaved hair of the Shelby clan. He wears an expensive suit, consisting of only three layers, and you silently wonder how he isn’t shivering right now. But he isn’t, instead standing tall and bold amongst the dust and grime of an early morning business delivery.

You turn fully, folding your arms over your chest. “Finn Shelby. What a surprise. Has your aunt had my name in her mouth again?”

Finn shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t even look at you when he speaks, too busy examining everything going on around him - you realise he doesn’t get out much, not as often as his brothers, anyway. This side of things must be so new to him, so bizarre. You nearly laugh in his face - his brothers go out murdering people every single day, but the idea of someone importing guns into Birmingham is what intrigues him.

“Yes,” you continue when he doesn’t respond to your previous jab. “This is where all the magic happens. See that crate over there?” You point to a wooden box being hauled from a boat onto the platform. “That’s for you and your shit-stain family.”

Finn smiles. “Is it now.”

“The money was given to us quite promptly, I will admit. I thought for sure you would have just threatened us till we did what you wanted.”

“We don’t work like that.”

“No? So where have all the big bad tales come from then?”

Finn’s mouth twists. Still, his eyes do not meet your own, giving you plenty of time to smile to yourself. Finn is certainly one of the easier ones to mess with, if just because he’s lived in his brothers’ shadows for as long as he’s been able to walk. He doesn’t have the same confidence, the same quick-wit that the other Shelbys have.

It’s kind of sad, really.

You stare at him a moment longer, waiting for him to continue the conversation, perhaps offer up an explanation as to why he’s here in the first place. Most of the time, people make their orders and just leave you to get on with it - it’s very rare someone actually comes down to view the process.

Finally, Finn sighs, and for the first time since you acknowledged his presence, his eyes snap to your own. “This is an interesting little set-up you’ve got here.”

“It’s not so much interesting as it is cautious.”

“Is that why you’re here so early?”

You shrug. “Don’t get it twisted, Shelby. You won’t find me down here at this time every day - I just wanted to make sure my people were doing the job right for you and your people, yeah.”

Finn hums. “Nice of you. Considering you’re a twat.”

“Now who gave you that impression?”

Finn tilts his head, examining you for longer than strictly necessary. His gaze makes you uncomfortable, being dragged forth to the point where you have to look away and change the topic; maybe that’s where his skills lie. John, Arthur and Tommy carry the guns for intimidation, but all Finn needs is his expression.

You turn and start walking along the docks, giving Luther a thankful nod that reads go away. Finn follows close behind you, polished heels clicking against the rough wood.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’ve really come here today?”

“I overheard Polly talking about her inquiry.”

You raise a brow, glancing over your shoulder. Finn catches your eye, smiles sheepishly.

“You really made her angry.”

You shrug. “It’s business. It’s what we do. If your aunt can’t take that, then maybe she isn’t as tough she likes to make herself out to be.”

Finn pauses. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“It’s true what they say, Shelby - being tough doesn’t just come from violence. You might be able to shoot a gun and kill people without blinking, but if you can’t handle a little tough criticism, then how strong can you really be?”

Finn doesn’t respond. You think you might have hit a sore point for him.

Barrelling on, you say, “You overheard Dear Pol talking about me. Then what? Your interest was piqued?”

“I wanted to see what made you so special.”

You very nearly freeze on the spot. Instead, you catch yourself, glancing at him yet again. “She said I was special?”

“She said you were a lot of things,” Finn replies. “But we have our own people when we want weaponry - I want to know why she came to you this time. You, of all people. Basically the same age as me-”

“You’re older.”

Finn tilts his head. “I guess I just want to know how you fucked your life up so bad that you’ve ended up on this side of things so early on.”

Your mouth fills with cotton. You swallow thickly, turning back to the path in front - around you, people are bustling back and forth, bowing their heads, giving you tiny little “Hello’s” that are meant to sound pleasant but honestly just reek of fear. You are surrounded by grown men who want nothing more than to impress you, to place themselves in your good books because they know what will happen to them if they somehow find themselves upon the alternative.

You never would have thought such a reaction a bad thing, but now that Finn has spoken, it does seem a bit weird. You’re successful, rolling in money you honestly don’t deserve, but what does it all mean if you have people terrified of you?

Finn picks up his pace, strolling alongside you now. His shoulder clips with yours, and it takes everything in you not to turn around and shove him into the harbour.

“I’ve never met someone like me before,” he says.

“You haven’t yet. We’re nothing alike.”

“No?”

“I don’t fancy being compared to a Shelby.”

“Mm. See, I might be wrong, then. Us Shelby’s can admit when something’s true - clearly you can’t.”

You grit your teeth, balling your hands into fists. “Do you want these guns or not, Finn? Because if you carry on the way you are now, I’ll cancel everything. You can take your fucking money back.”

“You think you have that kind of power?”

You whirl around so abruptly, Finn nearly crashes into you. “You think I don’t? Are you forgetting whose business this is? Are you forgetting who’s in charge?”

Finn steps back. He doesn’t look scared, but he doesn’t look unprovoked, either; slightly widened eyes, a swift swipe of his tongue across his lower lip that proves to you this is not the reaction he was expecting. People from all over the world will drop to their knees to see to every Shelby boys wish and desire - clearly this is what Finn wants from you, as well.

“If you came here just to spew your bullshit superiority complex, I don’t want to fucking hear it. Unlike you, I have work to do, shit to get done.” You turn, calling out to a nearby dock worker. “Oi! Mate, take this little prick back to wherever the fuck he came from.”

The dock worker scrambles forward, bending to your every wish.

Turning back to Finn, you give him a sarcastic smile. Again, he swipes his tongue along his lower lip.

“Have a safe journey home,” you say. “Maybe you can find a dark alley somewhere to go fuck yourself.”

----

“So I fucked that up pretty badly.”

Arthur takes a long drag of his cigarette, cold eyes set in a wrinkled face running the length of Finn Shelby as the two brothers sit across from each other in The Garrison.

Finn doesn’t want to be here. Finn wants to be back in bed, cuddled up under a warm blanket after the early morning he was subject to today. He argues the early morning was entirely against his will, but even he isn’t delusional enough to believe such a thing - the moment he heard you were doing business with his family, he knew he needed to see you.

And it has been a long time since you and Finn Shelby last spoke; taking from the conversation you two had this morning, he can only assume you don’t really remember your last meeting at all. The smiles, the laughter, the getting-to-know-each other. Today, you spoke to him like he was a complete stranger, and Finn doesn’t know if you’re just trying to protect yourself, or if you really do not remember him.

Arthur sighs in that heavy way Arthur always does. He has one hand perched on his knee, the other holding his sixth lit cigarette. “I expected nothing less from you, brother. Absolutely nothing less.”

“I don’t get it,” Finn grumbles. “I don’t even know where I slipped up.”

“Sometimes it’s best to just move on. If the devil’s not interested in you, then that’s how it is.”

Finn scowls; it’s become a habit of his to agree with everything his older brothers say, but this is something he can’t get on board with. You’ve changed, yes, but it’s not really in a bad way - you’ve become stronger, more in-tune with your surroundings. It’s a big difference from the timid business-oriented person you were before, sitting behind a mahogany desk, taking shit from anyone and everyone.

Part of Finn is happy you’ve grown a backbone. Another, more selfish part of him just wants you easy to bend again.

He sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Fuck me, man.”

“Right,” Arthur replies, slapping the table. “How about this, Finny-boy. A whore for the night. I’ll pay for her, don’t you worry, but you clearly need something to get your mind off this Y/N person you’re on about.”

Finn flicks his eyes up. “Stop pretending you don’t know who they are.”

Arthur shrugs, slumping back in the booth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blows the smoke directly into Finn’s face. “Polly’s been raving on about them for a good week and a half now. Sounds like a right handful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a bit rich coming from a fucker like you.”

Arthur grins. “I never said it’s a bad thing. I just don’t know if a handful is the type you should be focusing on.”

Finn raises a brow. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well.” Arthur trails his eyes along Finn’s form, and Finn already knows exactly what his brother is going to say. “You’re not exactly the sturdiest little bastard in Birmingham, are you? Y/N will be trailing you through the streets by the bollocks if this turns into anything.”

Despite himself, Finn’s cheeks heat up. He looks down, scratching a few lines into the table; Arthur is wrong, of course. Finn can hold himself just as well as any of them, and he’s not about to let some sketchy business-owner boss him around. Yes, he has fond memories of you, but at the end of the day, you’re a different person now. You’re Finn’s rival. He has to remember that.

He looks back up. Arthur is already staring at him, amused smile appearing beneath his bushy moustache. “Promise me you won’t tell Tommy anything about Y/N.”

Arthur scoffs. “Tommy already knows about Y/N, you stupid twat. Even without Pol ranting about them every two seconds, Thomas Shelby knows everything.”

“Y/N might be a bit different.”

“Oh, give it a rest, lad. None of this they’re special bullshit - Tommy knows all about them, and listen to me when I tell you this.” Arthur leans in, lowering his voice despite the privacy of the booth they’re seated in. “He’s got them and their little business high on his radar.”

---

Finn isn’t someone you would ever call a friend.

Especially not now.

Once upon a time, perhaps you could classify him as a fascination - but all the Shelby’s were a fascination when you lived in Birmingham - especially Small Heath. Their names were once plastered everywhere until Thomas Shelby started getting a little too big for hit boots. The mans wife died, and he went downhill from there. People stopped respecting them as much; people had less fear; the streets of Birmingham became less of a risk, because people saw that the Shelby clan could be brought down if the need arose.

Finn, however, was one of the only Shelby boys you ever had any direct contact with. Brief, barely memorable, but it happened, and you remember it better than you are willing to admit.

You sit in your office now, the only light coming from the lantern lit on the desk beside you. The door is closed, but you can still hear the bustle outside it, employees yelling at each other, people falling over one another in their attempts to get the heaps upon heaps of work finished in time.

You should be helping them. Usually, you would be out there, making sure your business stays on it’s toes, but seeing Finn today has done something to you that you can’t quite explain - rattled you, maybe. Thrown you off guard. His visit was certainly unexpected, but you’re usually so good at pulling yourself together when you need to.

You tug your knees into your chest, leaning your forehead against them. Through the door, someone cries out, another person telling them to suck it up. You close your eyes, try to catch your breath before you really do sink into the territory of absolutely insane.

You want to drift off to sleep. You want to close your eyes and not resurface until all of this drama has been cleared up, until the Shelby’s are out of your life for good. Only then will you be able to focus solely on the work in front of you.

A knock sounds at the door. You bite your lower lip, resisting the urge to yell at the guest to just fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, it’s too late for this, you don’t have the mental capacity-

“Come in!”

The door creaks open. Heels thump against the carpet. The smell of expensive perfume fills the room. You know exactly who has just entered.

Slowly lifting your head, you are greeted by Polly Gray. She’s wearing an expensive striped suit, and standing behind her is her young son, Mr Michael Gray, dressed in a simple grey suit with his hair slicked back. Compared to the last time you saw him, he’s certainly broadened out.

“I see you got your custody back.”

Polly’s nostrils flare. “It’s like you’re running some kind of zoo out there.” She plucks a cigarette from your desk and sits down, gesturing for her son to do the same. Without invitation, the two Gray’s get comfortable, Polly propping one knee up against the arm rest of her seat, lighting a cigarette at the same time. Michael’s beady little eyes are dancing around in search of alcohol.

You slump against your own seat, sighing. “I’m tired, Polly. Tonight is not the night to talk to me about business.”

“Ah, see, that’s not acceptable,” she replies, pointing her cigarette at you. “When you’re working with me, love, you have to be on call at all times.”

“And when you’re working with me, you need to have a bit of fucking trust.”

Her eyes snap up, narrowing. “Beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play dumb, Pol. It’s really not a good look on you.”

Polly slowly leans forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sending Finn to come check on me this morning was unnecessary.” You pluck the cigarette from her fingers, taking a drag of your own. “My people know what they’re doing. Plus, Finn Shelby is hardly a decent fear tactic - I could snap that boy in two if I wanted.”

Michael and Polly fall silent, and for a second, you second-guess your sentence choice - did you just make yourself sound stupid? Either way, the pair share a confused glance before Michael leans his elbows on the mahogany and says, “Finn visited you this morning?”

You freeze. “At around five am, yeah.”

Polly snickers, a noise that would infuriate you if it came from anyone else. From Polly, however, it just captures your attention, and suddenly you’re awake again.

“You didn’t send him?” you question.

“We don’t send Finn to do anything,” Polly says. “And this is exactly why. He gets infatuated. He’s not like his brothers, dear - he isn’t completely heartless.”

You blink, unsure what she means. She’s still smiling, still staring like she’s waiting for you to catch on, too.

You lean back, folding your arms over your chest. “None of your business dealings have to do with Finn. Keep him out of it.”

“We never dragged him into it in the first place,” says Michael. He, too, is grinning, though he has the decency to hide it behind his whiskey glass. “That’s all on Finn, I’m afraid, and who are we to tell him to back off?”

You scowl. “You Shelby’s really enjoy walking on thin ice, don’t you?”

“You said it yourself, love,” says Polly. “Finn has nothing to do with our business dealings, meaning his actions have no connection to what we’ve got going on. If you were to cancel all of this because of him, you’re going against your own quote.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that she’s got your arm twisted behind your back, hate that she has even the tiniest bit of control over you and your decisions. But she’s paid you already. The first delivery of guns has already been set up, already been stored away for later use - taking everything back now would just be a hassle.

Plus, it would be giving Finn the control he clearly wants, and you can’t have that.

Because why else would he come and see you? Why else would he want an insight into your business process?

When you fail to reply, Polly sighs, an almost dreamy sound clearly meant to infuriate you. You look at her through the tops of your eyes, watching as she snatches the glass of whiskey from her sons hand and takes a sip for herself. Michael doesn’t even flinch, just folds his arms over his chest and continues watching you like a predator watching prey.

“I only came here for an update on my guns,” says Polly. “But I’ve received something much, much more interesting.”

“Your boy is an idiot,” you snap. “If he thinks he’s getting anything out of me-”

“Finn isn’t one to care for family business.” Polly grins, tilting her head to the side; it’s that look she’s famous for, the one that makes anyone feel ten times smaller. “If he came to visit you, it wasn’t for business of any sort. I’d maybe ask him what he wants next time you see him.”

Michael smiles, a dimple popping on his left cheek. “Cute.”

“Go to hell,” you spit.

Polly chuckles, placing a hand on Michaels arm. Together, the two of them rise from their seats and start towards the door; they didn’t even get their update, but they both look smugly content, like they’ve gotten exactly what they came for.

You hug your knees closer to your chest, fully aware that the pose makes you look cowardly, but you don’t care right now. You watch them leave, Polly giving you the smallest wave over her shoulder before her and her son disappear through the door; outside, the halls get quiet. You can hear the back door slam shut before the hustle and bustle of business life starts back up again.

You close your eyes, letting your head fall to your knees again; you’re exhausted, even more confused than you were when you first laid eyes on Finn this morning, and quite frankly, in no fit shape to be dealing with the Shelbys’ bullshit.

---

“Look, there’s nothing we can do. One of the orders went missing, and we can’t find a way to get it back.”

“Great. Fucking fantastic! This is exactly what we wanted today, eh?”

Luther lowers his head, blonde hair falling in his eyes; he’s trying to hide his shame, but you see right through him. There’s horror there, an acceptance of the punishment he and the entire team will be receiving from the Peaky Blinders if this deal does not go to plan.

You run your hands through your hair. “How does an entire order of guns go missing?”

“My best bet is it was stolen,” says Luther. “Going through all them borders, it’s not far-fetched to imagine someone with sticky fingers getting their hands on it.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll think twice when I cut off those fucking sticky fingers.”

“And who are you threatening?”

No.

This is the last thing you need, the absolute last thing you need. You whirl around nonetheless, like Finn is a magnet you are drawn to - and there he stands, tall and lanky and gorgeous but so, so smug and annoying that it nearly makes you want to rip your hair out.

You grit your teeth, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “Who let you through?”

Finn grins, striding forward. He examines the crates on his way towards you, stopping only when he is centimetres away from exactly where you are stood. “No one needs to let me through. You’ve got some loyal people here, Y/N, but you’re forgetting the Peaky Blinders run Birmingham.”

“So the rumours say.”

“You never answered my question, though - who are you threatening?”

He’s going to find out eventually. In a weeks time when he and his family are receiving their order of guns and they are an entire crate short, he’s going to know exactly what happened.

You glance up at him, and you feel something break inside you. You can’t quite pinpoint what it is, but you’ve felt it before, tried fighting it off so many times. It’s linked to those blue eyes, blood-shot with exhaustion and years of seeing things no man should ever have to see. It’s linked to the way he stands, so close you can feel his warmth radiating off them stupidly expensive suits he has the honour of wearing every single day. It’s linked to the tilt of his head, the small smile that seems to only appear when he’s taking the piss out of you.

You look back to the ground, shoving these thoughts aside enough to say, “One of our orders went missing during delivery and we can’t get it back.”

The admission is like a blow to the chest, even though it shouldn’t be - it was a simple mistake, one you had no control over. But it’s a mistake that shouldn’t have been in place, a mistake you’ve never made before, a mistake that is linked to Polly fucking Gray.

Finn pauses for a brief moment. Looking up, you notice his eyes are no longer trained on you, but on a spot just by your head. His lower lip jults out, and if you listen close enough, you can make out the sound of him humming.

“Polly isn’t gonna be too happy about that,” he says finally.

You fold your arms over your chest. “No. I don’t think she will.”

“That’s not very good, is it?”

You glare. “Fuck off, Finn.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. The move surprises you, considering it’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen a Shelby display in a sober state; it’s nice, but you curse the warmth that immediately spreads to your chest. It forces you to take a step back, just for safety.

“Right, what are we gonna do about this, then?” he says, lowering his head to glance at the crates. “I’ve got a few orders I can probably spare - throw a couple onto the pile.”

You blink, not entirely positive you’ve heard him right.

He looks down, raising a brow at your silence. “What?”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Isaiah and I have more guns than we can store. We can toss a few onto your shitty little pile-”

“Watch your mouth.”

“And then you’ll have nothing to worry about. What do you say?”

“There’s a catch.”

“No there isn’t.”

“I’m not stupid, Finn.” You take another step back, very nearly tripping over a worker bustling past. “I know your family. You don’t do things for others unless you want something in return.”

Finn scowls, folding his arms over his chest. “Why does everyone just assume me and my family have the exact same personalities? We’re different people, you know, and I just so happen to be willing to help you without getting anything back.”

This is something you can’t even fully wrap your head around - he’s Finn Shelby. He’s a Peaky Blinder. Him and generosity do not - and will not - go hand in hand.

Finn groans, tilting his head and closing his eyes. “Do you want the offer or not? ‘Cause I can just go back to The Garrison and tell Polly you’re-”

“Let me see what you’ve got.”

His eyes flick open. That smile starts again. “Of course. Follow me.”

And that’s how you end up alone with Finn Shelby, standing in a freezing cold storage locker, surrounded by more crates of guns than your maths skills allow you to count.

Wrapping your arms around your middle, you say, “Holy fuck,” because that honestly seems like the only decent response you can give to a sight like this.

Finn slips his blazer off, drops it casually over your shoulders before he strides forward and starts unclipping the lids of the crates. “Yeah, it’s quite a lot. We got carried away when the Russians were around.”

“Right. Russians.”

He jumps up, balancing one foot on the edge of a crate as he looks inside and rummages through what can only be a great, great number of guns. They scrape against each other, and you can imagine the scratches currently infesting their slick black armour with how badly they’re being handled.

You tug Finn’s blazer tighter around yourself, biting your tongue.

“We’ve got all sorts,” he explains. “Pistols, automatics, semi-automatics, pump actions-”

He tosses a pistol onto the floor.

You yelp. “Finn!”

He glances over his shoulder, a glimmering smile on his face. “I knew that was gonna rile you up.”

You pick up the gun and stuff it in the waistband of your jeans. “You’re such an asshole. Do you know how dangerous it is to go round throwing guns about? What if the safety hadn’t been on?”

“Why wouldn’t the safety be on?” He goes back to rummaging, shaking his head. “Honestly, you think I’m some kind of fucking amateur-”

You groan and stomp forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him down from the crates. He stumbles into your chest, turning to look at you, but you’re already pulling yourself up onto the ledge he was previously stood upon.

“What are you doing?”

“A better fucking job than you, that’s for sure.”

He doesn’t respond, but you hear him chuckle.

The crates are truly what a serial killers dream would be made of - piles upon piles of guns, all sorts of guns, crammed in a single crate. Some of them have the safety gauze on them, whilst some just hang out loosely, a danger to anyone who handles them too roughly - it’s this danger that sends a thrill swirling through your stomach, this danger that prompts you to reach forward and grab one from the box.

Finn tenses. “Careful.”

“A Colt, hm.” You point and aim at the storage room door. “1903 model, yeah?”

“I haven’t looked.”

You nod. “Definitely a 1903 model. Don’t see many of these around nowadays.”

Finn sighs. “Put it down. We’re not here to piss about.”

“I’m not pissing about. I happen to know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’ve never seen you shoot a gun in your life.”

You scoff. “You haven’t seen me do a lot of things, Finn Shelby.”

Why he is so rattled, you do not know. Usually so calm and laid back, the youngest Shelby now stomps towards you, grabs your wrist-

“Finn! What the fuck?”

You try tugging your hand out of his grip, but his fingers tighten. Your arms are tossed over your head in the quarrel, your own fingers tightening on the trigger, just enough for a bullet to speed into the roof. Concrete crumbles over your head, and you barely have time to yell before Finn’s arms have wrapped round your waist and he’s tugging you to the ground, his broad body thrown on top of your own.

An entire chunk of concrete collapses, landing and smashing on the cold floor, just inches from where you and Finn are currently kneeled.

You pause. Your heart thunders. You can hear nothing but his breath tickling the side of your head, your blood rushing to your ears. The Colt 1903 lays discarded by the crates you have just been thrown from, and Finn’s arm is still on the small of your back when you finally emerge back into reality.

“Finn,” you whisper. There’s dust in your throat, blood on your elbows and knees.

“Yeah?” he whispers back.

“I won’t have to pay for that damage, will I?”

Finn pulls back, hand snaking along your hip as he pushes himself up onto his elbow to take a look at the damage in question. You hear him take a sharp breath, fingers tightening on your hip before he stands up. You follow shortly after, eyes widening as soon as you take a look at what has happened.

“Oh, fuck.”

The cracks in the floor aren’t even the worst bit of it; there’s a chunk taken from the roof, wires and long pieces of wood hanging down. Dust floats through the air, blinding you for seconds at a time until you eventually swat it away. An entire crate of guns has been knocked over, and it’s only by the good grace of God that none of them went off in the collision.

Finn stands to the side, one hand trailing through his hair, the other rubbing absently at his stomach; his lower lip is pulled between his teeth, a clear sign that he has absolutely no idea what to do, that the two of you are more than likely going to be in deep, deep trouble when one of the other Peaky Blinders finds this mess.

“Are you alright?”

You close your eyes. “It’s not really been my day, Finn, so no. I can’t say I am.”

Finn purses his lips. It’s rare for anyone to see a Shelby look awkward, but the way Finn shifts from one foot to the other screams of nothing more than pure, unfiltered ohfuckohfuckohfuck. He runs his hands through his hair, glancing at the damage done to both the roof, the guns and the ground, and it is very clear that he’s already dreading the process of telling his family what has happened.

You know you should do something - anything at all, something to help him out of this dilemma. At the end of the day, you played a part in this mess. You had the gun, had startled Finn enough for him to dive towards you in his fragile attempts to get it off you.

But why was he so worried in the first place?

You hollow out your cheeks, stuffing your hands in your pockets when you say, “I’ll tell Tommy.”

Finn stiffens. “No you won’t.”

“This is my mess to deal with. We wouldn’t even be in here if it wasn’t for me fucking up the order-”

“Tommy will fucking kill you if he thinks you’ve been screwing with his collection.” Finn starts towards the door. “I’ll tell him. You take whatever crate you want and get the fuck out of-”

You spring forward before he can reach the door, grabbing his wrist and twirling him around. His eyes widen slightly, mouth parting as he attempts to get a single protestation in, but you’re quicker. You shove him behind you and dart out the door, hearing nothing but a strangled, “Y/N!” emerge from behind you.

You know where Tommy is; he’s where Tommy always is, hiding away in his office. Despite having not had any communication with the Shelby boy for quite some time, you’ve kept an eye on him and his whereabouts, purely for your own safety. This is why you’re able to make the journey from the docks to his front door in a very short amount of time.

But Finn is also just as quick as you.

He grabs your wrist just seconds before you make to knock upon the massive mahogany door, red paint chipped and crumbling beneath your knuckles. He tugs your arm back, and you stumble directly into his chest.

“You have a fucking death wish,” Finn growls in your ear.

You lean your head against his shoulder, whisper in his ear, “So will you if you don’t let go of me in the next three seconds.”

His fingers loosen just enough for you to pull forward and knock the door. Your heart is thundering; you’re doing this for Finn, and you don’t know why, because he’s never done anything for you, but the thought of him walking into his brothers office and taking the blame for something you played a part in will not let you rest.

The door opens in mere seconds, Francis standing on the other side of it. She raises a brow when she sees you, a sure sign that she’s heard of you before - maybe you’re infamous in the Shelby household, a common name spoken around a candlelit dinner in which Polly Gray has a grand old time talking about how much of a bitch you are.

Nonetheless, you’re not here to find out.

“Morning,” you say, giving the maid a nod. “Can I speak to Thomas please?”

“Y/N, please,” Finn utters as Francis moves out of the way and grants the two of you access to the oversized building - only three people live inside it, but it could honestly be a hotel with how big it is.

You start up the winding staircase, Finn trailing close behind. You don’t answer his muttered plea, too invested in the artwork lining the walls as you climb to the top level - pictures of Grace, drawn in granite yet somehow managing to capture the way her blonde hair used to curl, used to glint and shine with the unnatural light of the Garrison. Pictures of Tommy, sitting with a young boy in his lap and a scowl on his face that somehow manages to look a little more chipper than the scowl he’s usually wearing; perhaps that is him posing, getting ready for a pleasant family picture with his growing son and dead wife.

“She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

The question is out before you can think better of it. You have halted in the middle of the staircase, transfixed on a picture of Grace stood on her own, small smile on her face, hands folded along the top of an empty chair big enough to be a throne.

Finn steps up beside you. “That’s why Tommy liked her so much.”

You risk a glance in his direction. Hands stuffed in his pockets, lip between his teeth, he’s the picture of uncaring. “Did you talk to her much?”

“No.” He looks at you and shrugs. “You know how Tommy is - he doesn’t share stuff like that.”

“He doesn’t share women?”

“He doesn’t share feelings.” Finn gestures to the portrait. “Grace was his whole life for a while. I don’t think he was ready to incorporate us into his whole life.”

You look away, cheeks blazing for a reason you are unsure of - hearing Finn talk like that, perhaps. So open and honest, like he’s talking to someone he can trust. It makes you feel a little guilty, considering you know for a fact Polly will never allow something like. . . that to form between you. She’s already decided she doesn’t like you - there’s no way in hell she’ll have you as part of the family.

Dispelling these thoughts - and the disappointment that comes with them - you slowly start back up the stairs. Once you reach the mahogany doors of Tommy’s office, you risk Finn another glance before knocking, knowing there is no going back after this.

“Come in.”

Finn grabs your arm. “Let me go first.”

“You really think I’m some kind of wimp, don’t you?”

Finn scowls. “Just let me go first and test the air, for fuck sake.”

You bow out of the way, gesturing grandly to the door. “Go ahead then, O’Great Little Bastard.”

Finn kicks you in the ankle before pushing open the door. His broad shoulders cover you, confirmed when Tommy says, “Ah, Finn,” with no mention of you standing behind him.

Finn waltzes into the room, and then Tommy’s eyes land on you.

They’re like ice - you’ve always said that. Piercing and dangerous, holding years worth of stories that look so interesting but too dangerous to hear. He sits with his shoulders drawn back, one hand placed on his forehead and his mouth slightly parted, having clearly not been expecting guests this evening.

Finn shifts, glancing slightly to the side, making sure you’re still there, that Tommy’s gaze hasn’t somehow managed to obliterate you in the past two seconds. You step forward, drawing your own shoulders back when you say, “Mr Shelby.”

Tommy doesn’t respond. He slips his gaze to his youngest brother and tilts his head. “What the fuck have you got yourself involved in now, Finn?”

“Tommy-”

You take another step forward, grabbing Finn’s arm to silence him. “I shot a hole in the roof of one of your storage units.”

There it is. That’s all you needed to say, and yet the words taste like acid when they make an appearance. Thomas - forever the professional at hiding his true emotions - keeps his head tilted, but his eyes are on you now, and that makes it all ten times worse. You held yourself well in front of Polly, but Tommy is a completely different ball-game. He really isn’t all talk. He isn’t one to make a decision and then go back on it - if he’s thinking of your death right now, you will be dying.

Finn lowers his head. “Right, it wasn’t exactly all Y/N’s fault.”

“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Tommy says calmly.

You look at Finn, and he looks back. There’s a tiny, silent conversation being held that lasts only the space of two seconds before Finn is stepping forward, and you’re yanking his arm trying to get him back, and suddenly the two of you are brawling in the middle of Thomas Shelby’s office.

You’re both trying to explain everything, but the words are mashed and nonsensical because Finn has his elbow in your side and you have one ankle wrapped around his leg. His arm is wrapped around your waist, tightening as he tries to shove you off him.

Tommy slams a stamp against the desk. “Enough!”

You and Finn freeze, your hand bundled in his shirt, his hand wrapped around your middle.

Tommy scowls. “Fuck me, it’s like talking to children.”

You separate quickly, brushing your hands down your clothes. “He was gonna take the blame, ‘cause he’s an idiot.”

“I grabbed your hand!” Finn exclaims. “You wouldn’t have shot the fucking thing if I hadn’t-”

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for me!”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Oh, give it a rest, Y/N.”

“Am I wrong?”

“We’re not here to talk about why we were there-”

“Why were you there?”

You close your eyes. You’re a professional, though, and you’ve dealt with issues like this too many times to count. Finn exhales shakily, but you don’t let him take the reigns. You step forward and say, “One of the deliveries for Polly’s order went missing on its way over, so we’re missing an entire crate.”

Tommy pauses. “So you were going into my storage units to - what? Steal?”

“I took them in,” Finn interjects. “Tommy, you know what Polly will do if she finds out her order isn’t exactly what she signed for. She would have killed Y/N and their entire crew in two seconds flat.”

Tommy runs a hand along his face. “And she’s got every bloody right to do that, Finn. You’ve no reason to interject in her business.” Tommy looks up, gestures to you. “Why do you give a shit what happens to them anyway?”

“Have a fucking guess.”

Your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, eyes snapping to take in Finn’s profile; he doesn’t even look tense, simply standing there with his arms swinging and his head tilted. You don’t even know how to properly decipher what he’s just said, but you don’t get a chance to before Tommy is sighing and saying, “Fuck sake, Finn.”

“What?” Finn shoots back. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Not with one of our rivals, it wasn’t!”

“Sorry, Tom, but last time I checked, Grace wasn’t just an innocent little barmaid.”

Tommy stands, knocking the desk with his knees. His hands are balled, jaw clenched, and it’s reflex when you step forward and grab Finn’s arm, tugging him back just that little bit. You want to drag him from the room completely, get him out of harms way, pull him into an empty room and question him on what the fuck is going on right now.

“You’ve got some mouth on you, Finn. I just wanna know where you got it from,” Tommy growls.

And Finn leans forward, not unlike a shark wading through dark water. “Where we all got it from - the Peaky Blinders.”

You expect Tommy to snap - with anyone else, he would have snapped a long time ago. The conversation would have long since been over, but now, the older Shelby glares, and you watch as his eyes soften. It’s so unusual, so unlike the Thomas you know; you take it as a warning, tightening your grip on Finn’s arm.

Tommy’s eyes snap to your own. “I’ll talk to Polly about the missing delivery.”

Your eyes widen. “You will?”

“Stay out of her way for a little bit,” he says. “She’ll need time to cool down, but I won’t let her hurt you. Finn won’t let her hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of Polly,” you reply, because you aren’t, and it feels important to let him know that.

Thomas opens his mouth to respond, to maybe call you stupid for not fearing the woman, but Finn turns before he can get the words out, and suddenly it’s as if Tommy isn’t even in the room. Finn’s eyes meet your own, soft and glazed and exhausted from years of mental torment, but for the first time since you met the man, you can see a tiny hint of humanity within them, a tiny hint of human emotion that he certainly never expressed before.

It’s such a good look on him.

A small smile graces his features. He tilts his head to the side, placing a gentle hand over the top of your own, still clutching the sleeve of his blazer. “I’ll walk you back to the docks.”

You would usually say no, but you can’t right now - you have so many questions, so many missing links that you need joined together for this meeting to make sense. In and out in a heartbeat, even though you’d walked in under the assumption that Tommy was going to happily order your death.

So you and Finn walk out of Tommy’s house, Finn saying a quick goodbye to Charlie before the two of you are once again exposed to the dusty, polluted air of Small Heath. Finn tucks his hands in his pockets, and you dip your chin further into your scarf, neither of you saying a word because neither of you know what to say.

Which is weird considering your brain is a tangled mess of questions right now.

It’s Finn who breaks the silence. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Finn bites his lip, suppressing a smile. “Don’t act stupid.”

You shrug like his words from before meant nothing, like they hadn’t made your heart erupt. “I thought it was pretty well done, to be honest.”

“Yeah?”

“A little unclear, I won’t lie, but I think I got the jidst of it.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

The thing about you and Finn is, both of you are new to this. There is no experience to back up these kinds of feelings, which leaves behind only a vague sense of uncertainty. It’s reaching in the dark. It’s asking for help when neither of you want to give up your pride. It’s wanting to try because this is something new, and the rush from a new experience is what you thrive off.

These are feelings that trigger both your fight and your flight response, and you’re not sure whether you want to flee or stay and see how things turn out.

---

The desk, cluttered.

Your head, sore.

Your fingers, littered with paper cuts.

You slump in your office chair, a single candle lit on the corner of your desk, the only source of light in the room currently with drawn curtains and no lanterns on; you can’t bring yourself to go around turning them on, preferring the dim light for concentration.

The papers in front of you make absolutely no sense, but you can’t just ignore them. It’s your job to make sure everything is in order, whether you understand the details or not.

“Fuck sake,” you whisper to yourself.

The door flings open then, as if your curse summoned someone.

You don’t even have to look up to know who that someone is - Finn Shelby is the only person in the world who would just barge into your office without knocking. He’s the only person in the world who can get away with it.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. You’ll damage your eyes sat in here.”

You don’t look up. “Don’t turn a light on.”

“Oh right. You’re busy.”

You wave a dismissive hand in his direction, using your other hand to shuffle through the pages scattering your desk. So many words, so little time to figure them out. The client will be here tomorrow. They’ll expect everything to be in order, because you promised them everything would be in order, but now you’re sat behind your desk and you don’t even know where to begin-

Fingertips, light as butterfly wings, tickle along your jaw line.

Your eyes snap up, breath leaving you in a single swoop when you see Finn sat on the edge of your desk, a fond smile on his face as he traces his fingers along the curve of your jaw, down your neck until he pauses at the collar of your fluffy dressing gown.

“Stressed?”

You swat his hand away. “None of this shit makes sense. It’s driving me insane.”

Finn sighs, swinging his legs over the desk and pushing himself over to your side. He lands beside you and kneels down, taking a look at the pages you were previously dawdling over.

You glance at him. “Why are you bothering?”

Finn picks up a page, squinting. “Just because I can’t read, doesn’t mean I can’t be useful.”

You snatch the page back. “Yes it does.”

“Take a break.”

You scoff, the idea ludicrous.

Finn raises a brow, tilting his head to intercept your line of sight. “I mean it. If that client tomorrow has a problem, he can come to me about it.”

“This is my business, Finn. I have responsibilities that need to be sorted.”

“You also have a lad who also needs to be sorted.”

You narrow your eyes, glancing at him. “What a pervy thing to say.”

“It’s my way of telling you I miss you without sounding like a knob.”

You snort. “It didn’t work.”

Finn grabs your hand, twirling you around to face him. He stands to his full height, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him from your place in the desk chair. He smiles, swiping his thumb along your lower lip.

“How about I get Isaiah to have a look through these pages for you tomorrow morning, hm?” he asks.

“Finn…”

“You’re exhausted, Y/N. I’m doing you a favour. Now stop being a twat and let’s get-”

“I feel like you just want me to go home with you.” You look up at him, raising a brow. “Even though Arthur said…”

Finn rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands and tugging. “Fuck what Arthur said. Just come home.”

Home. His place. His room. His bed. His warmth. All of it is home now, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sigh and stand up, giving into his complaints. His smile gets wider when you rise from the chair and wrap your arms around his shoulders, revealing just how right he was - you are exhausted.

He hugs you back, swaying a little bit before he presses a kiss to your lips; just a small one, because kissing when he means it is still something a little unknown to Finn Shelby; he used to kiss the girls his brothers hired for him, but he’s openly admitted to you that he never felt like he should, he never felt like them kisses mattered. Now, he kisses you with precision, making sure to draw back every now and then to make sure it’s okay, he’s okay, he’s doing a good job.

You grin, tapping your tongue against his lower lip in that way that drives him insane. “I liked it when you said you were my lad.”

Finn scowls, crinkling his nose up. Freckles scatter his face, constellations against a pale sky. “Don’t think too deep into it.”

“I’m going to.”

Finn picks you up bridal style. You don’t even squeal, simply rest your head against his shoulder, humming into his neck. “Let’s get you to bed, love. You’ve gone delirious.”

“Isaiah better not lose me a fucking client tomorrow.”

Finn chuckles. “We’ll find out in the morning.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders one shot #finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby fanfiction #finn shelby fic #finn shelby x reader #finn shelby fanfic #peaky blinders reader insert #finn shelby fluff #peaky blinders writing

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alexius-fr · 4 years ago

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Chapter Two - By the River

What’s this, two lore posts in a week? YES IT IS

Click the link to follow it to the AO3 version, otherwise please enjoy it under the cut ^^

Early morning, dew still on the vines, Sanguine set out for a walk through the nearby bamboo forest. It was the one moment of the day where he'd be unbothered and alone, Silas still soundly asleep, and if he knew his brother, he would stay asleep until at least noon. Sanguine could not sleep that long anymore, he couldn't lie still long enough without pain in his scarred left shoulder. He stiffly stretched it as he walked out of the caverns, the sun just rising. He shook off the dust he'd gathered over night and headed over to the river to rinse himself clean. His scales had suffered on the long flight and he needed grooming badly. The quiet, early morning was perfect for that, Sanguine sitting himself down by the river after his bath.

It'd been a while since he had any personal time, Sanguine enjoying the peace and quiet, the water rushing in the river and the rustling of the bamboo in the wind while he groomed himself. Perhaps this place wasn't as terrible as he'd thought at first. Lazying in the morning sun after his grooming, he picked up movement a bit further down the stream, lifting his head to see better.

It was Zephyr, Sanguine recognized his striking green markings. He appeared to be fishing, head snapping down into the stream occasionally and coming back with his prize. He carried a great basket strapped to his midriff that was half full already. Quite the skilled fisher then. Sanguine watched, not wanting to disturb the young ridgeback in his activities, secretly envying his strenght of body. It'd been a long time ago when he could hunt like that. Zephyr noticed him, cocking his head curiously, Sanguine nodding solemnly as a greeting. Zephyr returned the greeting, then resumed his fishing with a bit more vigour.

His wet, verdant green hide glistened in the sunlight, a certain grace to his step as he walked up stream gingerly, holding still and tensing his muscles, ready for the attack. Sanguine watched with intrigue, Zephyr striking quick as a flash, coming back out of the water with a triumphant grin and a giant rainbow trout between his teeth. Sanguine smiled, not unimpressed. Zephyr was clearly competent, and showing it off too. He wasn't expecting the youngster to come over to him, but he did, still dripping wet, the trout still in his mouth until he dropped it gingerly in front of Sanguine, head low, a bit a cautious of his reaction. Sanguine just looked at him, placing one long nailed claw on the fish and putting it out of it's floppy misery, admitting that he was a little bit flattered. He granted Zephyr a small smile. To think he could be the object of someone's fancy in this poor state.

“Thought you might be hungry after a flight like that.” Zephyr said. “Alexius said you came from far.”

“Thank you.” Sanguine said. “I am quite hungry, actually.” “Enjoy.” Zephyr smiled, glad to see his offering be accepted. He left Sanguine to eat in peace, which Sanguine very much appreciated. The last thing he needed was for someone to watch him eat.

Instead he got to watch Zephyr show off his fishing skills some more, which wasn't exactly a punishment. Sanguine watched with attention, noticing how Zephyr kept glancing over to see if he was looking at him. His grin grew wider every time their eyes met, Sanguine catching himself in an indulgant smile as well. A strange little flicker started in his chest, spurring on an instinct he didn't know he had. He could perhaps not show off his hunting skills, but when he rose and stretched, he made sure to unfurl his wings to their full capacity, flexing their overworked muscles despite the strain it caused. He pretended to yawn lazily, curling back up on his little perch but he was far more aware of his position now, making sure to move with purpose and grace.

“I'll bet you were quite the hunter, before that injury.” Zephyr said, obviously admiring him. Sanguine smiled. “So I was. But it did not last long.”

“Why? What happened?” Zephyr asked, curious. Sanguine shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. It would only lower Zephyr's opinion of him.

“I'd rather talk about you.” he diverted the subject. “Me? I don't see how I could possibly be of interest.” Zephyr said, ceasing his fishing and joining Sanguine, if at a respectful distance.

“Tell me anyway. Then I'll decide for myself.” Sanguine invited him, Zephyr accepting with an open expression. He helped himself to one of the fish he'd caught, quickly devouring it before he started his story.

“Alright.. Well, I was born here, on the Spire. I've not seen much of the world, but I've heard many a tale from travelers coming through here. I serve Alexius at the temple, as their right hand. I make sure the pantry is well stocked and that there's money for our expenses. I guess I'm sort of a quartermaster.” Zephyr said. “Though what I'm catching today is for my parents' stall, at the market. You might have seen it when you arrived. You caused quite the commotion, by the way. Everyone's talking about you.”

“Good.” Sanguine grinned. “I like making a memorable impression.” “Well you've certainly succeeded at that.” Zephyr chuckled. “So..will you please tell me about yourself? I'm mighty curious.” “And very bad at hiding it.” Sanguine said, although he couldn't help but find it endearing.

“Sorry.” Zephyr grinned with a sense of guilt. “I've just never seen such a powerful looking dragon before, and I must confess myself a bit intrigued.”

“Alright, very well.” Sanguine caved, flattered by the interest and the compliment. Zephyr settled in for a good story, looking excited, Sanguine side eye-ing him with a cheeky smile, one Zephyr returned.

“Well, I was born in the Scarred Wasteland, to a clan called the Bloodborn. I barely knew my mother, and my father I never met. I wasn't in the clan for long. My mother stopped caring about me after two days. She left me and my clutchmate to fend for ourselves, to prove we could survive. Before long, I sacrificed my little sister to the vultures so I could eat them.” Sanguine gauged Zephyr's reaction to this crude retelling of his first days, but the youngster was fascinated, looking at him in awe. Sanguine frowned, surprised. He'd expected him to recoil, look disgusted, perhaps call him heartless. But Zephyr did none of those things, though he did look horrified.

“That's awful. I'm so sorry your mother did that.” he said.

Sanguine was so baffled he couldn't think of what to say next, blinking sheepishly. He'd never been pitied for his past before. Reviled, sure. He knew how to deal with that. But compassion? Never.

“Well- it's.. it made me stronger.” Sanguine managed to mumble.

“Stronger perhaps. But did it make you happy?” Zephyr asked, with eyes that looked too wise for his age. Sanguine recoiled, the question hitting too hard, too fast.

“That's no business of yours.” Sanguine rose to his feet, lip pulled up in a snarl, defensive walls being pulled up. Zephyr lowered his head cautiously, taking more distance from Sanguine.

“I'm sorry. I was too free. I'll listen quietly now, I promise.” Zephyr apologized. Sanguine considered it, a spark of irritation still in his chest. But the irritation wasn't aimed at Zephyr. He was only curious. A bit too familiar too fast maybe, but he wasn't malicious. No, he was annoyed with himself for how quickly he turned into a defensive, angry beast.

Into her.

“It's.. fine.” he sighed, strained. He shook his head and relaxed his claws, that had dug into the sand.

He forced himself to calm, breathing deep. Zephyr relaxed as well, though he remained careful. Sanguine laid himself back down, trying his best to look unfazed, but he suspected it was a miserable attempt. Still, Zephyr had the good sense to remain quiet, only observing him. He was right though. It hadn't made him happy. He thought it had, at the time. After all, what was there to strive for but survival and power? Although perhaps that wasn't all there was to life. Sanguine saw it in Zephyr's eyes. Life, joy, freedom. He had a choice. He'd always had a choice.

Sanguine leaned closer, the pale green of Zephyr's eyes drawing him in. Zephyr lightly cocked his head, but did not draw back. He looked curious, but to what, Sanguine couldn't discern. He flinched slightly when their noses gently touched as he leaned in a bit too far, but it was enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

“You've seen much.” Zephyr said, again with those wise eyes. “The darkness is in your eyes. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I just..well I want you to know I think you're very strong, for going through all of it. And if you ever think you're ready to talk about it, I'll be right here.” he smiled kindly. Again the sympathy that Sanguine had no idea how to handle, so he just nodded.

“I oughta get back up there. The catch's gotta be fresh.” Zephyr stood up, shaking off the sand that had stuck to his wet hide. “Come see me up top sometime.” he invited Sanguine, before taking off and leaving a very confused Sanguine to his thoughts.

When Sanguine returned to the caverns, Silas was finally awake, although he was still lazying about on his roost.

“There you are. Are we leaving yet?” Silas asked, head hanging upside down from the ledge.

“No. Not yet.” Sanguine said. “In fact I think we'll stay here for a good while still.” “Aw, what?” Silas complained. “You mean I have to actually interact with the locals?”

“They're not so bad.” Sanguine said, with a little smile.

“'Not so bad'? Who are you and what have you done to my brother?” Silas frowned, the movement almost causing him to almost fall out of his nest. Sanguine rolled his eyes and started to explore deeper into the cavern. If they were staying, he'd better get to know their new lair.

And maybe, just maybe, he would indeed visit Zephyr up top.

#fr #flight rising #fr lore #flight rising lore #fr lore dragons

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madam-whim · 5 years ago

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How Far We Will Go

(ESO drabble)

“Fenn? There’s something we need to talk about.” Fennorian looked up from the list of ingredients he’d been working on, something or other he and Old Mjolen had come up with and that Izani didn’t fully understand. Alchemy was not exactly her forte, and she was glad Fennorian was there to take care of such matters. Having to distract him from his work didn’t sit right with her precisely because of that, but she couldn’t wait any longer, even if it meant seeking him out in a cold cellar below the Solitude Mages Guild. “Well, what is it?”, Fennorian asked, intrigued. Izani sighed. She doubted he’d retain his good mood for long when she told him the news. “When we went after the High King… Do you remember the journal I found? The one that belonged to Rada?” “The one in which he listed all the exarchs? Of course I do. Is there a problem? Someone we haven’t dealt with? Shouldn’t you go to Svana with this?” Fennorian was immediately on high alert, no wonder after what he’d been through recently, and Izani feared she would only make it worse. But he deserved, no, he needed to know. “I haven’t run into one of the other exarchs if that’s what concerns you”, she replied, trying to at least ease the worst of his worries. “And Svana doesn’t need to know. She’s busy enough as it is, and I don’t think this concerns her at all. I did keep the journal in case we needed to go look for the other exarchs, names making it easier and all that, I’ll admit that. But this is not about anyone giving us trouble right now. It’s about the missing exarch.” “You mean the one al-Saran refused to name even in his private journal?” Izani nodded. “Damn it, this is going to be… a lot. You know what? I think we should sit. This is not a conversation we should have down here.” “Now you have me worried”, Fennorian admitted, raising an eyebrow, still smiling for now. “Come. There’s a room upstairs that we can use. It even has a fireplace. Don’t think I forgot how much you hate the cold.”

A short amount of time later, Izani was curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Apparently there were a few mages in Solitude who disliked the cold as much as she did, and she was grateful for it. Fennorian handed her a mug of spiced wine. “So. You wanted to talk about the missing exarch.” “Well, I guess there’s no sense in drawing this out. I think I figured out who it is”, Izani muttered, trying – and failing – to disappear behind the mug clasped in her hands. “It’s just a theory at this point, mind you, and I wanted to run it by you first, see what you think.” He settled into the chair next to hers. “Well, go ahead.”

Taking a deep breath, Izani began her explanation. “Alright then. I’m assuming you remember our conversation with Rada, yes? And you may also remember that I thought something was off, I just couldn’t place it, no matter how hard I thought about it. So I read the journal again when I found the time, and... Rada mentions his brethren being trapped in Coldharbour, and that he’d have to free his exarchs first. Which is why he was so angry at us for killing Tzinghalis and Ulfra, right? He thinks we sent them back to Molag Bal. On purpose. As if I’d ever do that to anyone who left me with a choice. Lyris, too. We’ve both been there. It’s horrible.” “Well, I’d be angry too if it were me.” Fennorian cast a curious look in Izani’s direction. “Verandis did say his escape was everything but easy, and I’m assuming it wasn’t any different for them. But how did that help you with figuring out who- wait. Wait, Izani, are you saying...” She could pinpoint the exact moment Fennorian realized what she was going on about. She nodded, feeling every bit as unhappy as her friend looked. “I don’t like it, but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? I mean, how many vampires do you know who got themselves out of Coldharbour? It’s insanely difficult to do even when you’re just some soulless husk Bal has no interest in. Imagine doing it when you’re someone who actually matters. I doubt just anyone could manage that.” “This cannot be a coincidence”, Fennorian mumbled, his voice trembling. “Verandis was always more powerful than he let on, so maybe...” “That’s… one way to put it.” Izani remembered it all too well – Verandis had always radiated power, even if he did suppress it, and she had a feeling he’d never even shown her a glimpse of what he was truly capable of. Not that she’d minded then, but now, all of this presented her with an entirely new problem.

“We’ll need to send word to Adusa and Gwendis immediately”, Izani stated. “Because if we’re right, all of this means you three are in danger. You remember what we told you about this Essenia woman experimenting on Adusa because she’s got Ravenwatch blood? We can’t be sure there aren’t more of her kind out there. At the time, we didn’t know about Verandis, but now...” “You’re right”, Fennorian agreed. “With Verandis almost certainly being our missing exarch... We’ll have to warn the others, just in case.” “Can’t take any risks”, Izani agreed. “Adusa mentioned they’d be going back home to collect some things. I have a friend working with the antiquarians across the street who’s really good with portals, if she can set me up with one to Shornhelm, I think I can catch them before they leave again.”

And now came the part Izani dreaded. But there was no way she could leave Fennorian in the dark about this. The Count was like a father to him, and besides, he was her friend, and keeping secrets from friends was not something she did, not anymore. Fennorian was already looking for a quill and a piece of parchment to write down a message to his sisters, and Izani hated having to burden him with even more knowledge none of them really wanted. “Fenn?”, she called to get his attention back, and he turned towards her, the look in his eyes troubled, as if he already sensed there was more. “Assuming Verandis is who we think he is, there’s one more thing”, Izani forced herself to say, then handed Rada’s journal to her friend. “Read it again. And tell me what you think.”

Izani watched while Fennorian went over the journal again. She could practically sense his concern growing with every line he read. When they’d first found the journal, their only concern had been saving Solitude, and they hadn’t had the time to think anything else, not even a thirteenth exarch. He’d appeared to be an enemy to Rada al-Saran, and back then, this had been all they needed to know. Now, it was suddenly all too relevant. “The entire section here…” Fennorian seemed to be at a loss for words, just like Izani had been. “I know”, Izani muttered. “It sounds terrible, right? Whatever this man has planned for Verandis, it can’t be good. We can’t let Rada find him.“ Her friend nodded. He looked so terribly shaken, pacing across the room. “That last line…”, he asked, his voice more uncertain than Izani had ever heard it. “Does it sound like they were… more than friends to you, too? I’m not the most experienced in such matters, but...” “We can’t be sure, but if you want my opinion, then yes”, the Redguard sighed. “But whatever went on between them, they were incredibly close. And now Rada is angry at Verandis. Very angry. And I don’t know how far he is willing to go.” “When you say how far, what you mean is… Is he willing to go back to Coldharbour to get his revenge?” “It is.” “How long ago was this written?”, Fennorian asked. “Because from the looks of it, it was before Tzinghalis and Ulfra died...” Izani bit her lip. “That’s what worries me, too. If he’s already started looking, then I’m sure he already knows Verandis is back in Coldharbour. And now, with us having sent two of his friends back there...” “You’re saying we might have given al-Saran the push he needed to go back. To find both his friends and Verandis”, Fennorian stated. With him being a vampire, he couldn’t turn any more pale than he already was, but Izani saw the shock and fear flickering across his features. “It’s possible”, she admitted. “And you must believe me when I tell you I do not want Rada to find Verandis first. No matter how scared I am, I can’t let that happen, Fenn. Not after… everything.” “And you’re aware of what we might need to do to prevent that from happening.” It wasn’t a question, and Fennorian wasn’t asking, because the real question was something else.

Izani took another deep breath. “So. How far are we willing to go?”

#eso #my writing #greymoor #greymoor spoilers #vestige izani #fennorian #verandis ravenwatch #based on the 13th exarch theory #and also my thoughts on the vestige having to go back to coldharbour again #long post

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imtrynnawriteshit · 5 years ago

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Jacob Frye x Female!Reader (2! Looks like I’m actually going through with this! Hooray!)

Oh wow it’s been uh a while

This is v conversation heavy? Is that how you describe things??

Well, it is now hehehe

Something I forgot to mention the last time: the slang that I’m using is not entirely period appropriate? I mean, it somewhat is, but I’m also mixing up years and classes of people who used them (because I cannot be arsed to sit and sort everything out class and period wise)

If it seems like I only stick to a couple of letters worth of slang, that’s because I’ve only just gotten to ones that start with D. It’s a whole process and I’m lazy

Also, I know absolutely nothing about business and I like to think I can be clever, so if the whole thing just sounds way too dramatic, I’m srry, I cannot business at all

But I tried and that’s what counts, right? :D

Hope u enjoy luv u

Words: 1608

Warnings: One (1) damn, not properly edited (maybe I’ll do it l8r though), might get v pretentious (I’m trying to channel my inner Victorian) :((

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed (Syndicate)

Characters: Jacob Frye, Reader

Relationships: Jacob Frye x Reader but like, still business-y (as if I know what that means)

Fortunately, you'd managed to avoid Mr. Starrick finding out about your unexpected little detour. Rather unfortunately, though, your driver seemed to have left town - you'd seen neither hide nor hair of him for the past week or so.

Not that you had the time to look for him, of course. You'd been entirely focused on building the company up again, regaining all the profits you'd lost after Pearl's death, so much so that you'd even forgotten Mr. Frye was due for a visit.

Until he showed up in a manner suited to one of his particular disposition.

You'd visited one of your friends that afternoon for a cup of tea, briefly putting aside the contracts and accounts you were constantly pouring over. Your departure soon after found you feeling lighter, the tension not weighing down your shoulders for once.

Though you did your best to counter it, of course. God forbid it ruin your posture.

Mind immediately wandering to the paperwork you had left, you approached your carriage (which, despite having been discreetly sent off to get fixed up, still bore a few scratches from your misadventure). The new driver already held the door open, arm extended to help you in. It was only when you glanced at him, nodding your gratitude, hand firmly in his grasp, that you realized it wasn’t, in fact, your recent employ.

It was Mr. Frye.

You let out a rather un-ladylike groan as you sat down.

"Please tell me you didn’t scare this one off too. I can't exactly afford the habit of interviewing for drivers."

His eyes widened in mock-innocence before he shut the door, getting on to the bench and taking the reins, all the while running his mouth about how he'd "never" and he was "appalled" you thought so little of him.

Good heavens.

"Yes, alright, but will he be back?"

"He'll meet you at Trafalgar Square in an hour," he sighed, urging the horse into a steady trot.

You frowned, "But that's only five minutes away."

"Which gives us fifty-five to talk, doesn't it?" he said, sounding rather exasperated. You chose to ignore that, instead peaking out the window, trying to figure out where you were headed.

"Mr. Frye, where exactly are we going?"

"Why, to the cosiest alley the district has to offer, of course!" he said, turning into one just within reach of the Square, hopping into the carriage almost as soon as he brought it to a halt.

"Well, this certainly won't rouse suspicion," you remark, peering through the window, eyebrows raised, before drawing the curtains and turning to look at him again. "Now, I presume you have something for me".

"Yes and no."

You narrowed your eyes, "That's not how it works, Mr. Frye. You either have an offer or you don't. Which is it?"

"There is something I can give you, but I'll need time to deliver on it."

"And that something is?"

Frankly, you didn’t expect much. There was barely anything he could offer that you couldn’t acquire (if you didn’t already have it) anyway.

"Complete ownership of Attaway Transport, without the added burden of Starrick's overbearing and ever-looming presence."

Or so you thought.

He managed to shock you into silent for a moment, before you shook yourself out of it and huffed out a small laugh.

"I have to say: I didn’t quite think you'd manage it, but you've captured my interest. Tell me, then; how exactly would you go about that? Mr. Starrick isn't one to just give up power."

"Luckily enough, we're looking to provide a more permanent solution to the problem of - well, him."

"Are you now?" your eyebrows shot up again, this time in intrigue, and you could feel the anticipation and excitement brewing within you at the thought of the possibilities his death could bring. If the way Mr. Frye's brow twitched in return was any indication, you weren't doing a very good job hiding it. "That certainly changes things. Though I suppose I should've known, you haven't been all that...subtle about your intentions, the way you've been running around London wreaking havoc."

"There you have it, then," he grinned, throwing an arm up over the back of the seat. "What do you say?"

You took a moment to deliberate, Mr. Frye letting you take the time you needed to come to a decision once you shot him a look when he started getting antsy, stopping him before he could get much further than "I don't mean to badger you but-". You could see the eagerness in the way he'd leaned ever so slightly towards you, in how his eyes remained trained on you, analyzing every shift in your features, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on in your head, of the decision you'd come to.

Well, there was certainly no doubt about what your answer was going to be. It was, however, quite endearing, the way he impatiently awaited your response.

Probably best you put him out of his misery, though, and so you offered him your hand.

"It appears," you smiled, "you have yourself a deal, Mr. Frye. I do hope you can hold up your end, and as shall I to the best of my abilities."

His face relaxed, and he took your hand, shaking it firmly. Though you expected it, the warmth of his grip, even through both his and your own glove, still left you pleasantly surprised.

"I must admit, however," you withdrew your hand, "I am curious: why trust me? After everything that's happened? Some might think you all the more barmy for it."

"Crotchetty as I may seem," he shot back, "I'll admit, I'm not exactly spoiled for choice when it comes to allies who can provide me better insight into Templar plans. You don't seem to care for the Order either, which is reassuring. To an extent. Naturally you'll have to earn my trust before I let Evie know about this little arrangement-"

"You haven't told your sister?"

"'Course not," he scoffed, "she'd never agree to it. Not after your mother. Besides, what my dear sister doesn't understand, is that sometimes you need to take a chance. Like I did, with the Rooks. And now with you."

You supposed that made sense.

"Besides," he continued, "it doesn't hurt to have powerful friends close to your nemesis-"

"As I've already mentioned," you injected, stifling a chuckle at how affronted he looked at being so unceremoniously interrupted, "I'm neither powerful nor am I close to Mr. Starrick. He doesn't trust me. Which means, more often than not, he'll ensure he bears witness to every move I make."

You shifted towards him.

"It's not just my business that's on the line here, Mr. Frye. It's my life. If he ever suspects me of consorting with you, I'd lose everything. My agreement is me trusting you to kill him and deliver on your end of the bargain."

At that, his eyes softened, and when he spoke next, sincerity was carefully woven into every word. "You needn't worry, Miss Attaway, you have my word. I will do whatever it takes to rid you of Starrick and his control."

Nodding softly in lieu of thanks, you cleared your throat, embarrassment burning in your chest at having let yourself be so vulnerable (for lack of a better word) with someone.

And a man you barely knew, at that.

"I apologise, you must think me utterly mercurial, and-"

"On the contrary, I think you're rather bricky," he said, and his damned gaze was still so gentle as it rest upon you, his tone somewhat similar to the one often adopted by strangers when they learned of how you came to live with Pearl. The thought of being pitied by him for having gotten into this situation, even though it was mostly his fault, left you feeling angry and humiliated.

You didn't need nor ask for his commiseration.

Choosing not to dignify that with a response (you knew anything you'd say would be in bad form), you immediately carried on like nothing had happened. "Right, I'll need a few weeks or so to get everything up and running again. In the meantime, you encourage any competitors that are not affiliated to Mr. Starrick. With a rival around, I could try and-"

"-blame your lack of profits onto them?" at your affirmation, he let out a low whistle. "Clever. That might just work."

The admiration in his voice didn't go unnoticed. You shrugged, "I know, and I'm counting on it. Of course, if it doesn't alleviate suspicion, we might have to resort to drastic measures, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, this is all we need to focus on."

Your sentence was punctuated by the chiming of Big Ben, indicating that your hour was up. With a "by your leave, Miss Attaway", Mr. Frye leapt into action, getting back onto the bench and driving the carriage to where your actual employee was to meet you. In an attempt to look a bit more inconspicuous, you drew open the curtains. Nothing like the hidden interior of a carriage to get people gossiping.

Dismounting, Mr. Frye glanced around, making sure you hadn't attracted any unwarranted attention, before tipping his cap to you and stalking off. Thankfully, it was crowded enough that no one paid a briefly unattended carriage any mind, and it gave him the opportunity to blend in with the locals, seemingly vanishing from sight.

You watched him go, and thinking your decision over for the rest of your journey, could only hope you'd made the right choice.

Slang used:

Crotchetty - eccentric, unexpected

Bricky - brave, fearless, adroit after the manner of a brick

Other:

Glove etiquette - whenever a gentleman had to shake someone’s hand, he would take off his glove (that he always wore when outside) before doing so. If he had to leave it on, he’d apologise while shaking the other person’s hand. Women, however, had to keep their gloves on at all times when they were out and about, except when at the dinner table during a party, because it was considered bad form to wear gloves while eating (mainly because the gloves were delicate, especially those made of kid, and wearing dirty gloves was “tacky”). However, when giving his hand to a woman whose own hands were gloved, a man wasn’t supposed to take off his. It was necessary to do so if hers were off too, though.

(Tumblr's an ass, so I'll reblog this post in a bit to link the articles I used as a reference because they're much, much better at providing a comprehensive explanation to how glove etiquette worked)

#jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed imagines #assassin's creed syndicate #mine

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tsarinastorm · 5 years ago

Text

Until Somebody Stops Having Fun-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 1

Rating: Explicit

You met Adam at a party at the bookstore you owned. The bookstore would host poetry nights, book clubs, release parties, and numerous other events. You were even working on developing an app for your store to help bring it into the twenty-first century. You had moved to New York on a whim, deciding to pursue writing yourself, then you ended up merging writing with your legal background to become a literary agent. You loved helped getting writers the best possible contracts, through that you met Andy, who left you the bookstore. Andy decided to take an early retirement and spend his time traveling. Not a relationship person, you had liaisons or flings, however whatever this was with Adam felt different.

Things with Adam were still new, only two weeks, and it was still very exciting. He had been coming over every other night, you’d hook up, talk, and get a bite to eat. He’d normally sneak out after you fell asleep, he’d be quiet and lock up. Then he’d message you one or two days later asking if you could meet again and if he could come over. Tonight, he was coming over after his theater rehearsal, and he said he was bringing takeout. You had never talked about what you were, if anything at all besides fuck buddies, and a part of you wanted to clear the air, while the other part didn’t want to mention it in case it would ruin whatever you had. You didn’t want a relationship yet but you had wanted some clear title on the situation.

You throw on a cozy sweater, take off your bra, and then put on a pair of cheekie underwear. You decide to veg out since you had some free time and it would still be a while before Adam would show up. Your two dogs, Benji and Barney, beagle mix brothers you rescued, join you on the couch. After you put on the same show you’ve been binge-watching lately, and before you know it you’re dozing off.

TWO WEEKS AGO

This was a limited release party hosted by one of your friends, and things seemed to be going well until you could hear an altercation taking place. When you move towards the scene, you can see a petite blonde woman screaming at a large, dark-haired man. Before you can step in between them, she takes her drink and throws at him, the liquid going all over his face, hair, and shirt. As you go towards the woman to tell her to get out before you call the police, she’s out the door. The man tries to dry himself off and is somehow un-stunned by the woman’s reaction. You go up to him, offer him a napkin. He takes it and says, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Hold on, I have towels in the back. C’mon.” You say and you can tell the man takes a moment to register your statement because there’s a pause before he follows you. Trotting towards the back linen closet, you can’t help but look over your shoulder at the man. First, he’s much taller than you, and broad-shouldered. Second, he’s got a unique looking face that you find very attractive. And the hair, you’re a sucker for good hair. Your night has definitely become more interesting. You can see him eying you up too, or at least you hope that’s what he’s doing.

You hand the man the towel, and he gives you a slight smile. As he wipes himself off, he says again, “Thanks, you really didn’t have to help me.”

“Now, c’mon I couldn’t just let that happen, unless you deserved it.” You say as he hands you the towel back, and you notice how his hand brushes yours ever so lightly. He raises his eyebrows and says, “That happens a lot with us. I usually deserve it.”

“Did you cheat? Are you an abusive asshole?” You ask and he shakes his head no to your inquiry. You tell him, “Then you didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m Adam, by the way. Adam Sackler.” He says and offers you his hand. You take it and introduce yourself to him. He then asks, “Do you work here? You look familiar.”

“I actually own it. That’s why I know where all the towels and good stuff is. I’m also an agent, hence the party.” You answer and you see him smile at you. “Damn that’s impressive. I’m an actor and I write some too. I did a short film not long ago.”

“Aren’t you the Torpica guy?” It clicks in your head that’s why he looks vaguely familiar. He however, looks embarrassed and starts defending himself, “Shamefully yes. I routinely get told from guys that they can’t get their dick hard on Torpica.”

You laugh at his last comment before asking him, “Broadway or non-Broadway?”

“Broadway for now. I’m in The Seagull.” You’re impressed, The Seagull is one of your favorites, and Broadway is always huge for actors. He must be talented you think to yourself. His eyes lock onto yours like a predator locking unto prey. Just not yet though. You move slightly away from him and start walking back to the party. He follows you, and soon the two of you are mingling with others at the party like you never met.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed because you thought that was going somewhere. Maybe that’s why the girl threw her drink on him in the first place. It was New York after all, you could end up seeing him again and again, or he’d become a ghost you’d only see once. Time would tell.

********

Apparently, Adam would not be rid of so easily. The next day your shop opens, he strolls in within a half-hour of opening. At first, he tries to appear oblivious, looking through the shelves, then stealing a glance from you before he finally decides to approach you. You smile and he gives you a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Hey, I guess I wanted to see you again.” Adam says when he’s only feet in front of you. You raise your eyebrows in fake shock, step away from the register, then ask, “Really? Are you intrigued?”

“Very, very intrigued.” He says and his eyes stay locked with yours. The sensuality is practically rolling off this guy, even if he’s not the best at small talk. You’re going to have to step it up a notch than you usually use on your conquests, so you ask, “What do you want to know about me?”

“Everything. Or whatever you want me know.” He stammers, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. You begin moving around the store, Adam joins you, and you chuckle as you tell him, “Good catch. Not looking for a stalker.”

Before you know it, the two of you are in chairs side by side in the classics nook on the upper level. You had to have your employee, Annie, cover your post downstairs. Adam had been here for two hours, and the two of you talked bad dates and bad nights. You were surprised to hear that a woman throwing a drink on him wasn’t even in his top ten. You then moved onto your favorite books, writers, poets. Then he says, “You’re a fan of the classics, then?”

“I certainly am. But how did you know? My favorites were varied.” You ask back, leaning into him, then you take a drink of your coffee. He responds with, “This the first real place you took me in this big store. We’ve been here the longest.”

“You do pay attention. It’s very calming up here.” You stand up and start browsing the shelves that you already check every day. Adam comes up beside you and you can feel the heat rolling off his body. The two of you start talking about the classics: which ones are overrated, which ones are underrated, and which are wrongly categorized. He asks you what you’re currently reading and he’s surprised that you’re on a poetry kick, mainly a female poetry kick. He confesses he’s read a lot of Chekhov to help him with the role. This chitter-chatter between you feels effortless and natural, even when it’s awkward at times. When his eyes hit 100 Years of Solitude, he adds, “I once dated a girl who was related to Gabriel Garcia Marquez.”

“Okay, I’ll admit you certainly live a very interesting life. Now I’m curious about your other relationships? Mainly the girl who caused the scene in my store.” You say and you’re wondering if he’ll open to you, or if the wall will come up. It’s really none of your business, but the fact he brushed off that incident with the drink makes you wonder what his love life must normally be like.

“That was Jessa, and that was a whole clusterfuck of a situation. It was batshit crazy. But it’s kind of a long story.” He admits and runs his hands through his hair. You turn to smirk at him, angling your body to lean against the bookshelf while you purposefully graze your fingers along the back of his hand, “I have time.”

Then, you hear about his soapbox of past relationships. Hannah, fuck Hannah, Natalia, also a bitch, MiMi Rose, who was just awful, and Jessa, queen of toxicity. That’s why you never really wasted time dating or in relationships, they get so fucked up so fast. You listen to his side of the story, only commenting to let him know you’re still paying attention to him. He has flaws like anyone does but you can’t imagine anyone treating him poorly. Adam seemed like a sincere and genuine person. He then tells you, “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever just listened to me before. Except you, that was nice.”

“No problem, I’m sorry you’ve had such rough luck in relationships.” You say back and you really didn’t mind listening to him. He was funny, charming, and nice to be around, listening to him was easy.

“I brought most of it on myself. What about you?” He admits. That’s the million dollar question. Every guy you’ve ever been interested in or has been interested in you, wants to know. You hate discussing it, and normally you’d leave mystery around it, but Adam was open and honest with you. You should be open and honest with him.

“I don’t really date or do relationships. I’ve had one serious boyfriend in the last five years.” Your eyes drift downwards even though you try to prevent them from giving in. What it is about this man that makes you feel vulnerable and is turning your world upside down after two days? Adam gently places his hand on your shoulder, trying to cheer you up from your sudden downshift in mood. When you look up at him, his amber eyes look confused like he’s trying to work out a difficult math problem in his mind. He finally asks you, “Why not? No doubt you must have men crawling over you all the time.”

“Commitment issues. It’s just not my thing.” You try to brush it off. Adam’s not fazed by your negativity or your attempt to push him away. It seems to strengthen his resolve.

“Well, if you think that’s going to deter me, you don’t know how persistent I can be.” He says while giving you a smile. Most men you would blatantly shot down by now, or you would eat them alive, but something about Adam felt right, and it felt good. And it terrified you.

*****

The next evening, he shows up as you’re closing up the shop. You invite him to come with you to a party, and you’re surprised that he agrees without hesitation. The party is in a penthouse in Noho, owned by one of your acquaintances. She was the type who was born into money, so she hopped from thing to thing, been in and out of school several times. She was one of your writers, for a short time before she moved onto something else, but apparently she liked you well enough to invite you to her ragers. You and Adam make your way towards the bar, where you order your usual drink and you’re surprised when he orders seltzer water.

“You don’t drink?” You ask. He tells you, “I’m an alcoholic.”

“Damn, if I had known I wouldn’t have invited you here. I didn’t even think.” You feel bad, you just assumed he wouldn’t have a problem with the party. Now you felt bad that you could be tempting him or making him feel uncomfortable. It must show on your face because he leans in, and touches your shoulder saying, “It’s really okay. Don’t feel bad about it.”

You nod your head, and you eye the dance floor. He watches you, then he offers his hand, and asks you dance. He has crazy dance moves and you can’t hide how it makes you smile. You throw your classic, go-to moves. Then he pulls you into him, spins you and dips you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. You come back up, and your body is flush against his, you can feel every muscle he has, even his heart beating in his chest. You can smell his cologne, and you’re feeling lightheaded, not from the alcohol but from him.

Adam’s face is inches from you, you can feel his breath on your cheek. You think he’s leaning to kiss you, but instead his hand moves to the small of your back as he whispers in your ear, “Want to get out of here?”

“Sure.” You smile, he grabs your hand and you move your way through the crowd.

*****

About an hour later, you’re sitting in this eclectic diner across from Adam and you’re still trying to read him. He’s certainly very interesting and tells you about himself while at the same time telling you nothing really. You decide to appraise him with your three question game.

“Bookstore, e-book, or audio book?” You ask as you take a drink of coffee. His answer is bookstore. Check. “London, Paris, or Florence?” “Mac and cheese, sushi, or Mexican?” “Fitzgerald, Wilde, Kafka?” “How do you take your coffee?” He answers all of your questions satisfactorily. You’ve decided that you’re taking him home tonight, but you have to check off a few more rational boxes first.

“Criminal record?” This one makes him laugh and he explains how his one ex called the cops on him. You think he’s explained enough, so you move on to the next major question. “Married or in a relationship?”

“Single” He says with emphasis. He already explained that the British blonde chick was Jessa, his ex who he still fucked sometimes. Next, “STDs,” you ask coolly, watching closely for any reactions. He answers with, “I’m clean and get routinely checked.”

“Where do you live?” He tells you Prospect Heights, and that is a shock to you though he does definitely strikes you as a Brooklyn guy. Then, the most important question you do a drum roll on the table before leaning in to ask in a low voice, “How often do you masturbate?’

“Twice a day at least,” he says like it’s no big deal, like you just asked him his favorite food. You can’t hold back a laugh. You’re pleased with his honesty, and raise your hand to request the check. Then, the two of you were in your apartment, with him fucking you from behind on the couch. You later moved to your bedroom, where you rode him, then you woke up that morning to him eating you out. So yeah, you were impressed. You had never had that many orgasms from a partner before.

Later that morning, after he makes you eggs for breakfast, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, you lean into him. After giving your head a quick kiss, he says, “We should do this again sometime. I had a good time, I think you had a good time. Or I can take you a date.”

You feel yourself tense involuntarily. Adam removes himself from you, so he’s now standing in front of you, waiting for an explanation. It’s not fair how perfect he looks, how are you supposed to have this conversation when an Adonis is standing in front of you? You tell him, “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not really the dating type, relationships make me feel claustrophobic.”

“Really? I don’t believe you” He says in a sing-song voice as he leans in to press kisses on your each of your cheeks, and then down your neck. Your hands go straight to his hair again to lace through the soft tresses. You feel your voice get airy and your concentration starts to go as you say, “Yeah, I’m too busy, kind of self-involved, and I’m not the type who goes to meet your family, goes out for anniversaries or anything.”

“So what do you do then?” He murmurs against the skin of your collarbone, where he’s now left a bruise. His lips don’t stop caressing your skin, grazing the tops of your breasts, and you can feel his hand slip the back of your thigh. You grab onto his hair, and bring his face to meet yours. His pupils are darkened with lust, and you answer his question with, “Liaisons. I do liaisons.”

Adam inches forward to kiss you softly, and it’s you that asks for more, running your tongue along his bottom lip. He grants you entrance as his hands go to cup your face, then rest on your neck. You’re stunned by the passion and sweetness of this kiss, you really might be a goner for this guy. He pulls away, his face turns serious, then he tells you, “I promise I won’t take you to meet my family, but I do really like you so no long term promises.”

“I can guarantee that you’ll want me to meet your family. I like you too.” You chuckle back, and he starts laughing too. His large hands palm your ass, before moving upward to rest at your waist. This affection is nice, nearly addictive. His eyes flicker when he asks, “What happens now?”

“We fuck. Hard.” You say and he’s on you kissing you, as he picks you up to head towards the bedroom once again.

********

PRESENT

You’re awoken from your nap by Adam buzzing into your apartment. The noise makes Benji and Barney howl slightly. You try to shush them as you go to let Adam in. Once you open the door, he eyes you up and down. You suddenly feel self-conscious because you’re still not really dressed and your hair is up in a messy bun. Adam looks like he wants to eat you.

“You look hot as fuck.” He says and quickly follows you inside. You barely make it through the door before he’s on you. He drops the takeout, and his jacket to press you against the door. His lips crush yours, and his tongue is instantly licking into your mouth. Your hands fly around his shoulders to run through his hair as he grinds his hips into you, he’s rock hard already. His lips descend upon your neck while his hand makes its way into your panties. His fingers waste no time dragging along your wet folds.

“So wet, already? My dirty slut ready for my cock?” He taunts while his thumb circles your clit, and he thrusts his middle and index finger into you. You moan while his other hand squeezes your tits. You’re going to cum soon if he doesn’t slow down, apparently he’s in that kind of mood because your moans only encourage him to add more pressure, and rub circles fervently. You feel the pleasure build in your lower stomach, and creep down your legs, then Adam abruptly stops his ministrations to your chagrin.

“Ah, what the fuck?” you groan. Adam’s fingers are still between your legs, his thumb drawing light circles on your clit. He looks so smug, with a sly smile and blown out pupils.

“You didn’t answer my question. Answer and you’ll get to come.”

“Yes, your dirty slut is ready for your cock, Please let me come.” His thumbs presses down on your clit again, and thrusts his fingers into you, crooking up to your spot. Then your orgasm rocks through, leaving your muscles to clench, while your head drops to your shoulders. He watches you as you come down, then he picks you, you wrap your legs around his waist. You kiss him everywhere your lips can reach and your hands search under his shirt for his skin. He sets you down on top of your table with your legs spread wide, and he’s placed himself in between them.

You reach to pull off his shirt as he then pulls yours off too. He then turns to your panties and they’re quickly removed from you. As you kiss him, your hands unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans and start working his cock. Your hand jerks his cock and spreads the bead of precum around the tip. He moans and thrust into your hand.

“Can’t wait any longer to fuck you.” He says as he guides his cock into you. You lean back nearly flat against the table and pull your legs up to give him the deepest angle. His thrusts start off rough and hard, then are more drawn out, leaving you both moaning. He picks up the pace again, you can hear the sound of your bodies slapping together, his balls smacking against your ass. He leans into to kiss you, you hitch your leg behind his hip, while his hand sneaks down to work your clit. Your second orgasm is building fast and you can tell from his thrusts he’s close too.

“Ah, I’m gonna come!” You shout, then you clench around him. There’s filth coming out of his mouth.

“ Fuck, your cunt is milking is my cock! Such a cumslut! Where does my cumbucket want me to cum?” He says jaggedly. You tell him, “Cum on my tits, I want you to cum on my tits.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses as he pulls out and pumps himself. Soon, there’s streams of his cum on your chest and on your stomach. You both catch your breath, then he kisses you sweetly, retrieves his shirt and cleans you up. You thank him and get up to recover the takeout that he left by the door. Silently, you heat up a plate for yourself then one for him. You take the plates over to your coffee table in front of your couch. Adam looks very distressed for some unknown reason, you hope he didn’t want to actually eat on that table after you fucked on it.

“Adam, is something wrong?” You finally ask while you shovel food in your mouth. You’re starving so if he’s having a post-coital meltdown it will have to coincide with dinner.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks and you have no idea why he thinks that you’re mad.

“No, why would I be mad?” You ask.

“You know I have no idea what I say before I cum. I didn’t mean anything I said about you” He answers and looks down.

“Oh my gosh, I’m not mad at you. Do you seriously think I’d let you stay here if I was offended or thought you meant it?” You tell him. What he said during sex didn’t bother you at all, that was how dirty talk worked. Of course he didn’t mean it seriously.

“I guess not.” He says then smiles before finally digging into the takeout.

“I happen to like your dirty talk, I find it very sexy.” You say and stand up to take your plate to the dishwasher. You’re sure to perk your ass out as you walk in front of him, enjoying seeing how his eyes follow you.

The next morning you wake to find yourself surrounded by a hulk of man sleeping beside you, or precisely, partially on top of you. Adam must have stayed the night after round two. You had always considered yourself in touch with your sexuality, but with Adam you felt utterly insatiable, always wanting more. No matter how many times you came. You maneuver out of bed towards shower. You let the hot water relax you, then as you’re lathering up, Adam joins you.

After yet another round of fucking, you’re now both fully dressed and ready to go about your days. The two of you walk out of your apartment building, and once you’re on the street, he pulls you flush against him, asking, “When can I see you again?”

“Don’t get attached to me, I’ll break your little heart. But you really want to do this?” You ask and he nods his head yes. This would be your time to define this relationship. You pull him back in the street to give the two of you some privacy. He says, “I want to do whatever you want me to do. No labels, or labels, I don’t give a shit. I want to be with you.”

“Alright. Friends with benefits then. I’m free from Sunday to Tuesday afternoons, but sometimes catch up on work those days. I work long hours at the store on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday because there are readings, book clubs and releases. I hate getting up early in the morning, and am monster without coffee. In the bedroom, I like some choking, bdsm. I’ll try any toy, I’ve never done anal but I’m willing to try it with the right partner. I’m on birth control but I’d still prefer you to wear condoms and come outside sometimes. Just don’t come in my hair. But I’m sure you already know half of that.” You say, taking a deep breath and he’s followed your whole statement as evidence by his slightly amused face. He kisses you deeply, pushing you against the brick wall and says, “I think can do all of those things.”

“I’ll come by your place, tonight then.” He says as he walks down the street and you smile and nod your assent. You’re looking forward to seeing him again, and wonder how long he’ll stick around. Normally, your dalliances never lasted more than a month or two, but Adam was unique.

#adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #adam driver #adam sackler smut #reader insert

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outcasts-of-tw · 5 years ago

Text

💚 "Our Secret" 💚

[ Warning: this is a long one, folks!

I'll probably edit in a 'read more' break later ]

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

A soft knock at the front door snapped Inora out of her thoughts. She looked outside the window. It's late... What could anyone possibly want at this hour? Especially when a storm is ahead...

Despite her confusion, she made her way to the front door of her dorm, catching the attention of Grimm. "Someone there?" The creature said, keeping his voice low.

"Yes... My guess is that it could be Deuce and Ace again..."

"Or it could just be one of the ghosts."

Inora sighs, remembering that possibility. "Or the ghosts, yeah... Well, we can't waste time-"

"Forgettin' something? Again?"

Inora raised a brow for a moment, then saw herself in a nearby mirror. "O-Oh! Y-Yes, right..." She says, a small blush filling her cheeks. Shifting into this other form is going to be hard to get used to...

A quick shimmer of magic and she was once again Alyon, the disguise she used to fit in to Night Raven College; similar features, but still different.

"Inora, you really need to be careful."

"Aw, are you worried for me, Grimm?" Inora said teasingly.

Grimm, somehow, blushed at the accusation. "N-No! I-I'm just warning you!"

Inora chuckles, turning her attention back to the door. She opened it, expecting the two first-years from Heartslabyul, Deuce and Ace, to be standing there.

"Now, what could you two possibly want-"

"Two?"

Inora trailed off, realizing the voice that answered was very much not Deuce or Ace.

It was someone new. Someone... Tall.

Inora slowly looked up for her eyes to meet bright, electric green ones. They almost seemed to be glowing in the dark of the night. The figure had pitch black hair that almost seemed blue... With two towering horns placed atop his head. And yet...

Inora felt no fear.

It was more confusion, really. She had never seen this person in her life, nor had this person ever met her... So why were they here?

"... Hello?"

Inora snaps out of her thoughts coming back to reality. "O-Oh! Uh... S-Sorry, I... I-I thought you were someone else... I-I don't get many visitors at this dorm. U-Uh... What are you doing here anyway, i-if you don't mind me asking...?"

"I... I've lost my way around this place, and I don't think I'll be able to make it to my dorm in time before the storm ahead hits."

"O-Oh! Well, then, come in! Make yourself comfortable."

Inora knew a little more information from just that conversation as she stepped to the side, letting the stranger in. They're a student here... But of what dorm? I'm sure I've seen that uniform somewhere...

It seems that her questions were immediately answered when she saw the crest on the armband of his uniform.

Diasomnia.

Inora kept her composure despite the revelation, but it was still a shock to her. She had heard others talk about the dorm. Most of the students practically revered them. She had only seen 3 of them that day when Trey had explained all the dorms to her... But she had never seen this man out of those three.

Who are you...?

"U-Uh... Do you want anything? Tea, maybe? I-I managed to find some in this place. You would think there wouldn't be much to find in an old dorm but... You'd be surprised." Inora says, chuckling softly. She was trying to make light conversation through her quiet shock.

"That... Would be lovely, thank you."

Inora nods, and quickly rushes into the small kitchen, taking Grimm in with her despite his protests. In an instant, a familiar shimmer of magic surrounded her and she was back in her normal form. This was... A constant issue that she could fix later. I really need to work on that... I need to control my magic a little better...

"Hey! What was that about-?!"

"Shhh! Quiet down, Grimm, please!"

"What's going on?"

"There's someone from Diasomnia here."

"... What?"

"I-I don't know either. He wasn't any of the three we've seen before either. I-I don't know who he is!"

"What are you gonna do?"

"Hopefully keep my form on long enough until he's gone. It's a risk but I can't let anyone find out."

"Are you sure you can do that?"

Inora hesitates, biting her bottom lip slightly in thought. "I... I'm not sure... B-But it won't hurt to try! I-It might even be a good form of practice!"

"I-Inora-"

"Don't worry, Grimm, everything will be fine!"

Inora turns away from Grimm to get started on the tea for her guest...

Only to find those same bright green eyes staring straight at her.

A long, long silence filled the room in that moment. Inora could hear her heart thumping loudly in her ears. When... When did he come in here...?!

Fear started to creep in her veins. She had been caught so easily, and now she had to do something about it... But just what could she do?

"You want me to torch him-"

"No. No. No, Grimm. L-Let me handle this."

Inora's voice shook slightly, but she kept her composure. "N-Now... L-Lets talk about this. Th-There's no need to freak out and make any sort of scene-"

"... Interesting."

"... Huh?"

The student in front of her looks over her form, more intrigued than freaked out. "... And here I thought you didn't have magic. This certainly is quite the development."

"... Y-You... You know who I am?"

A small chuckle escapes him, sounding like the thunder that raged outside, threatening to get closer. "Is there anyone who doesn't know you and your little furry companion? You clearly underestimate how fast information spreads around here."

Inora, weirdly enough, felt relieved... But that didn't make her less wary. "You... You're not mad? You're not freaked out or anything...?"

"Far from it. Yes, this is quite the turn of events but... An interesting and plesant one, I must admit."

Inora was now the one shocked. She had feared this moment would happen with anyone but... Not like this. What is happening here? He seemed so stoic earlier.

"Tell you what. We'll discuss it over some tea. That should calm the situation down. You look like you've seen a ghost. I'll be waiting."

"... Right."

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

"So this happened recently?"

"Practically after the first day I arrived. This is me normally. I knew something was off when I arrived... I just had to look in the mirror."

"... Does anyone else know?"

"Well, only Grimm knew... But now you know as well. Not even the headmaster knows."

"Impressive. Perhaps you can keep the illusion up until you eventually go home."

Inora laughs, almost sad. "Well... If I go home, that is."

"Are you worried you might stay here forever?"

"If the the headmaster can't find any way, then... Yes."

The student chuckles. "It's not so bad here. Sure, you may have your fair share of enemies and friends... But, it could be worse."

"That's fair... So what will you be?"

He raises a brow. "Pardon?"

Inora chuckles. "You. What will you be? A friend or an enemy?"

"... A friend, of course. You've given me no reason for me to become an enemy."

"Despite the fact that I tricked you?"

"Dear, I consider that bravery. People tend to be... Afraid of me."

Inora tilts her head slightly. "Afraid? What reasons would I be afraid of you? Sure you've... Caught me by suprise within the last hour but... Your presence hasn't made me afraid."

He looks at her, his eyes having a gleam of slighg hope despite their stoic demeanor. "... You really mean that?"

Inora nods. "Every word."

He smiles, his fangs prominent; a genuine smile. A rare occurance, considering very few people have been able to do such a thing.

"Well... I suppose we are friends, then... Or allies, even!

"I suppose."

They both laugh. Inora felt slightly better at the situation, as if this stranger-turned-friend was someone she could confide in other than Grimm. She surely couldn't do so with Deuce and Ace. It's not that she didn't trust them, she did trust them... She was just afraid of the outcome.

"So... What's the new students real name, hm? I've heard the name 'Alyon' around, but what do you truly call yourself?"

"...Inora. Alyon is my surname.... Which also works surprisingly well as a normal name."

"Well, Inora... It's been lovely meeting and talking with you... But I must go."

"W-Wait! There's a storm out there... A-Are you sure you wish to go all the way back to the Diasomnia dorm?"

"So you've noticed... Very perceptive." He says, not bothering to question the fact of how she knew. He simply smiles at her worry. "It's fine, really. I just remembered a quicker way back. I wouldn't want to worry the others in my dorm."

Inora hadn't thought about that. "O-Oh. R-Right, then... I-I'll walk you out."

Inora follows the mysterious student to the door, opening it for him.

"Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Inora... Or, should I say, Alyon?" He says, a knowing smile on his lips.

A faint blush appears on her cheeks. "... Th-This stays between us, right? You won't tell anyone what you saw?"

"Of course I won't. Now why would I do that to a friend?"

"You have a point..." Inora replied with a small chuckle. "Our secret?"

"Our secret."

She then remembered something, and was quick to bring it up as he started to walk away.

"W-Wait! I-I never got your name!"

"You'll know in time!"

And with that, he was quickly out of her sight.

Inora knew what just happened was entirely real, yet it felt surreal at the same time. She couldn't help but... Laugh at the situation, still laughing as she closed the door.

"Well, then... Until we meet again, Horns."

#{ sorry if malleus is like. very ooc }#{ Havent had too much interaction with him in game }#twisted wonderland game #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland ocs #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #my writing #ch: inora alyon #shifting; inora alyon #malleus x mc #malleus x oc

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arthurjdrake · 4 years ago

Text

For Keeps : Alain & Arthur

Summary: A phoenix and a hunter go into a bar. (aka Amelie and I somehow never posted a doc we wrote like 3 months ago don’t judge us) >_> Parties: Arthur and @carbrakes-and-stakes

Recent events had come to show that sometimes meeting new people (Leah especially) didn’t always go terribly, and the little he’d experienced of Alain so far from their online conversations gave Arthur a strangely positive vibe. He couldn’t say what it was, but shared interests were certainly a scene setter for an interesting afternoon over beer if nothing else. Though it transpired with recent revelations that his interest in Alain was further vested in gauging just what sort of person he was and just what Evelyn saw in him that made her interested in being with him. Call it protective curiosity. The Perfect Pint was a decent enough establishment and one he frequented if only for the full plate of good food and Guinness they had on tap. A sizeable establishment with light filtering through slightly grimy windows, it smelled like an ashtray but was relatively clean by most pubs standards. Not to mention the presence of several dart boards and snooker tables for patrons to use if they so pleased. Wooden stools lined up against the bar resembled careless soldiers. Two were occupied and Arthur was five minutes early. So he leaned on the darkwood bar, occasionally sipping a cool pint of Guinness while watching the highlights scrolling on the screen and wincing at a particularly nasty tackle.

Alain pushed the door to The Perfect Pint expecting to have a peaceful moment for once. No hunting, no arguing, not questioning everything. Just chatting with someone with common interests and seeing where that led. Not going to the Silver Bullet for once would also be a nice change. It must have been months since he last went to a normal bar. Being greeted by the sound of football matches and people playing pool was a nice change, and it reminded Alain of the few weeks he had spent in Europe a couple years ago. Now he did not care much for the smell of cigarettes, but if this was all he could complain about, then he would not complain at all. Recognizing some customers as he made his way to the counter, he nodded politely and took a seat with the man he figured would be Arthur. If not, then things would probably get awkward really quick. “Bonjour,” he greeted him, figuring that would be enough of a tell. The bartender approaching, he ordered himself a pint of Amber Ale and turned his attention back to Arthur. “I hope I’m not late.”

There weren’t too many people in town Arthur felt he could go down to the pub to simply have a drink with, he was woefully short on friends who weren’t so studiously academic that it was kind of funny to imagine them in a setting like this. Plus, it reminded him of home in an inexplicable way. From the smell to the darkwood features of the pub, like his local back in Twickenham. Occasionally he glanced at his wrist-watch checking and rechecking the time, the smooth carved wood of its casing a familiar comfort in its proximity. As a figure approached and sat down beside him he turned, body-language relaxed and comfortable, an amicable smile warming his features upon hearing the French. “Salut,” he greeted with a small dip of his head, taking a moment to just study Alain, taking in the years around his eyes and features, the stubborn lingering grease around his fingernails and a missing finger as well. Interesting. Arthur vaguely remembered him saying he was a mechanic in a past conversation. A bit rough around the edges but he could see the appeal though it was the personality he was more intrigued to learn more about. “Not at all,” he laughed quietly at the sentiment with a shake of his head “no, I’m just partial to being early.” He let Alain order before he leaned back a little, “so you own the garage in town right? How’s business been going for you lately?”

If Alain could feel like he was being scrutinized, he didn’t mention it to Arthur, and instead, pretended to look just about anywhere else. He had never been here, so this gave him a good enough excuse not to be attentive. “Is it really how pubs look in the UK?” The place looked like a postcard, and a whole lot like pubs that claimed to be authentic, and he couldn’t quite decide if it was really close to the actual thing or a caricature. Clearly, the mime places weren’t as authentic as they claimed to be, so maybe this was the case here as well. He rubbed at the corner of his eye with one finger and thanked the bartender as he came back with his drink. “Do you actually speak French or…” either way, there would be no hard feelings, but once again, he was curious, which was a good indicator : a bored Alain did not ask questions and hardly spoke. Taking a sip from his pint, he leaned back a little in the seat and nodded in reply to Arthur’s question. “Business is doing alright. I’ve had a few good months with the falling fish. Lots of shattered windshields, lots of intensive cleaning too,” scratching the back of his neck, he shrugged. With the big lobsters, a bunch of cars had been roughly damaged, and considering he had to spend some time off work, all those events had helped keeping the cash coming. “What about you. You’re a teacher, right?”

“It’s not a bad imitation of one considering they even have an old geezer eating roasted peanuts” Arthur admitted eyeing another patron at one of the tables in the corner. “Plus this is the only place I can actually catch games when they’re on, even if it is at like one AM… Granted it’s worth staying up if only for the Irish breakfast.” The question was met with a nod, “I speak a little to pass conversation. I’m kinda rusty and the amount of exceptions to all the tenses always catches me in one place or another…” He shrugged a shoulder taking a sip of his beer “personally, I think it’s important especially if you’re going to live somewhere for a while you know? Too many people just expect everyone else to cater to them just because they’re too lazy and entitled to learn another language.” That was a trait that bothered him about most people growing up in an anglophone environment, the lack of desire to even try and relate to people from other walks of life; forcing them to adapt from their culture. It was hardly fair in his mind. “Ha, yeah I can imagine there’s all sorts of interesting things that keep you busy. The newspaper mentioned something about screaming moose you know? I never thought I’d live anywhere that the wildlife would be much of an issue.” Or maybe he should’ve considered that before moving to White Crest. “Yeah! I teach up at the university, history and mythology department. Certainly no lack of folklore around these parts.”

“What?” Alain followed Arthur’s eyes and his shoulders shook with amusement at the sight of the old geezer eating roasted peanuts. “Alright, that is authentic for sure,” he had another sip of beer. Listening to the man talk, his brows furrowed. “You’re kidding? This is like music to my insomniac ears,” of course insomnia was a stretch, but Alain was not about to tell Arthur that he was a vampire hunter, and that as a result, he really didn’t need to sleep that much. Insomniac seemed a lot more simple. “Night entertainment and food, I’m sold,” he scoffed. Now was he surprised to hear that Arthur struggled with the french language? Not really. “Hey, if you ever need practice, you know where to find me,” he offered. It did not cost him much, and he liked chatting in his native language. Really a win win. “I agree. I mean, obviously if you’re only here for a week, there’s only so much you can do, but don’t expect everyone to speak your own language, that’s… logical,” he shrugged, refraining from rolling his eyes. “You just have to be … logical,” he repeated. Clearly things were easier for him when he visited France, but his time in Spain had been quite something, as he could only remember very few things in Spanish. “Screaming moose?” His eyebrows raised and he glanced to the side, clearly concerned. Could it be due to supernatural reasons? Possible. He’d have to ask Kaden about that one. “Clearly not. The area is quite … rich in folklore. I think we’re a good tie with Louisiana and Salem,” he agreed. “What is your favorite folklore story?”

“See?” Arthur chuckled eyes crinkling at the corners in his mirth at the token sight that seemed a staple in most pubs back home, there was always at least one. “No way! I kid about a lot of things but not that. Definitely not when it comes to a full Irish and watching rugby or football. For sure, next time there’s something on I’ll let you know, even if it does mean I have to sit and watch France play--” he lamented with a put-upon look though it was all in jest. Insomnia was interesting but hardly surprising in a town such as this; there could be any host of reasons behind it. “I might take you up on that, I find it hard not to be so formal in structuring the sentences...” Arthur tilted his glass a little “well, yeah sure but I still think if you’re going to visit another country it’s at least polite to try. It’s just always been a pet peeve, just people being so self-involved they don’t think about trying to make an effort for anyone else.” Alain seemed surprised and Arthur’s brows furrowed, “didn’t you see the newspaper? It was a while back but something about Sunday at sundown being when moose would scream? Seemed a bit weird… I didn’t know moose could scream… Just thought they trampled things.” But hey, wild life could surprise you especially in a town like this.

“Rich is an understatement,” he said with a shake of his head. “Issue is most of the stories around these parts were passed down by word of mouth… Not many actual documents to look at.” There was a spark that always seemed to light up his features whenever he got into a discussion about folklore, “oh, would totally have to be the Huldufólk - the hidden folk - Icelanders believe they’re hidden elves that live in the shadows between rocks, it’s said they love to dance and invade farms at Christmas to hold wild parties. That their origins come from the Garden of Eden, when God visited Adam and Eve, Eve was washing their children and hadn’t finished… Embarrassed, she hid the unwashed children and lied about their existence. To punish her God declared that the children she hid would be hidden from all of mankind and so the first Huldufólk came to be.” It was an interesting and unique narrative and one that had always intrigued him. “How about you? Do you take any interest in folklore?”

Pursing his lips, Alain remained silent as he turned to look at the other man, looking as offended as he looked amused by his comment on French teams. “Let’s not mention that England has not won a world cup in football since the 60s, despite being such a great nation of football, then, shall we?” clearing his throat, he took a sip of beer to hide his smile. Such an argument could go on for days, for sure, but it seemed like Arthur was not the kind to start pointless arguments. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I will admit to being less formal than I used to be,” it had been a while since he left the Babineaux household, and his speech level had grown simpler with time. “Of course. Portugal was awkward, I didn’t speak a damn word of portuguese and had to rely on one of those tiny vocabulary books,” he mimed the rough size of said book with his hands and raised his eyebrows in despair as he remembered how thankful he was that most people knew more English than he knew Portugese. “Yeah, some people do have a hard time not focusing on themselves,” scratching at the back of his neck, Alain looked thoughtful for a moment, staring into the gap. “They kind of sound like nazguls when they scream,” he finally commented, but it usually happened a bit later in the year. Alain had not exactly planned to discuss rut season, but if this was where the conversation was heading, why not?

“Like most stories. And it’s not like books or history is any better. It’s always written by those who survive, or those who won,” biased, but at least the version couldn’t change once printed on paper. You could tell how enthusiastic Arthur was about the subject, and it was refreshing. Leaning against his elbow, the hunter listened to the scholar talk about some ancient legend. The story sounded a bit too polished to be the truth, but he did not doubt that Iceland had a bunch of little folks living in the shadow. “It’s hard not to when you spend your whole life in this town. I’m afraid I don’t have stories to tell however,” clearly this was a lie, but Alain knew better than to start telling people he barely knew about his night time activities.

“True,” though Arthur raised a brow in mild challenge, “but what we do have are three six nations titles to the name in the last ten years. So I think that counts for something. You can take football, I’ll take rugby. Issue settled.” It was banterous and Arthur’s grin was cheeky in spite of himself. “You tend to get that way with time, formalities are nice but they can be so constricting to adhere to all the time.” He snorted a little at the comparison, “oh Gods don’t ruin Nazguls for me like that. No no that’s not allowed.” Lord of the Rings was sacred in this sphere and nothing, especially no moose screaming was allowed to ruin it.

“I mean that’s true of almost anything in life. It’s just nice to actually have some hard evidence to work from rather than just the word of mouth. At least that way you can start to deduce what influences there might’ve been on a source.” Perhaps the story was too polished, too easily wrapped up but it was a nice tale nonetheless. Not everything in the world had to be all doom and gloom. So what if there were elves that liked to play games and pull tricks. “Huh, really? Did you grow up here?”

“Heh, fine,” then coughing to jokingly hide what he was about to say, he added in a hurry, “Football’s better anyway.” Obviously coughing was not meant to really hide anything, and he found himself laughing. Shaking his head, he ran a hand in his hair and sighed heavily. “Formalities are fine by me, although I wouldn’t hope to see me ‘formal’,” he scratched at the corner of his mouth, shook his head and took a sip of beer again. Once again he found himself laughing at the man’s reaction. Alain really would have to stop insulting everything Arthur liked. “Nazguls ruined themselves on their own. Moose have the right to ruin them more,” it appeared they had yet another thing in common. Although he was never an hardcore fan, he still remembered the first time he read the Hobbit very fondly.

“Fair enough. I just feel like history is really biased and often misinterpreted too,” you just had to look at what people were taught at school. Maps placing their country in the middle of the world, wars lost barely mentioned… “I did grow up here. But no, no stories,” not any he wanted to tell. “I can however bore you to death about astronomy. Or myths related to constellations, although you probably already know them all.”

It wasn’t the worst, Arthur rather enjoyed a challenge and the fact Alain seemed willing to challenge ideas in a joking fashion was a good sign for the man’s own personality. “Noo!” he protested with a laugh waving his hand as if to try and stop the insults light-hearted as they were “that’s not allowed, only the waters of Bruinen are allowed to completely wreck the Nazguls or a hobbit with a frying pan. Sheesh these are the sorts of debates I used to get into with Evelyn. The real issues of life.” It wasn’t entirely true, this was one facet of many that he and Evelyn had discussed but Arthur was curious to see how Alain would react to hearing her name.

“It often is, but I think that’s part of the challenge of studying it. Knowing you have to work to try and uncover the obfuscated truth behind the fogs of what people want you to believe.” It was countless, the amount of times he’d tried to submit revisions based on contrary evidence, some had gone through while others… It was a tiring endeavor but one he’d continue to pursue regardless. “That would hardly bore me. I’ve been fascinated with astronomy since I was a child. There’s actually very little I find more interesting.”

“I don’t know,” Alain’s brows furrowed at the mention of hobbit held frying pans, and they furrowed some more at the mention of Evelyn. You could see the cogs turning and trying to figure out what this was about. Biting his lip, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t happen to be…” he tried to remember the words she used. “I think she might have mentioned that she had a favorite professor in town,” he scoffed, shaking his head. He supposed that it made sense that she would mention him to her mentor, as secretive as she could be, it was hard not to share some things.

If Alain had often had to do research, it was far from the academic kind, but that did not mean that he couldn’t dedicate entire days to gathering information on certain kinds of undead species. The hardest part was not knowing the species name and hoping to recognize characteristics in his readings. “That’s what I like with cars, they don’t usually tell lies, which makes my job a lot easier,” he doubted that cars would be something Arthur could be interested in, but he was not too surprised to hear that he liked astronomy too, but that did not mean he wouldn’t be excited about it. “Really?!” His tone of voice was unusually cheerful. “Then you have to join me for stargazing sometimes.”

It would be interesting to see what Alain came up with, and while he clearly processed the passing mention Arthur took a sip of his Guinness giving him time to think but out of the corner of his eye watching curiously. “Oh did she?” it was easy enough to feign mild surprise with just a dash of curiosity thrown in for good measure. He made a quietly amused sound, “yes, she does like to remind me of that as often as she can - along with the fact she was one of my brightest students… She’s hardly a forgettable person but if you know her I’m sure you’re aware of that fact.”

“Well, no lies if they’re built well. I once had a guy try to sell me a knockoff Bentley - full look of the thing but the insides were scavenged from hell. Luckily I didn’t agree to that deal.” While Arthur didn’t know much about cars, he knew which ones he liked and back in the day he’d raced the odd car here and there. So it was more a casual interest than a passionate hobby. The enlightened state that seemed to come over Alain’s features on the topic of Astrology - much in the same way his own lit up at the mention of mythology was interesting and Arthur could tell that whatever else, Alain was certainly someone he liked. “Stargazing? Sure, I’ve actually got a great telescope back at mine. Always try to do some Astrophotography when I’ve been out on fieldtrips… Nothing better than a long hike and taking some good photos. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Alright, so maybe it was not completely a coincidence that he and Arthur had ended up talking to each other, although Alain hoped that they really shared the same interests. “She does leave a strong impression, a good impression,” he clarified. Even knowing that she was not really human, he couldn’t seem to be able to change the way he felt about her, and he was terrified by it, even though he liked to tell himself that if she had fed on him this whole time, he would change his mind about the woman he had feelings for. “I’m grateful we met.”

“The lies here come from that guy, people lie, not cars. If you ever want to acquire one of these, please do tell. I like restoring properly older cars. “The Continental Bentley from the 1950s is a real beauty, but hard to find in good shape these days,” the man’s enthusiasm didn’t waver as the subject changed to astronomy. Quite the contrary. “See, that’s something I struggle with. I never seem to be able to take a proper picture. I tried, but I think I’m just really not good with that kind of technology,” he liked taking pictures, and Evelyn liked having her picture taken which was a great combination, but when it came to space, it was almost disastrous. “You really need to show me. I could use that.”

“That’s true,” Arthur agreed, seeming to take measure of the answer and find it satisfactory “she’s quite a remarkable young woman.” Evelyn had been right, and from what Arthur could tell, Alain was being genuine. “How did you meet? If you don’t mind me asking?” Evelyn had been rather cryptic of late regarding Alain and Arthur was rather curious to learn the story there. “She’s a good friend of mine so I find myself interested in the people she surrounds herself with.”

While Arthur was still taking note of Alain’s general disposition, he seemed to relax into the new conversation put at ease by what he could read from the other man’s reaction regarding Evelyn. “It’s funny you mention that, I’ve got the Bentley Continental V8 here at the minute but back home I have a 1949 Bentley VI Saloon and a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette. They’re some of the best drives I think I’ve ever had on the road.” An understanding nod was given, “ah yeah, often you just have to spend a while playing around with the exposure on the camera and make sure you use a tripod to keep it stable. It’s a bugger but once you get the hang of it it’s not too bad.” He grinned clearly excited by the proposed idea “but sure, next time there’s something astrological going on, send me a message and I’ll give you a crash course. Maybe you can give me a crash course in cars.”

Young woman. He had to wonder if this was meant to be an attack or not. As far as he was concerned, yes, she was young, and yes, he was older, and it was uncommon, but it was something he and Evelyn had discussed. In the end, it was Alain who felt the least comfortable about the difference, not her. “Oh, ahem,” he mused. “Well, I was trespassing on her property, which is a great first impression apparently. I wanted to find a good spot to stargaze, but didn't know it was a private beach,” he trailed off. Yeah, that had been embarrassing, and he had considered fleeing the place the moment Evelyn disappeared to get a cardigan.

Now he was glad he did not.

“Oh.” Well he really was not a fan of the newer ones, as he found them a bit too soft looking, but he kept that to himself. And so it surprised him that Arthur seemed to like some very different cars, but he would not question the man’s taste. To each their own. “See Evelyn, she owns too many cars,” he scoffed. An understatement, although it was not really a surprise. She liked owning things, especially pretty things, and Alain wondered sometimes if there was a reason for that need. “Sure, that sounds lovely. Let’s just hope that my crash course involves no crashing cars,” shaking his head, he took another sip of beer. “I just think that people, just, everyone should know more about what’s under the hood.”

It was less an attack, more a statement of fact and Arthur’s view of evelyn. She was an incredible young woman. There was no further intention to the words than that and if he did notice any discomfort it wasn’t remarked on. He’d learned one lesson lately and that was to let some things lie. So instead, he listened to Alain’s story, leaning a little more on the bar with his interest fixed because he was genuinely curious to learn the tale and get a better understanding of his friend’s mind in this. “And did she stay out?” Arthur assumed so but better to get clarification just to be on the safe side.

“But I do have the other two older ones, I might get them shipped over at some point… I just didn’t know how permanent my residence here was going to be and I didn’t want to ship them and find myself heading back overseas you know? Too much hassle.” Though he had to laugh at the statement of Evelyn and cars, “she has too much stuff period. Always has, but I can hardly blame her for that.” Arthur had his own reasonings about why that might be the case but it wasn’t something to discuss right now. Alain was nice enough but not someone he’d chat in depth to about his long-time friends. Not yet at least. “Yeah, I’d rather not go out in a ball of flames.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him. “You’re probably right, I guess it seems so foreign and alien to most people that even approaching the topic seems like a challenge. It’s kind of the same with history… or language. Some people nowadays are afraid of not being able to overcome the challenge I think.”

“She did,” he wrinkled his nose, “considering the reputation of Harris Island folks, I did consider for a moment that she was staying with me until the police arrived,” which was something that made him feel terrible, but could you really blame him. “I think she had nothing better to do,” Alain might have never been the luckiest person there was, but he always wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve her.

“I mean, that’s fair.” Alain rarely had to get cars imported, but he remembered having to import his own car from France, and how much of a hassle this had been. “I’d love to have a look at those, if you ever do get them shipped here,” he added, finishing his pint and searching for his wallet to pay the bartender. “Glad to know that she always has been this way,” he had a light laugh. Alain had given up on thinking of things he could offer her, hoping that memories could be things she would cherish more. “Let’s avoid that, yeah,” he shook his head. “People probably think it’s too complicated, too hard, too … I don’t know… That only some people are allowed to have this kind of knowledge,” the man had always been curious, and it was no surprise to learn that Arthur, an academic, felt the same way about learning new things.

“Understandable,” Arthur had met a few people that lived out that way and hadn’t been too impressed with them “Harris island folks can be pretty funny about strangers wandering onto their properties. Luckily she’s one of the better few out that way.”

“Sure, I’ll let you know if I ever make the decision to do that… Though considering how much glass damage it seems people complain about online I’m not sure if it’s something I’d really want to expose myself to… But I guess knowing a mechanic doesn’t hurt with that issue.” Setting his glass on the counter he pushed back a little. “Maybe, I guess some people just feel its unreachable for them in particular or they have no effort in pursuing the avenue to acquiring it.” Arthur waved his hand as he saw Alain reach for his wallet, fishing his card out the back of his phone case before good-naturedly adding “don’t worry about it, I’ll get them.”

“I suppose that’s what happens when you get a bit too out of touch with reality,” Alain was certain that his sister, or his parents, were the kind to react poorly to trespassers, and the reason he knew that was because he was himself not really fond of trespassers, and this, despite having spent the last two decades in the middle class.

“I don’t think soundproofing your garage is the answer to big noises, but hey, you now know a mechanic. I’m sure you’ll be alright,” the corners of his mouth tugged up, as he stood up from the stool. “Let me know if you ever feel like learning a thing or two, alright?” He frowned slightly at Arthur’s offer, but didn’t question it for too long and instead nodding, thankful. “Alright, thanks.”

With a huff of amusement Arthur grinned, “good thing people who are rational like us exist then.” With the delivery of a few notes across the bar and a tip for the waiter Arthur pushed to his feet and tucked his wallet away. “Well, nice to meet you Alain. And if you ever fancy watching ridiculously late night rugby matches just let me know.” With a wave of his hand he made his way towards the door and the walk back home in the early afternoon light.

#for keeps #para #alain #p: alain

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

Text

Kingdom Perspective (6)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, kidnapping, keeping/treating people like pets, threats, and unwanted touching/grabbing

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Logan also made a hasty retreat, heading in the opposite direction. He waited until they were once again alone, shutting the bedroom door behind him. He lifted the human up so that he could see Pat’s little trembling form in his palms.

“Patton, are you alright?” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed with worry, heading over to the bed.

“I-I…” Patton shook his head. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I-I won’t do it again! P-Please...don’t…” A few tears escaped Patton’s eyes.

“Patton, it’s...fine.” Logan shook his head. “I’m not upset with you, you’re not going to be punished.”

Patton sniffed, looking up at Logan with some hesitance. “You...You aren’t? B-But your father said…” Patton trailed off, still shaking.

“I know.” Logan sat down, sinking into the soft mattress. “But tonight is just another instance proving my father knows nothing about humans. It would be wrong to punish you. Your track record speaks for itself.”

A wave of relief washed over Patton and he laughed a little as a few more tears escaped him. He wiped them away. “Th-Thank you, Logan.”

Logan rubbed his thumb gently along Patton’s cheek, also helping to wipe away his tears. “I am...confused, however.” Logan admitted, pulling his hand away with a frown.

“O-Oh, right, um…” Patton should have expected he would have to explain himself. “I uh, I...couldn’t handle seeing the other human so scared like that. I wasn’t even really thinking...but I guess I figured if I caused a distraction the king would...forget about them?” Patton shrugged and looked down, ashamed.

“...I see.” Logan said, finally understanding. “Patton, that was very valiant of you, but in the future you simply must refrain from self-sacrificing yourself like that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Patton swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “R-Right. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Logan hugged the human to his chest, giving a slow sigh of relief that the evening was over. “I just don’t know what I’d do with myself if I lost you.”

Patton just nodded, doing his best to hug back. He wasn’t sure what he would do in this world without Logan either.

***

Roman closed the door of his room behind him with a sigh before looking down at Virgil in his hands. “I am so sorry about all that. I didn’t know my father would be that bad. Are...Are you alright?”

“I...I’m alright.” Virgil nodded, still shaken by the events of the evening.

“Good...That’s good.” Roman walked over to his desk, and let Virgil off his hand. He took a seat and just let out a large sigh as he placed his head in his hands. “Well...things could have been worse?” He sent Virgil a hesitant smile.

Virgil nodded again, his mind always ready to supply worst-case scenarios. Of course, tonight had still been pretty bad.

“Can you…do me a favor?” Virgil asked, his arms subconsciously wrapping around himself.

Roman frowned. “What?”

“Can you make sure that...other human isn’t punished?” Virgil realized he still didn’t know the other guy’s name. If it had been spoken at dinner, Virgil certainly didn’t catch it.

Roman smiled softly. It was cute how Virgil was worried about Logan’s human. “Well, I can certainly try. Though...it didn’t seem like Logan was all that angry with him.” Roman hummed, thinking back to it. He had to wonder why Patton had suddenly done that. “I can still go double-check though, if you want?”

“Please.” Virgil affirmed, looking a bit downtrodden. “I don’t want anyone punished because of me.”

Roman frowned, a little confused at that. Wait, had Patton done that for Virgil? It...made sense he supposed but he still wondered why the other human had done that. He shook the question away for now and nodded at Virgil. He paused. “...Do you...want to come with me?”

“Uh, probably not a good idea.” Virgil pointed out, wincing. “Y’know, in case Logan’s still irritated or something.” Frankly Virgil didn’t want to see anymore Giants for a lifetime. This included Roman, but unfortunately he seemed to be stuck with him.

Roman nodded. “Alright.” He scooped Virgil up and quickly put him in the cage, locking it. “I’ll be back soon.” He left his room and headed back to Logan’s. He realized briefly that this was probably the most he had ever gone to Logan’s room in a single day. Perhaps even in a week. Weird to think about.

He didn’t knock on the door, though he actually had a reason for not knocking as he wanted to catch Logan off guard just in case he was punishing Patton. So, he barged in. “Logan?”

Logan jumped slightly, Patton still held close to his chest. “What did I say about knocking?” Logan reminded him, although he was quite relieved to see it was Roman and not father.

“I came to make sure you weren’t punishing Patton!” Roman exclaimed and Patton’s eyes went wide. Wait, why did Roman care if he was punished or not?

“No I’m not punishing Patton.” Logan paused, confused by Roman’s choice of words. “I take it father didn’t send you, then?”

“No, my human sent me to check. He said he didn’t want anyone punished because of him.” Roman said, looking down at Patton.

Patton smiled, the other human cared about him? That was nice. Now he’s kind of glad he did that whole thing, despite it not having worked.

Logan smirked. “Ah, so you’ve been demoted to human messenger boy; it suits you.” Logan teased.

Roman gasped in offence. “I have not. I also thought that Patton shouldn’t have been punished. So I was just making sure you weren’t doing such a thing.”

“I have no plans to punish Patton.” Logan repeated sincerely. “Although I appreciate that you were concerned. It bodes well for your new companion. Father believes fear is a powerful motivator, and it is, but personally I believe positive reinforcement and rewards are much more successful long-term when it comes to humans.”

Roman nodded. “Right...I’ll, uh, remember that.” Roman let out a deep breath and turned around to leave. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you be then.” He started towards the door.

“Wait!” Patton suddenly shouted, placing a hand over his mouth as Roman turned around and blinked in shock. Well, it seems like Patton wasn’t thinking about a lot of things today.

“...yes, Patton?” Logan held Patton out further, raising an eyebrow in confusion at Patton’s second consecutive outburst. “You have our attention.”

“I, um, sorry, I just…” Patton bit his lip nervously. “Can I...meet the other human?”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Like a...playdate or something?” Roman asked. He thought for a moment before grinning. “I mean, I’m down.” He turned to Logan.

“What, right now?” Logan looked between the two of them, unsure. “It might be a bit overwhelming after the evening’s activities.”

“Oh, I agree.” Roman said, crossing his arms. “But we could do it tomorrow? Maybe do it during lunch or something?” He turned to Patton with a smile. “How does that sound?”

Patton nodded, perfectly okay with it. “Y-Yeah!”

“Yes, I could rearrange my studies for that…” Logan began to plan it out in his mind. He certainly wanted to grant Patton the opportunity, considering Patton was almost never this excited. “Alright, the two of you are welcome to join Patton and me for lunch tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Patton cheered in excitement. Roman smiled at how absolutely adorable that was.

“Great! Guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow then!” Roman turned to leave and was halfway out the door before twirling back around and waving at Patton. “Bye Patton.”

Patton smiled and waved bye back and then Roman was gone.

“You’d think getting a human of his own would lower his fascination with you.” Logan mused, taking note of the fact that Roman had said goodbye to Patton and yet not to himself.

Patton just giggled. Excited to meet the other human tomorrow.

***

Roman made it back to his room, going to sit at his desk. He smiled down at Virgil. “Alright, good news! Logan’s human is perfectly fine!”

“Good.” Virgil breathed a sigh of relief. He would’ve felt terrible if the other human had suffered.

“Also...we have a playdate scheduled for tomorrow!” Roman announced with a grin.

Virgil frowned. “A what now?”

“Logan’s human wants to meet you, so we’re going to have lunch with them tomorrow!” Roman clapped his hands together. “It’ll be great!”

“Oh.” Virgil was quite intrigued to meet the other human. He wasn’t so excited to see Logan again, but at dinner he hadn’t seemed so bad (other than prancing his human across the table), and if Virgil wanted to meet Logan’s human it made sense Logan would have to be there as well.

...okay, Virgil really needed to stop calling this guy ‘the human.’

“Hey what’s his name, anyways?” Virgil asked finally.

“Oh! His name is Patton!” Roman answered. “A cute name for a cute human!”

The way Roman announced that made Virgil pause. “Is that like, his actual name, or is that just what you guys call him?”

Roman frowned in thought. “Uh, I am pretty sure that is his actual name. Logan’s not creative enough to come up with a name like that.” Roman chuckled.

Virgil just shrugged, realizing he wouldn’t know for sure until he met the guy tomorrow. Patton...it was a cute name. Virgil wondered how long he’d been stuck here, and if he ever tried to escape before.

And what consequences awaited him when he did.

Roman let out a loud yawn, rubbing at his eyes. “I think it’s about time we head to bed. It’s certainly been a long day.” Roman stood up and stretched, grabbing Virgil’s cage and carrying it over to his nightstand. He then went to go change real quick.

When he came back out, he glanced in Virgil’s cage and realized...maybe the guy would want a blanket. Whoops.

He started searching for one, before finding a small enough cloth that would work for now. He could get one made special later. He went over and opened the cage. “Here you go Virgil. I, uh, figured you would want this.” He placed the cloth inside.

“Wow, your generosity knows no bounds.” Virgil rolled his eyes, glancing over the elegance and extravagance of everything else in the room. “Y’know while you’re at it I never did get my clothes back. You gonna uphold your end of the deal or what?”

Roman blinked before his eyes went wide. “Oh! Um, yes, they actually should have been back by now. Hold on.” Roman went straight to the lower dresser drawer and smiled when he saw Virgil’s clothes, clean and folded. He picked them up when he also noticed the five hoodies he had asked for. He picked those up too, looking them over. He had almost forgotten he had even asked for them.

They were definitely from the human world. That much Roman could tell. They also came in a few different colors. Though they were all dark and prominently featured black. He grinned. He was sure Virgil would love these! He took the hoodies with him as he headed back over to Virgil. He handed Virgil’s his regular clothes back, hiding the hoodies in his other hand. “There you go. All clean!”

Virgil inspected his clothes for any damage, smiling a bit when he saw none. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Roman said. “And I also have a surprise for you!”

“...what kind of surprise?” Virgil asked cautiously, holding his clothes in a protected bundle.

Roman chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m certain you’ll like this surprise.” He opened his hand to reveal the five hoodies. “Ta da! And they should all be your size too, since they got the size from your original hoodie.” Roman grinned and held his hand closer to Virgil so he could look and grab the hoodies.

Virgil took a cautious step back, setting his own clothes down before approaching. He grabbed them up, inspecting the various patterns. They did indeed look like they would fit. Of course, one look at them and Virgil knew these were stolen from the human world, too. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Soooo...why do I have these?” Virgil raised an eyebrow.

Roman grin fell slightly. He had been expecting a better reaction. “Well, uh, you know. You can never have too many hoodies...am I right?” He chuckled sheepishly. He wasn’t actually sure if that was a thing, considering he had just learned what a hoodie was earlier that day.

“I mean, I guess.” Virgil shrugged. Frankly the gift made him a bit uneasy. Sure these were soft enough, but they didn’t have the same personality as his hoodie, and if these were meant to be a replacement there was gonna be a problem. Not to mention Roman would probably make a whole deal of it if Virgil didn’t wear the hoodies, and it’d be kind of difficult to wear his hoodie at the same time as one of these like he’d done with the other clothes Roman gave him to wear.

Roman deflated and sighed, looking away for a moment before putting on a smile when he looked back at Virgil to close and lock his cage door. “Well...good night then.” He blew the candles out and got into bed, turning so his back was to Virgil.

Virgil rolled his eyes, not about to console Roman just because he was pouting. He looked down at the hoodies, realizing there was another way they could be useful. He gathered them up, folding them to form a pillow for his head. Then Virgil changed into his regular clothes, pulled his blanket around himself and eventually fell asleep.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #giants #human!virgil #human!patton #giant!roman #giant!logan #platonic #kingdom perspective #part 6

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