#ive always been able to tidy it up before it gets bad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bestintheparsec · 4 years ago

Text

The Same Coin - Part 1

Prologue | Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Thank y’all so much for the nice comments on this new series! This picks up shortly after the prologue. I had to hold back a lot for this chapter because pining is not allowed yet - patience😌 I hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is welcome!❤️

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some mentions of violence, angst (but not the Yearning kind yet)

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. This couldn’t wait? “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They...put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright.

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp's faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he's in a t-shirt and loose pants—a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. Jesus, Javier thinks to himself. He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this thrills me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible not to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about him—not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you...need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me shower…” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even Steve will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You're only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. Why can't Murphy be the one who lives next door?

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“You’re not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you're almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with alcohol?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. God, you’re infuriating.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I'm just trying to help.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s...from the broken glass. When the sicarios shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. Christ, your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free time when he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his sicarios are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to think.

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.

At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. How much longer with these damn crutches? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. Dinner. Eat, cabrón, it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. You really are infuriating, he thinks. But somehow, it’s almost endearing.

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier sicario. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise. It’s for the best, you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.

Translations:

Cabrón = asshole

Series tags: @mytinybaguette @mrpascals @dindjarindiaries @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @pascalesque @lady-sigyn @bel-13 @positivelife3000 @larakasser @buckstaposition @watsonwise @irishleesh93 @gigilame @lostingoogletranslate @yabby-girl

Perm tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hail-doodles @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @hayley-the-comet @mrsparknuts @kyo101 @blue-tidal-wave @palalover @forever-rogue @adikaofmandalore

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena #my ff #non sw

298 notes · View notes

janekfan · 4 years ago

Note

hi mom. sorry i havent talked with you much recently but ive definitely been following ur stuff (which youve probably noticed). ive been extremely busy with much longer work hours, sometimes needing to find a place to hide so i can plop down and pass out for a few minutes. if you wanna write something regarding that, however you want to, it would bring me a lot of comfort ♡

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659246

For @flame-cat my child! I’m so very proud of you! I hope this fits :) I can always try again <3 <3 <3

Jon lifted his head, groggy and sore, from the surface of his messy desk, a spare post it stuck to his cheek. He blinked hard, rubbing the sleep from his stinging, burning eyes and peeled away the paper to slip it back into the folder. Ever since his promotion he’d been burning the candle at both ends in an attempt to balance all of the new responsibilities despite not having any of the relevant experience. Sasha would have been a much better choice and for the life of him, Jon couldn’t figure out Elias’ game. How did having a bumbling, idiot Archivist benefit him in any way?

He rubbed his temples, cursing the persistent ache. Barely getting through a statement a week already felt like running a marathon every time, leaving him exhausted and irritable and the worst part about it all was not being able to ask for help. He’d thought. Well. He’d though having Tim and Sasha accompany him would make the whole thing a little more bearable. They were friends. Friends took care of each other and they understood it wasn’t his decision, right? That he’d tried to argue his way out of it, tried to explain that he wasn’t the person for this job.

He was probably being sensitive. They had responsibilities. They were busy.

It’s not all about you, Jon.

But he was so lonely.

Tired.

And it only became worse as the weeks went on though he didn’t know how bad it had gotten until one of the library staff poked him awake at the end of one of the “K” shelves. He’d only sat down for a moment on the bottom rung of a rolling ladder.

“Mr. Sims?”

“Wah--?” So eloquent when the library assistant shook him by the shoulder out of concern.

“Can I help you find something?” They smiled. “Like the door? So that you might go home and get some rest?”

“No, no, I’m alright.” He plucked a book at random. “I was just looking for this.” They didn’t seem convinced and smiled indulgently.

“A book on kinephantoms?” And Jon drew himself up to his full, diminutive height.

“Wha--yes. Yes, or course.” Clearing his throat he turned on his heel and stalked back into the archives.

“Hello? Tim? Um.”

“What can I do you for, boss?” Jon was exceptionally nervous and he didn’t know why but as Tim whirled around in his chair, pen flipping over his fingers, it spiked in his gut, made him sick.

“Ah yes, the, the research I asked for, l’last week.” Deep breath, be the boss, delegate and follow up. “How is it coming along?”

“Oh, yeah! The research. It’s ‘coming along.’ Should have it ready in a few days. How’s after the weekend sound?” Horrible.

If he was being honest.

“Yes, of course.” But he wasn’t. “That would be just fine, thank you, Tim.” He tucked the folder he had brought for him behind his back and left the way he came.

“Jon?”

“Sasha?” He looked up from his reading to find her in his doorway and a cup of cold tea on the corner of his desk. When had that--? “How can I help you?”

“I just had some questions regarding what you needed for that last statement.” Disappointment flooded his tongue with salt. His instructions must have been lacking. He’d have to try better this second time.

It took the rest of the afternoon and Jon, having already worked through lunch, was feeling light headed from lack of sleep and food by the time Sasha was ready to start her research. She. She couldn’t, wouldn’t? Pretend? Not to know would she? All her questions, she was more suited to this job than he was.

No. He was being paranoid. He was just tired.

Disorienting pain lanced through his chin, echoing through his jaw and into his skull and he groaned. He’d fallen asleep propped up on his arm and paid the price for it with a bruised and throbbing face.

“Jon?”

Go’way.

“Jon?”

Lemme sleep.

“Jon?”

“Mmartin?” With difficulty, he was able to pry his eyes open, blinking away the cobwebs, the dust clinging to his lashes.

“What are you doing down here?” Martin was pulling him to his feet and Jon wanted nothing more than to curl back up and drift away.

“Was looking for--oh?” It was in his hand and he lifted it as evidence. “This?”

“You look exhausted.” Automatically Jon was denying it despite knowing the shadows beneath his eyes were like bruises, shaking his head and backing away without even enough stale air in his body to say the right words until he left Martin behind.

It was just a stupid, silly mistake. Nothing tragic or irreversible or cataclysmic, he just dropped a box of organized and neatly filed statements. Just dropped a box representing hours and hours of time and research and missed meals and lost sleep and proof of his incompetence and before he knew it he was on his knees amidst the papers and ink and photos and notes and it was all. Too. Much.

He didn’t even notice the tears at first, not until they hit his hands and he cried more of them in his frustration, wiping them angrily away and only ending up with his face buried in his folded knees because he was just. So. Tired. Jon didn’t know how long he sat there in the hallway, arms tucked around himself and holding all his pieces together, but it was long enough that someone came upon him and he hurried about tidying the pages and stuffing them back into envelopes.

“Boss?” Jon scrubbed his face, turning around with his most dictatorial expression. It wouldn’t do for him to see out how terrible he was at this. How awful.

“Ah, just dropped some files. I’ve got it.”

“Have you been--?”

“No! No.” He began to gather the mess faster, jamming statements into folders, into files, all out of order because if he stayed here any longer under his scrutiny he would end up sobbing.

“Do you need some help?”

“No.” Biting and cold. Drive him away.

“Jon.”

“No, I. I just can’t, I’ll get the hang of it. I just need to work harder.”

“Hey.”

“I’m just. I’m. I’m tired...that’s all.” It didn’t sound convincing to him, let alone to his subordinate. Not to Tim who’d known him before this whole fiasco. He stood, box in hand and staggered into the wall when the hallway tilted sideways, caught by Tim before he could go down again. Defeated, he let him take the statements. Let him leave it on the floor and lead him away.

“Oi, boss. When’s the last time you ate anything?” His hands were trembling in Tim’s and when he went to pull them away, the man held fast, drew him into an awkward hug.

“Oh...uh. I, I can’t, I suppose I can’t remember.” Caught, exposed, Jon let his face fall into Tim’s chest.

“Okay, okay, let’s get you taken care of.”

Suffering Martin’s fussing and fretting, while he didn’t understand it, wasn’t as intolerable as usual. He’d taken one look at Jon and wrapped him up in his well-worn cardigan and sat him at the rickety table with a cup of tea and orders to drink it. With his second mug he handed Jon a packet of biscuits and, not able to escape while sandwiched annoyingly (comfortingly) between Tim and Sasha, he had no choice but to nibble on them. After his third, Sasha tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

“I want to apologize, Jon. I wasn’t doing anything to make this any easier on you.”

“No, you’ve. You’ve been helpful and--” He was horrified that she would think his own shortcomings were any fault of her own.

“Not as helpful as we could have been, boss.” Jon looked between them so quickly it set his head to spinning. “We’re much better at research than we’ve led you to believe.”

“It was frustrating.”

“I’m s’sorry.”

“Not because of you.” He allowed Sasha to tug his head down to her shoulder. “We should have noticed you were running yourself ragged cleaning up after us.” Delightfully cozy and warm, Jon was dozing off and she chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s get you tucked in. We can make it up to you after your nap.” Jon tried to resist, tried to rattle off all the work he still had left to do but all that came out of his fickle mouth were mumbling, sleepy, embarrassing noises. They set him up on the ratty break room couch and it was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. If he could just manage a coherent sentence…but the pillow was so soft beneath his aching head, the blanket Martin was settling over his shoulders just heavy enough and he tried one more time to say anything at all when Martin lifted the glasses off his face and folded them aside.

“Mhm, of course, yes, boss, whatever you say boss.” Sasha’s fingers running through his hair were his final undoing and between one gentle touch and the next, he let himself go.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #exhaustion #overwork #jon needs a nap #caretaking #promptfic #tmafanfic #I love my child and I'm so happy I could write for them <3

71 notes · View notes

worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 5 years ago

Text

The Intern | Part Two

Summary: You move to New York to focus on your art but end up working as an intern at Stark Enterprises

Chapter Summary: you get an surprise visit on your day off

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1600 and something (kinda short but i’m already half way through writing part three)

A/N: for the purposes of this story Stark Enterprise is set out like an office building in New York and the story does not follow the same timeline as the movies. Reader does not know Peter is SpiderMan. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Masterlist Part One

- - - - -

It had been a week since your meeting with Tony and since then the two of you had become quite good friends. Tony would make sure he came to the desk everyday or found you at lunch with Peter to catch up with you both.

Today was your first day off in a while and it was much needed. You’d spent the day in your loungewear, doing some painting and listening to old 80’s rock music. In the evening you decided to order pizza, and do some baking while you wait for it to be delivered. You were just getting the ingredients ready when someone knocked at the door. ‘Pizza is early’ you thought as you put down the flour and headed to answer the door.

“Wow that was quick- oh” you said opening the door surprised to see Tony on the other side.

“Sorry were you expecting someone?” He asked.

“No no, just thought you were the pizza guy” you laugh awkwardly.

“No pizza here I’m afraid. Just me. Wanted to check in, see if you’re okay? Didn’t see you in work today”

“It’s was my day off. I’m back in tomorrow”

“Ah right. Good. Well, that’s great then” he turns and goes to leave.

“Would you like to come in for a drink, and maybe some pizza? Seeing as you came all this way.” You ask, surprising yourself with your sudden confidence.

“I don't want to intrude..”

“you wouldn’t be. Ive been on my own all day, it would actually be nice to have some company.”

“Thanks” he smiles and walks past you. You shut the door, silently cursing yourself as you realise that your boss, THE Tony Stark, has now seen you in your paint stained loungewear. You follow him into the open plan kitchen/living room of your apartment and wish you’d cleaned up first. Your paints, brushes and sketchbook still all over the coffee table from earlier and the kitchen messy with baking stuff.

“Sorry about the mess” you apologise, fiddling with the messy bun you’d thrown your hair into this morning, attempting to tidy it up a bit.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“no really, I’ve seen rooms in much worse states than this after some of the parties I used to have back in the day”

You both laugh and Tony walks over to look at one of the paintings hanging on your wall “this is nice” he says pointing at it and you walk over to stand next to him. The painting is of a beach with the sun setting over the ocean, the orange glow reflecting off the waves and ripples in the water.

“its the beach I used to visit every summer when I was a kid. Some of my favourite memories happened there” you stare at the painting daydreaming about the past. Picnics with your parents, playing fetch with your childhood dog, swimming on really hot days. Tony watches you out the corner of his eye, smiling when he notices the content smile that has appeared on your face. When you suddenly take a breath and snap back into the present he turns his attention back to the painting.

“this is actually one of the first paintings I ever did-“

“you painted this?” Tony interrupts, turning to look at you and you give him a shy nod. “wow, you have a real talent. When you said before that ‘painting didn’t pay the bills’, I presumed that just meant you weren’t very good”

You burst out laughing his blunt honestly which takes Tony by surprise.

“no, no what I meant was, the art world is a hard one to get into as an unknown artist. I couldn’t risk waiting around for that big break.”

Tony nods, looking at you thoughtfully.

“can I see some more of your work?” He asks.

“yeah sure, I’ve got some stuff in a folder in my room” you say as you run off toward your bedroom. When you come back out carrying the folder of paintings you notice Tony sitting on the sofa looking through the sketchbook you’d left on your coffee table.

“these are really good y/n, really I mean that.” He says, turning the pages and you take a seat next to him “you’ll have to paint something for me to hang in my office, that place needs brightening up a bit-“ he stops when he reaches a pencil sketch of Steve Rogers and you feel your whole body cringe. “this guy? really, you drew this guy?”

“what, I, uh..” You stutter “..he’s got a good jaw line. It’s very satisfying to draw” you shrink down into the sofa wishing it would swallow you whole, then theres a knock at the door.

“ah that will be the real pizza guy” you say jumping up to walk to the door but Tony stands in your way.

“no let me get it. You get us some drinks. I’ve been here a full five minutes and you’ve still not got me one” he winks at you and you roll your eyes playfully.

As you get glasses out the cupboard and put them on the counter you notice Tony is acting suspiciously. He walks slowly and carefully toward the door, and takes a long look through the peephole before finally opening the door. You presume he’s just always on high alert because of who he is. Being a high profile business man and one of the best known superheroes must mean he’s used to having dangerous people lurking around every corner.

After pouring two drinks you move over to the sofa and place the glasses down on the coffee table and hiding your sketchbook under the sofa. Tony appears with the pizza and you quickly move your paints off the table to make space for him to put the box down.

“thanks for grabbing the pizza, you’ve saved me the embarrassment of anyone else seeing the state of me right now” you say gesturing to your clothes, as he takes a seat next to you and you hand him his drink.

He looks you up and down, shrugs and says “I’ve seen worse” and winks at you. He holds his glass up for you to toast and you hold your glass up too.

“to you, and your weird fascination with Captain America’s chin” he teases you and you shake your head at him.

“I am not toasting to that” you laugh

- - - - -

An hour later you’d both got through the whole pizza and almost a whole bottle of wine, talking and laughing the whole time as Tony told you about some of the things he used to get up to pre Iron Man. You get up to carry the empty pizza box over to the bin in your kitchen and refill both your glasses.

“hey what’s for dessert” Tony shouts over to you.

“well I was just about to start making brownies before you arrived”

“I was only kidding about dessert but actually I would kinda love some brownies right now” Tony says, getting up and walking over to join you in the kitchen.

“well I guess we could bake some?” you say half joking but Tony grabs your apron off the hook on the wall and ties it around his waist which makes you laugh.

“what are you laughing at, I'm ready to learn”

“wait, you’ve never made brownies before? Not even as a kid?” You ask in disbelief and Tony shakes his head.

“my family weren’t really into that sort of thing” he shrugged.

“well then Mr Stark, I am about to change your life” you say, handing him a wooden spoon and he smiles at you.

Tony mixed together the melted chocolate and butter with the eggs and sugar while you measure out the flour into a bowl. You handed him the flour to add into the mixture but as he poured it in he dropped some of the flour onto the arm of his suit and you laughed covering your mouth with your hand.

“oh you think thats funny do you?” He says and he takes a hand a handful of flour and chucks it at you, laughing. You gasp and wipe some of the flour off yourself before grabbing a handful and throwing it back at him. He grabs your hand mid air and pulls you slightly but you trip over your own feet and stumble into him. He catches you and the laughter dies down as you both look into each others eyes, faces dangerously close to each other. His eyes flicker down to your lips and he moves in slightly. But then he stops, and lets you go. Clearing his throat and taking a step back. You take a deep breath and brush some flour off yourself.

“well, uh, this was fun” he says, slightly awkward “but, I should probably be going now”

“yeah, yeah..” you agree walking him to the door “it’s getting late”

He stops at the door and turns around to smile at you.

“thanks for the pizza, and for the baking lesson”

“no problem” you smile “i’ll bring some of the brownies in to work tomorrow”

“Good night y/n” he says walking out the door

“Good night”

You close the door behind him and press your forehead against it, replaying what just happened in your head. Did you really just almost kiss your boss? And did he almost kiss you back? Did you overstep your boundaries even inviting him in tonight? Would things be awkward tomorrow?

You let out a frustrated sigh and go back to the kitchen to finish baking and tidy up the mess from your flour fight. You know there’s no point thinking about it tonight but you also know that you won’t be able to think of anything else.

Part Three

Taglist: @brownbuble

#marvel fanfic #iron man x reader #iron man fanfic #Tony Stark imagine #iron man imagine #Robert downey jr #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfic #the intern

96 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 5 years ago

Note

you know how hermann finding The Tape is like, a popular fic prompt? imagine newt listening to the tape, after the breach is closed only to find out it kept recording after he passed out? imagine newt listening to hermanns frantically confessing his love to him :^)

god ive seen the opposite (hermannn finding the tape with love confession from newt on it) but THIS.....IS A GREAT IDEA

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

“I’m not dying, Newton,” Hermann says. “Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s standard procedure, is all.” He shifts a little under his stiff medical-issued blanket, and blinks at Newt hazily; the pain meds they gave him have made him crazy out of it. A bit loopy. Unbalanced. Newt had to help him into his pajamas today, and that was enough blushing mortification for a life time, thank you. “I’ll be out--oh--tomorrow, I reckon.”

“Standard procedure, my ass,” Newt scoffs. “If that was true, I’d be in here with you.”

Hermann shuts his mouth and, wisely, doesn’t push the point. Probably because he knows Newt’s right. They both drifted with the kaiju brain, after all--shit, Newt drifted with one twice, practically fried his brain to smithereens the first time. Geiszler served over-hard. If anyone should be doomed to an overnight medical stay, it’s him. Hell--a week-long medical stay. Instead he’s being sent away with nothing more than an MRI, a pat on the head, and instructions to never fucking do that again, and meanwhile Hermann is being imprisoned for a whole twenty-four hours. Fucking ridiculous. Newt’s half-considering raising a fuss and insisting on being admitted to the bed beside Hermann’s just to keep him company.

“It’s nausea,” Hermann says. “Merely nausea. And--ah--” He lifts one hand, slowly, like he forgot he had one, and raps his knuckles against his temple. “Bit of a nasty headache.”

Hermann has always had a predilection to migraines, the brutal kind that leave him groaning in the dark for hours on end while Newt hangs, tentatively, out of sight, and they’re usually set off when he’s particularly stressed or overwhelmed by something. Usually work-related. Newt thinks hooking your mind up to an alien hivemind counts as a pretty intense stressor. “They merely want to keep me under observation to ensure it’s nothing more serious.”

Newt bites his lip; he shrugs. He still doesn’t like the sound of it, but he’d rather know one-hundred-percent Hermann’s okay. “I guess.”

Hermann gives him a rare smile. It crinkles the corner of his eyes and makes Newt’s heart race just a bit faster. “Go on, now, make yourself useful. Tidy the bloody lab. Oh--get started on our paperwork, why don’t you? Don’t sit around moping for my sake.” He pats Newt’s hand. “It’s terribly unbecoming for a rock star.”

The nurse at the front desk, when Newt badgers him, echoes Hermann’s sentiments exactly: no, Dr. Gottlieb isn’t dying, Dr. Geiszler, don’t be silly, both of your scans came back sparkling, overnight observation is just to ensure the headache and nausea aren’t something more serious (which we’re almost completely sure it isn’t), you can come pick him back up tomorrow morning at seven. Okay?

“Okay,” Newt sighs.

He casts a forlorn glance back at Hermann. “I’ll come back with dinner,” he says, weakly.

The nurse coughs. “Actually, Dr. Geiszler, I’m afraid there’s no outside food allowed.”

“Right,” Newt says. “Bye, Hermann.”

“Paperwork,” Hermann calls to him.

No one’s been in the lab since before the whole Breach-bombing extravaganza, a whole forty-eight hours, and Newt can’t help but be a bit unsettled by it later that evening when he finally rolls up his sleeves and trudges down dutifully to get a crack on Hermann’s requests. It’s too quiet--too stagnant--like some sort of weird memorial to a lifestyle that’s now as obsolete as the kaiju. There’s a half-finished mug of coffee on Hermann’s desk (the milk gone curdled); Newt’s filthy work tools still in the industrial sink; a bit of kaiju intestine hanging off his work bench, decaying at an alarming rate; Hermann’s last equation, unfinished, on the chalkboard--what he was calculating Newt guesses he’ll never know.

“It smells like shit in here,” Newt declares to no one.

The paperwork about the, uh, legality of their drift Hermann was so eager for him to complete is nowhere to be found--probably because the entire fucking ‘dome is on an unofficial ‘we didn’t die!’ vacation, except for him, and no one has the time to deliver paperwork to two weirdo scientists in the basement--so Newt decides to start cleaning instead.

That’s maybe misleading. Newt does decide to clean, but he never actually follows through on that decision, because he immediately gets distracted by all the fun and interesting stuff in Hermann’s desk. The dude keeps, like, a million Rubik’s cubes on hand. All solved. A miniature chess set Newt thinks they played together once on a slow day. An entire drawer-full of those weird British digestives he likes so much that he almost definitely purchased on the black market. There’s even a photograph of Newt in there--the two of them, together, probably at some Shatterdome party, Newt holding a beer and smiling cheekily at a blushing, disgruntled Hermann.

It’s...kinda cute, actually. Newt props the frame up on Hermann’s desk over a somber Gottlieb family photograph. It deserves to be displayed.

Once he’s exhausted Hermann’s desk, he moves to his side of the lab and actually starts cleaning. He tosses out the decaying entrails--suddenly wishing, a bit sadly, that he’d taken better care of his kaiju specimens, because they just got even rarer--and rinses down Hermann’s grody coffee mug as he debates out what to do with the leftover pile of junk from his drift machine. He also wishes he’d planned ahead and made a back-up: the UN seized Newt’s machine from the Bone Slums milliseconds after Mako and Becket’s escape pods popped out of the ocean, and he has a feeling he won’t ever be seeing it again. Oh well. It had a fucking awesome run.

He’s just finishing washing out Hermann’s mug and setting it on the drying rack when he pauses; his tape recorder is on the kitchenette counter.

Newt recalls his almost-parting message to Hermann with something like guilt. At the time, he’d meant it... Well, he’s not sure how he meant it. As a joke? A weird, superstitious way of ensuring his drift would be successful, because he couldn’t possibly die with last words that bad? He’s not sure he would’ve said it if he knew what Hermann would be doing for him in a few short hours. Frankly, he’s not sure he would’ve said it if he thought about it for more than five minutes.

He wonders if Hermann listened to it.

A bit of the plastic is cracked. Newt thinks he must’ve knocked it to the floor when he started, uh, spasming, and Hermann probably picked it up before he got Newt a glass of water, which could be how it migrated here. He could’ve listened to it then. He could’ve listened to it when Newt headed out to meet Chau, and Hermann sent him off with the awkwardest little hug of all time and a quiet, terse little “Don’t get yourself killed.” He could’ve listened to it before he hopped on a helicopter to the Bone Slums to risk his life for Newt. He could’ve snuck back into the lab without Newt knowing and listened to it any time yesterday, in fact.

Newt rewinds a little and presses play. Despite the crack, it still works.

“Unscientific aside,” he hears himself say, “Hermann...”

He listens to the rest of his message in morbid fascination. Three, two, one--

The loud clatter of the recorder hitting the floor, then the even louder one of Newt hitting the floor. A prolonged period of loud, pained gasps. Before Newt can switch it off, suddenly, to his surprise, there’s Hermann’s voice, out-of-his-mind, frantic--saying his name--what have you done?--low, terrified murmurs of no, no, no--

The sound of the helmet being ripped from Newt’s head and thrown, violently, to the floor. “Don’t,” Hermann stammers, “Newton--you stupid, stupid man--you can’t leave, I--” Fast, panicked breathing. “I love you, you stupid--”

The tape runs out, and cuts Hermann off mid-sentence.

Newt sets the recorder down with shaking hands.

“Oh,” he says.

He knows, in the vaguest sense, that Hermann harbors a regard for him that matches Newt’s regard for Hermann to some degree--he got enough of that in the drift, in Hermann’s too-long too-shy lingering glances across the lab, his too-long too-shy lingering touches, the way he never smiles for anyone but Newt--but hearing it spoken so blatantly out in the open like that makes Newt’s heart race and his stomach feel a little funny, like it’s being twisted up in knots.

Hermann loves him. Like, loves him, loves him.

It’s late, which means there’s only one nurse on duty in medical this time, and Newt manages to use his newfound rock star status to charm his way pass without a problem.

(“Pleeease,” he whined. “Please, please, please--”

“Fine,” the nurse snapped. “But if you annoy Dr. Gottlieb, you’re out of here.”)

He finds Hermann where he left him, conked out in one of the stiff beds with his blankets and hair in disarray. There’s a little bit of drool on his chin. Newt wipes it away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, folds his glasses up on the nightstand, then--after glancing around to ensure the nurse isn’t looking, though it’s dark enough in here he doesn’t think anyone would be able to see him anyway--burrows underneath the bedcovers beside Hermann. It’s a tight squeeze, but they’ll fit.

Hermann stirs. "Newton?”

“Yeah,” Newt whispers. “It’s me.”

Hermann sniffs, then wraps an arm around Newt’s waist. “Jolly good,” he mumbles, sleepily. Newt smiles against his chest. Hermann loves him--how funny. “Do stay.”

“Of course,” Newt says. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

“Mm. Yes,” Hermann agrees.

Hermann’s breathing steadily evens out. Newt laces the fingers of his left hand with Hermann’s right, and--still smiling--drifts off to sleep, too.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #mourningroutine

200 notes · View notes

mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

The Night Before IV

Chapter: 4/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Daylight crept in through the crudely closed curtains of Ringo's bedroom, it took him a while to wake up fully and his thumping head wasn't helping. He could hardly remember getting into bed with George, yet there they both lay in his mismatched pyjamas. Turning over to his other side, Ringo reluctantly opened his eyes to find George looking right at him. It gave him a start to say the least, his eyes shot open which seemed to startle George too.

"Morning." George said hastily, his voice was a little croaky which somehow made it even more appealing.

"Morning." Ringo repeated with a smile "How long you been staring at me?"

George paused for a second, likely debating whether to lie his way out, but then said "Not long enough."

Ringo laughed "Talk about sappy."

"Honestly I've been dying for a piss but I can't get up unless you move your fat arse." George regained his composure quickly, Ringo figured he wouldn't be easy to catch out.

"Why didn't you just wake me?" Ringo asked, his voice so quiet despite nobody being around to hear them, the softness of the morning felt too fragile to break.

Another pause "Believe or not I do actually have some manners. Don't let last night fool you."

Ringo felt his cheeks flushing at the thought of what they indulged in, he only hoped it wouldn't be a solitary thing. He smiled at George then shifted out of the bed, stretching his arms upwards as George followed his lead. The flat felt considerably colder than the warmth of the bed, and Ringo suddenly regretted getting up and ending the intimate moment between himself and George.

"Actually... Do you mind if I have a quick shower? I'm still a little sticky, so to speak." George asked tentatively.

Ringo couldn't deny that George looked rather adorable in one of his old, baggy Rolling Stones shirts. He remembered how happy it made him when George picked it out from his vast array of ragged band shirts, far too many than he necessarily needed but they held fond memories of his youth and could never really part from them. Part of him suspected that he was going to see George again after today, but the last thing he wanted to do was get his hopes up only to be disappointed, he wished he hadn't experienced it so many times before in the past but that wasn't the case.

"Yeah, of course." Ringo answered "Let me see if I can find a clean towel."

Fortunately the bathroom was in considerably less of a state than the rest of the flat, he only fixed a couple of things like the overflowing clothes bin and the variety of towels strewn about the room. Managing to find at least one relatively dry and clean one, he hung it up on the back of the door and returned to his bedroom where George was scanning over his belongings inquisitively. He had a few photos of himself, John and Paul dotted about the space which seemed to pique George's interest. When the door shut George shot upright, clearly getting absorbed into some thought or another.

"Being nosey are we?" Ringo asked playfully, moving closer to see exactly what George had been looking at: a picture of the three of them at a festival, John looked completely manic with his shirt being discarded long ago, Paul's face was covered with glitter while Ringo was clinging onto the both of them for much-needed support.

"Cute friends." George replied a little coldly "Look like a lot of fun."

It warmed Ringo to think back on those fond memories "Yeah, it was a good time... Anyway, the shower's ready for you. Do you want a cup of tea or anything when you're done?"

"I'd love one." George smiled though his eyes seemed distant "Milk and two sugars, thanks."

Ringo nodded, returning the smile. George sauntered off into the bathroom, taking off the shirt as he went; Ringo couldn't deny himself the pleasure of watching him, his shoulder muscles tensing and his arse packed nicely into his tight boxers. With the door shut, Ringo headed into the kitchen to start work on the tea. If he wasn't feeling so rough, and if his fridge wasn't so barren, he'd probably try and cook something for the both of them but it was probably for the best, he didn't want to overstep and end up scaring George away. Waiting for the kettle to boil Ringo started tidying up his living room, picking up his discarded clothes and searching for his phone. It was always a relief to find that he hadn't recklessly broken it on a night out, the only negative being that it had depleted its battery some point in the night.

Heading into his bedroom in search of a charger, a familiar knock sounded on the door. Before Ringo could even straighten himself up a little, trying to conjure how he was going to explain the man in his shower, the door was swung open intrusively without a care.

"Your door's unlocked." Paul announced, stepping into the flat like it was his own and crashing down onto the sofa.

"Good thing you don't have anything worth stealing." John strut inside, clutching a bag of fast food "We got you breakfast."

"Correction, I got us breakfast." Paul stated firmly "Figured you could use it. What time did you even get in last night?"

Ringo took the bag from John eagerly, clutching a hash brown and digging into it. The sound of the shower running reminded him to save something for George.

"I don't know really..." Ringo started, sitting down next to Paul "But I, er- I've got company."

John threw himself down on the sofa "Good on you, Ringo lad! It's about bloody time."

"You didn't meet them at that dodgy place did you? What's it even called..." Paul couldn't mask the concern on his face.

"No, no. I met him outside the club actually, though I'm not sure if that's any better." Ringo chuckled, it didn't feel real trying to retrace his steps last night.

"Well we can get out of your hair if you'd like, don't wanna make things awkward." Paul offered, sipping on a milkshake.

John interjected immediately "Not before I get all the goss, I wanna know everything."

"Can it wait? He is literally in the shower right now, don't wanna risk-" Ringo began but was cut off by a voice behind him.

"Talking about me, are you?" George was standing with a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest bare and glistening with water.

All three of their heads spun around instantly, Ringo was feeling a little speechless at the sight. John got up from the sofa eagerly and approached him with a handshake, George looked at him suspiciously but accepted it nonetheless. Paul groaned in embarrassment, a sound Ringo had grown very accustomed to.

"Nice to meet you, Ringo's told us oh so much about you!" John was shaking his hand enthusiastically, George looked over at Ringo for some support.

"Am I meant to know who you are?" George asked, cocking his eyebrow as he managed to free his hand from John's grip.

"Ouch." John feigned an expression of sadness and took a step back.

"George, this is John and Paul." Ringo gestured his head respectively "John and Paul, this is George."

Paul nodded at George with a smile "Nice to meet you. You want some greasy breakfast?"

George seemed to relax as soon as Paul spoke, far from the first time he had to relax someone who had just been introduced to the character that was John Lennon.

"I'd love to, but I should probably get some clothes on." George chuckled shyly "Ringo, do you, um.... Know where they are?"

John snickered as Ringo leapt from the sofa to pick up the pile of George's clothes he'd left on a table in the corner. Paul slapped John playfully, although Ringo suspected there was an inkling of seriousness to the gesture. Getting closer to George, Ringo couldn't help feeling a little flustered again; his hair was pushed back, making the severity of his eyes stand out all the more.

"You gonna be alright in those trousers?" Ringo asked in a hushed tone, not wanting John to hear "I can lend you some of mine if you like."

"I'll be fine, thanks. Not the worst thing if the whole of Liverpool knows what a slut I am." George nudged Ringo lightly after taking the clothes, then shut the bedroom door behind him.

Ringo was thankful for the sudden exit because there was no way he'd be able to think of anything moderately appropriate to reply with. Turning back to his friends, John had a knowing grin on his face which could never mean anything good. Ringo slunk back to to savour another hash brown, the grease let him know just how bad it was for him but there's nothing else he'd rather eat with a hangover.

"Quite the looker." Paul commented casually, his face was hard to read but there was a glimmer in his eyes.

"Fucking hell, Rings. How'd you manage that?" John asked far louder than necessary.

"I dunno..." Ringo laughed "He came up to me actually, if you can believe it."

"Pft, not very likely." John retorted "You must've spun him a whopping lie to get him in bed with you."

"Thanks for the support, John, as always." Ringo smirked sarcastically.

John opened his mouth, likely for yet another comical remark, but was silent when George returned into the room. The marks on his trousers looked worse than they had the night before, Ringo only hoped that nobody would notice. Even looking this dishevelled, George still looked irresistible to him.

"I'll have to pass on the food, I'm afraid." George announced, his jacket was pulled on as his headphones were wrapped around his neck "Completely forgot I had plans today, so I best be off."

"Oh..." Ringo failed to hide the disappointment in his voice "Alright then, if you're sure."

"It was nice meeting you both." George smiled at John and Paul, already making his way to the door "I'll see you around, Ringo, yeah?"

"Yeah, see you around." Ringo's voice faded into quiet, but he still managed a relatively believable smile.

George just nodded his headed and ducked out of the flat, the door shutting behind him seemed to echo through the room. Nobody said anything for a while, Ringo found himself just staring at the door as though George was going to suddenly reappear. Paul just sat drinking his milkshake, unsure of what to say. John focused his attention on rustling around in the bag for some more food, waiting for his boyfriend to take the reigns. Had he done something wrong? Ringo wasn't sure, everything seemed to be going so well until Paul and John arrived. Had John scared him off? It was entirely possible, but it wasn't exactly plausible for Ringo to start seeing someone who couldn't put up with John's antics. Ringo let out a heavy sigh, there was no use dwelling on the fact, he supposed.

"Don't beat yourself up, Ringo." Paul broke the silence with his gentle voice "You probably will see him around, I don't think he was just saying that."

"I guess." Ringo huffed "I might head back to bed, you know... The hangover's really starting to settle in."

Paul looked over at John and gave him a small nod "Alright then, give us a ring if you need anything. Keep the food, I don't even need to look in your fridge to know it's empty."

Ringo let out a morose laugh "Thanks guys..."

The two of them said their goodbyes and before long Ringo was alone again in his flat, the silence feeling way more imposing than it ever had previously. Ringo finished off the coffee John had left behind then tossed the cup into his bin, which was in desperate need of emptying. Slinking into his bedroom, he pulled the curtains tighter together to stop even the smallest amount of sunlight from getting through. Letting out another heavy sigh, as though the air would expel the growing fatigue in his body, he pulled the covers over himself and reached for the water he'd left on the bedside table. Lifting his head, he noticed a small piece of paper with some scribblings on it, he had to turn on a lamp to even be able to read it:

call me (i mean it)

george x

Below the words were some hastily written digits, the sight of them filled him with a joy that shot right through his impending hangover. He searched for his phone charger desperately, the sooner he could put George's number into his phone, the better. Knowing when to call him would be a problem in itself, but for now Ringo could get some much-needed sleep knowing that he'd been right about George after all.

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #george harrisonxreader #starrison

3 notes · View notes

galadrieljones · 5 years ago

Text

The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur x mary beth #mary beth gaskill #the lily farm #happy valentines day!!#i am sorry for the long wait on this one #february has been insane #but i'm very proud of this chapter!!#i am excited to finally get here #<3

24 notes · View notes

heechulhamster · 5 years ago

Text

The Truth You Can’t Hide IV

KIM JUNMYEON (SUHO) x Fem Reader

Chapter 4 [The Truth You Can’t Hide MASTERLIST]

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 ongoing

You did it so well for six years. You’ve hid your son from the biggest threat of his life. But one mishap led to the biggest secret in your life being face to face with the man you’ve kept him away from all these years - his father.

Mafia!AU, Angst.

Each muscle of your feet started to ache as the clock struck eight, the current case the law firm you worked as a paralegal in required you to go overtime. You’ve had an internal agreement with yourself to stay in the firm and distance yourself from Junmyeon’s line of work, as you know that his two separate businesses will always coincide with the other - and you wouldn’t want both of Jaejin’s parents to have an indecent track record.

Only a few lights are lit at this time of the night, most of your officemates already in the comforts of their own home and family. An empty sigh of exhaustion escaped your lips as you sat back on your chair, freeing your feet from the tormenting heels before neatly stacking and organizing the paperwork left on your table. Organizing the case files by urgency as you plan to get your hands on it eagerly the first thing tomorrow.

“Did Mr. Goo request you on overtime again? You should take a rest.” A sudden voice spoke behind you, making you turn around. You see Atty. Zhang, one of the associate lawyers in the firm. His cripst white dress shirt neatly tucked in his black pants as he leaned over the table next to yours.

“No, Sir. I did it voluntarily. I’m really absorbed on this recent case.” You said with a light chuckle, trying your best to hide your fatigue from the day.

You heard him take light footsteps on the way closer to your desk, eventually you saw Atty. Zhang’s hands over the pile of paperwork on your desk. “Is this the one regarding the sexual harrasment case of that actor…” He snapped his fingers three times, apparently thinking about the name that’s on the tip of his tongue. “Seojoon? Bang Seo Joon?”

“Yes, I’ve been re-reading his sworn statements and the victim’s.” You stated as he read through the pages of the case file.

“This file’s been through a lot.” He said, smiling over the littered highlights and notations you’ve made all throughout the paper. “Now tell me if there’s anything you’ve found. Are we on the losing end here?”

“There has been inconsistencies with the victim’s sworn statements. Like how she said that Mr. Bang and her met around dinner at that Monday, but she has also stated that her shift as a waitress ends at closing time. She had once said that he went on a date with Mr. Bang on a Tuesday the week prior, so both Monday and Tuesday couldn’t have been her off days. And the timeline of the alleged harassment doesn’t quite add up. There’s a lot of lapses here and there.”

“You’ve really put your mind on this haven’t you? I’m impressed. Poor SeoJoon must’ve been framed.” He said smiling at you, the wells of his cheeks showing as adorable dimples as he shone his bright teeth in amazement. “But you need to rest for now, the case can wait for another day, don’t you think?”

“I’m actually on my way out.” You explained as your hands tidied your desk a bit more, putting the scattered pens and pencils back on the green holder just on the corner of the black modern table.

“I’ll come with you, then.” Mr. Zhang said with a hearty smile.

Your way down the building was filled with short talks, including of which where he asked you to plainly call him Yixing as the both of you are in the same age. It would be an understatement to describe him as attractive, he’s magnetic - naturally absorbing every attention and respect by everyone graced by his presence. Yet oddly humble despite being aware of his huge presence. Yixing know how enticing he is, yet he doesn’t impose the fact on anyone. Just letting his trait speak for itself.

“Where are you parked?” He asked, suddenly rising from your shared laughters as you both walk out of the building.

“I take a cab to work.” You answered simply as a matter of fact.

“Are you serious?” Yixing responded in shock, “Do they really pay paralegals that low here?”

“No, it’s just that I haven’t had time yet to renew my license and fix papers for a new car, you know. It’s a hassle.” You explained.

“Lucky you tonight, “cause I’m morally obliged to give you a ride.” He said lightheartedly, his chuckle low and baritone that it just lingers in your ear.

“You don’t need to.” You waved your hands to accentuate your declination, yet the smile on his eyes told you that he’s insisting.

“Who told you I’m taking no for an answer?” And with his bright smile emphasised with his charming dimples, you wouldn’t even dare to say no.

Only a few minutes in the ride, your phone flashed with a text from Junmyeon. Reading that he and Jaejin are out for dinner in a nearby restaurant and that as per your son’s request, both of them are waiting for you.

“You know that Japanese restaurant near the station?” You asked Yixing, to which he answered a simple yes. “Can you drop me off there instead? Someone just texted and I’ll be meeting them there.”

“Sure thing.” He responded with a chuckle, which stirred a confused look from you on the shotgun seat. “I almost thought you’d ask me out for dinner there.”

His implication made you blush, something that you haven’t experienced for a while. “I’m sorry to get your hopes up.” You said with a chuckle rhyming his.

“Too bad for me, I guess.” Another few laughters was all that you shared while he drove silently. Not yet developing a dynamic beyond being coworkers resulted in an odd silent tension between the two of you. As if feeling that both parties want to speak yet not finding the courage to do so.

“How long have you been working in the firm again?” Yixing spoke, finally ending the tormenting ill-at-ease silence.

“Barely three months.” You answered as-a-matter-of-fact.

“That’s odd.” He simply remarked, sensing a sheer curiosity on the tone of his voice. You expressed a simple hum in the guise of an inquiry. “I mean, three months yet as far as I remember this is the first time we talked properly. Aside from you asking me for staples, of course.”

The growing blush on your cheeks finally bloomed when he spoke of that incident. It was the early weeks of your job in the firm, hardly even familiar to everyone in the workplace. Marking probably the first time you noted of Yixing’s existence, his youthful appearance made you think he was just one of the interns or a paralegal. Atty. Goo was a man who values his time, one that is always in a rush that’s why being assigned in his team challenged you. That day, you were running late for work - your cousin who was supposed to take care of Jaejin was a quarter of an hour late arriving at your home. You carried the files, or bundles of paper which aren’t stapled to Atty. Goo’s liking just yet. That’s when you came across him, carrying his leather suitcase and a cup of coffee, just when panic started to kick in.

“Uhm.. Hi!” You waved your right hand as your left hand tightly gripped the bunches of papers, your feet dashing in front of him. “I’m new here, as much as I would like to do a proper introduction Mr. Goo needs these papers almost five minutes ago, so could you be my savior and lend me some staples?” You tried to flash your sweetest smile, maybe charming people would still work.

“Hold a second.” He answered with his pearly white, magazine cover teeth showed. Probably laughing at how ridiculous you look for your new job. He put down his still steaming cup of coffee on the table nearest to the both of you, before scanning his bag for the said tool. Retrieving a few staple pins in his bag a few seconds later. “This enough?”

“Yes! Thank you so much!” You rushed and not-so-carefully put the pages of case files and statements on the same table. Loading your stapler with the pins and organizing the pages by its groups.

The moment you finished the dreaded task, the striking man was long gone by your side. And you quickly rushed to Atty. Goo’s room, politely apologizing for the delay as you laid down the papers at his desk.

It was later that day that you discovered that the man you ambushed for staples earlier was no intern, nor a paralegal. Just outside Atty. Goo’s room, you saw the office that has been unoccupied for the first few days you’ve been there at the firm. They said that Atty. Zhang was back at China for personal reasons. And now he’s obviously back, and missing a few staple pins in his arsenal.

“Don’t bring that back! Please.” You covered your face from his sight with your left hand in embarrassment. “It was so awkward for me to talk to you afterwards.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. I found it oddly adorable, even.” Yixing noted. “I mean, I don’t look that old enough to be one of the lawyers, don’t I?” He said, a notion of cockiness evident in his statement.

And he was just being truthful, the firm was filled by tenured and accomplished lawyers already in their 50’s. It was a shock to learn that he was among them. A tall, singularly handsome and well versed young lawyer already making his mark in the city.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” He pointed to the right, a remarkably cosmopolitan Japanese restaurant in the wealthiest areas of Seoul. “Are you going on a date? This seems to be too extravagant for a simple dinner. Expensive taste.”

“It’s not a date. Easy to say that this person I’m meeting is a little bit too loaded in their bank account.” You said lightheartedly, to which Yixing also responded with a light laughter. “Thanks for the ride, Yixing.”

Before your hand even opened the door, he was able to hold you back by speaking again. “I was wondering if I could keep my hopes up and actually take you out for dinner some time.”

Your eyes almost widened at his indication. “Is this dinner in line of work or…”

“A date? Most preferably so.” He answered as his fingers lightly played with the steering wheel, signifying uneasiness or even nervousness.

“Oh.”

“Does that oh means you acknowledge my statement or does it indicate that you’re declining the proposal?” Yixing’s choice of words made you feel like a defendant in inquisition.

“It meant that oh, I didn’t expect to be in the receiving end of such proposal. But I’ll keep the offer in mind.” You playfully reciprocated his legalese tone.

“How long would the processing take?” Yixing asked back.

“Three working days.”

“Noted, see you on Friday?” He replied, understanding what you meant quicker than lightning. He flashed his charmingly irresistible smile yet again that made you flash one in return.

“See you, Atty. Zhang.”

The dinner was spent with Jaejin’s juvenile astonishment over the fact that fish can be eaten raw. Despite the fact that you haven’t allowed him to eat sashimi just yet, he was already looking forward on the day you’ll let him do so, settling on a good bowl of traditional and expensive ramen. And it’s in these times that you realize how close the two have gotten. How Jaejin and Junmyeon would share inside jokes that would leave you wondering on your own. The fact that the two already have bonded this tight relationship between the two of them that no one can penetrate. And that’s still in spite of Jaejin’s lack of knowledge regarding who Junmyeon really is in his life.

And you’d be lying if you don’t admit to yourself that your life has been easier with Junmyeon in it again. You don’t even have to work the long hours just to make sure that you’ll be able to save enough money for Jaejin’s future while still making all ends meet. Junmyeon already opened a trust fund under your son’s name. The hassle of looking for someone to take care of him while at work was now long gone, with Jaejin having his own sitters that Junmyeon grew up with himself. He was already taking the majority of the parental roles even before he was formally introduced as his father.

“Goodnight, Mama. I love you.” Jaejin declared with a youthful smile on his face just after he finished his nightly prayer. To which you answered the same sentiments before kissing his forehead and eventually walking out of the room.

It was agreed upon you and Junmyeon for you to take the guest room. As Jaejin is now old enough to sleep on his own. And your habitual over time at work could cause a sense of discomfort to Jaejin if he’s still dependent at your presence for sleep.

You were stunned to see Junmyeon standing outside Jaejin’s room after you shut the door. “Oh, Hi.”

“Hey.” He answered thriftily. A few seconds have passed and nobody dared to talk, and all you were able to muster was raising your eyebrows.

“Who were you with earlier?” Junmyeon asked curiously.

“Huh? What?” You didn’t quite catch what he was pertaining to.

“Who dropped you off earlier? I recognized that a Tesla was too extra to be just a cab.” You tried to sense any hint of emotion in his voice yet it just came off as a casual question.

“Oh, it was someone from work.” You started walking, your steps rhyming with the cadence of his feet.

“Workmate or… you know, someone.” He stalled, and you understand the connotation.

“Workmate that kind of just expressed that he wanted to take me out on a date. Kinda.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as you remember that Yixing, an eligible bachelor as one could get, has just asked you out on a date.

“So.. are you going?” Junmyeon’s eyes shrunk in curiosity.

“Yeah. I mean he’s nice, undoubtedly attractive. Would be dumb to not give him a shot don’t you think?” You replied, still wearing a smile on your face.

“I mean, you look excited. So I guess why not.” Junmyeon smiled back, but something in your guts just told you that it was visibly forced.

“We wouldn’t have a problem with us having relationships right?” You tested the waters, as this relationship - cohabitation, coparenting, or whatever the two of you shared surely need to be clarified with bounds soon.

“Yeah, yeah. No worries. We could go both live our lives, of course with Jaejin as priority.”

“Of course. Another thing, I don’t think this would last much anyway. He doesn’t know yet that I have a son, whatever this is would probably end once he knows. I’ll just consider it as a dry run whether or not I still have it in me to be something for someone.” You continued as both of you approached the hallway where you would eventually part ways.

“If he does that, it means he’s an asshole. And it will be his loss, his great loss.” Junmyeon smiled briefly and noticeably faint.

You cleaned your hands on the apron that hung on your neck, dusting its material with a good amount of flour. Finally lining the pan with butter before pouring in the mix and eventually letting nature do its thing once you put it inside the preheated oven. Sitting on the chair at the kitchen island and a lonesome red juicy apple in hand, you just let yourself to detach from reality as you relaxed. The piling paperwork slowly creeping up your sanity, and your only solace was Jaejin’s hugs at night - and maybe the few jubilant smiles that you and Yixing share at work.

The past two days saw a rise of interactions between the two of you. Earlier, he even dropped by your desk to give a thoughtful warm cup of coffee when he saw you taking piles of papers head on. And Yixing’s brand new presence is your life is refreshing. To relinquish that juvenile feeling of excitement is a good thing to feel every once in a while, and for you it’s really been a while.

“How’s parent life with ex holding up?” Your quiet thoughts were invaded by a man who you didn’t notice sit in front of you.

“Minseok. I didn’t see you there.” You said, your widened eyes by shock looking at his feline features.

“I could tell, pretty sure that apple’s gone dizzy from rolling over your hands too much.” He joked, where you answered a laugh to. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How’s things?”

“Well, obviously a lot has changed since you’ve last seen me.” And the last time he has seen you, aside from the unfateful meeting at the mall, was more recent than anyone would expect.

“Yeah, I mean he walks now.” Minseok lightly tapped his fingers on the granite countertop. “Last time I saw him he still needs to be carried everywhere.” You just smiled at the thought, before he continued. “And the biggest change could be the fact that Jun knows now.”

“Probably the biggest change.” You replied.

The scorching heat of Los Angeles hasn’t gotten into your system yet. Your palms and back sweaty and tired from carrying all the grocery bags which you held with much caution. You’re body’s carrying too much, all these produce, milk cartons, and of course the baby that’s growing in your stomach. Struggling to put down the bags as you couldn’t quickly squat, you curse yourself again for deciding to go through this alone.

“Need some help?” An oddly familiar voice presented itself beside you, making a chill run down your spine. He couldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here.

“Minseok…” You said in shock, your hands quickly lowering the grocery bags in an attempt to hide your 20 weeks pregnant stomach.

“Let me get that, Y/N.” He stepped forward as he softly retrieved the grocery bags from your hands. Your stunned figure unable to protest nor to say anything. “Could you open your door now?”

“Yeah…” You answered with a nod, still unable to process his presence while getting your keys from your shoulder bag.

Still silent, you both entered your small apartment. Barely decent enough for the way you were brought up. But this is all that you have now, and it’s better than nothing. The past four months were the hardest for you. A twenty two year old expectant mother cut off by her influential family and left alone to live and make ends meet in a foreign land. Tough luck, tough life, you thought.

“Where should I put these milk, in the fridge or…” Minseok asked yet you’re quick to cut him off.

“Did he send you here?” You looked in his easily distinguishable eyes, now painted with imminent confusion. “Junmyeon, did he send you here?”

“Send me? I’m not his employee.” He answered with a short almost humorless laugh. “I’ve been in LA for business the past few weeks. Didn’t expect to see you while doing groceries, found a familiar face, so I trailed you down. Too creepy?”

“Does he know?” You asked, not bothering with the small courtesies as you were more nervous of the possibilities of finding him here.

“Where you’re at? Probably. He probably still keeps track of you.” Your breath hitched at Minseok’s response. “That you’re pregnant? I highly doubt. If he does, he wouldn’t let you live alone in this barely modest apartment.”

Your hand uncontrollably caressed your bump, a sense of protectiveness flowing all over you. “Would you tell him?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” There was sincerity in his voice, and you know Minseok is a man of his words. “Junmyeon is my friend, but you are too.”

He slowly walked over your form that just sat on the sofa. “But first you need to make me understand why you left him and why you’re living in this…” He looked around the bare white walls, the undeniable lack of furnishings and decor “..sad excuse for a home, with no offense meant.”

“Suho.” You dryly answered with almost a whisper, folds forming in his face in your response. “I didn’t leave Junmyeon. I left Suho. Whatever he is, I don’t want my son to do anything with him.”

“You know, don’t you?” You asked him again even before he was able to form any answer.

“I…” He started off, still processing any suitable answer. “I am aware of that, yes.” He slowly nodded, finally sitting down the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of you. “How did you…”

“Your friend was stupid enough to leave a folder full of transactions where I could read it.” You answered bitterly, still unable to accept the harsh truth behind the man you so dearly loved.

“Does he know that you… know?” Minseok was obviously careful in choosing his words, not wanting to upset a pregnant friend.

“You think I’ll be here if he’s aware that I know his dirty secret?” You said with a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’d even be alive if so.”

“Come on, it’s not the best money maker but Junmyeon wouldn’t kill you. Not in a million years.” You just responded by shaking your head. “But, why are you here? And why in a place like this? I mean, it’s nice that you’re independent. But… isn’t this a little too low for your taste?”

“My parents cut me off when they discovered I’m pregnant. I begged them not to tell Junmyeon, had to make an excuse in my own expense just for them to not to lash it out on him. Told them the baby wasn’t his, a result of a drunken one night stand at a high end bar. Told me I was a disgrace for letting such a man as Junmyeon go, called me a whore for being pregnant with a random stranger. So I guess here I am.” A bitter taste still lingers in your mouth as you relayed what hell you’ve went through.

“But you don’t need to go through all of these, you could tell Junmyeon and..” You decided to cut him off even before he finishes his ill advice.

“And have my child live off the money he makes by breaking the law and ruining people’s lives? I’d rather stay here, Min.” You stated, not even considering to bend your moral compass.

He just sat there, an uncomfortable silence grew between the two of you as he struggled to digest the information. Minseok looked as if he’s thinking for an advice he could give or any action he could take.

“I wouldn’t tell Junmyeon, I wouldn’t tell anyone in one condition.” He finally spoke, which you just nodded for him to proceed. “Let me help you. You’re still my friend, and Junmyeon is my friend, it would be rightful for me to help your child. I can’t let you stay here knowing a baby is on the way.”

“Another thing, you couldn’t stay here any longer. Junmyeon probably has his men tracked on you, and you need to lose them before your belly grows too much to hide. I know a place.”

Minseok kept in contact with you, and he kept his promise too. There has hardly been any indication that Junmyeon was aware of your whereabouts, or the fact that he knocked you up. Minseok was even the one to help you arrange fees in the hospital when you gave birth. He’s an heir to a trademarked coffee shop line that has hundreds of branches so you took no guilt in accepting his offer.

“We kinda lost contact after Jaejin turned two. What happened?” He asked, swirling the contents of his glass making a sound of ice and water splashing around.

“Found a guy, he served as Jaejin’s father at that time. So I figured that I should cut all possible ties with my ex.” You answered, still playing with the unfortunate apple with your right hand.

“Fair enough, I guess. You could only think of how shocked I am to see you in that mall. I don’t even know that you’re back here. I had no idea that I didn’t even think that child was Jaejin.” He suddenly said lightheartedly.

“Maybe it was inevitable.” You answered with a deep sigh.

“Yeah, it was bound to happen.” He replied back. “But he’s doing a great job as a father now, isn’t he? He’s nailing it.”

“I guess. He and Jaejin are inseparable now.” You said, accompanied by a slight chuckle.

“If it makes any difference…” He started as he stood up from his seat, leaving the now empty glass on the countertop. “The gifts were from Junmyeon. Tricked him with the fact that I signed him up as a foster father overseas to help him recover from you. So that’s pretty much it, until next time.” And with that, he left you alone in the kitchen still waiting for the cake to finish. And wondering about the what ifs and what could’ve beens.

The red-bottomed black stiletto heels that you had for years now fitted your feet perfectly as you cautiously walked down the pathway of an exclusive and undeniably expensive Chinese restaurant. The splendid and effeminate white dress clinging to your body in ways that made you feel confident to be in such a place.

“Reservation under Mr. Zhang?” You told the receptionist that wore a red cheongsam. She asked your name for confirmation before she asked one of the butlers to lead you to one of the distant tables.

And there you saw Yixing Zhang, clad in a wonderfully simple black blazer and white dress shirt. A humble outfit that only made his stature and facial features pop out from feet away. The place was exquisite yet he seemingly outshined all crystal chandeliers and golden adorned walls.

“You look fantastic.” He stood up from his seat as he kissed your hand, a trail of electricity climbing up your cheeks resulting to an unconcealable blush.

“You, too.” You answered as he pulled a seat for you. And they say that chivalry is dead but the epitome of a gentleman was living and breathing in front of you.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” You whispered, a tad bit ashamed at the immense effort.

“I figured that you have a bit of expensive taste. It’s just right to be on your best foot at the first date, right?” Yixing answered, a smile slowly forming on his face and his eyes adorably forming a smile as he does so.

He willingly and enthusiastically introduced you to a myriad of chinese cuisine. Chatting over his childhood back in his motherland that was sparked in remembrance over the presence of cua pao and char siu. The funny stories of his nameless cat and his fond memories shared with his beloved mother. How he transferred from China to Korea for the better law education, and you just willingly listened and admired how animated his hands become while he speaks about something he’s passionate about. Waving his hands around as he hold his chopsticks makes him seem so alive and vibrant, yet his face still tells a story of seriousness and sincerity as a result of his years of law practice.

“How about you? Why stop on being a paralegal? Haven’t you dreamt of pursuing law school?” Yixing asked with his eyes full of earnest intent to listen. And you feel your mood slip down, if the tables have turned and you’re now the subject, it was inevitable to admit who you really are - a mother. And you’re scared of losing this spark that you’re enjoying once he knows the truth.

“That has been my lifelong dream, honestly. But things came up, change of plans…” You delayed your revelation. It’s not that you’re ashamed of Jaejin, it’s more of being afraid of being deemed unworthy over again.

“What change of plans?” He asked as he wiped the sweet and sour sauce on his lips with the table napkin.

“Got pregnant.” You answered simply, trying to put it lightly.

Yixing visibly stalled in front of you, trying hard to digest the bomb you just dropped. And you understand his shock, it’s not the first time a promising date went downhill by the fact. But it still made you a tad bit sad that Yixing’s not an exception.

“Dealbreaker?” You tried to chuckle. “I’m sorry for dropping the truth a bit too late. This dinner was going well but I couldn’t let it go on without you knowing.” You shook your head.

“What? No! It’s not a dealbreaker. It’s… awesome.” Yixing’s charm filled dimples presented itself yet again while he smiled. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be a mother. You don’t look like one just yet.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a smile.

“So how old is he.. He or she?” He asked again, and you could feel like he was sincerely interested in talking about Jaejin. “Wait, you’re not married right?”

“Jaejin, my son, is 6 years old. And yes, I’m not married.” You said with a smile.

“I know this is a sensitive subject but, where’s Jaejin’s father?”

“We live with him, just for the past few months. But we’re not together. We’re civil just for the sake of Jaejin.” You explained.

“So, coparenting?” He asked again.

“Yes, I think you could call it like that.” You answered again, and a period of short silence enveloped the two of you before you spoke again. “Is it really okay with you? I mean, I totally understand if it puts you off I-”

“No! I promise it’s not a problem for me. It made me even more interested in you, really. It painted a whole new aspect of you for me, stronger.” Yixing had a happy tone which made you breathe in relief. “Right now I’m just really looking forward on the day I meet Jaejin.”

And it was needless to say that put a smile on your face and lit a new fire in your heart.

“Is this where you live?” Yixing asked as the automated gates of Junmyeon’s mansion open and he started driving in. You answered a silent yup, trying to digest the clashing of worlds, the new one just ever so casually driving his car in the turf of your old. “So this is your ex’s place?”

“Yeah.” You answered with a low breath.

“You’re uncomfortable?” He asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, me too. This is unusual.” He remarked as he parked right at the front of the huge carved wood main doors and the large white marble fountain.

“So, thank you for tonight?” Yixing spoke again. “And I sincerely hope this wouldn’t be the last. I mean it.”

“I don’t think it would be.” You answered comfortably.

Yixing went out of the car and around to your door as he opened it. The manly smell of his perfume overtaking your senses and now your face is only a few inches from his. You could almost feel your face gravitate to his until a voice called your name behind him.

“Junmyeon…” You quickly fixed the way you stood and closed the door of his car. “This is.. This is,” Your hands moved in an awkward way.

“Attorney Zhang.” Junmyeon suddenly muttered, finishing your sentence for himself.

“Mr. Kim, it’s been a while.” And you swear you could feel the tension rise between the two as you stood there mind boggled on the fact that they’re aware of each other’s existence. Like two overlapping circles on a venn diagram.

“You know each other?” You cluelessly asked, head turning back and forth between the two men who had their eyes intensely looking at each other, almost boring a hole at each other’s heads.

“You could say that we have a bit of a history.” Yixing answered, a dry smile trying to facade the growing friction reflected in his eyes.

#junmyeon #junmyeon imagine #junmyeon fanfic #Suho #suho imagine #exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo suho #exo mafia

162 notes · View notes

cuorepietoso · 5 years ago

Text

--009. HOME

no trigger warnings. we did it. we really did it folks.

Overview:

Battista’s apartment is nestled in a rather rough spot in Capulet territory-- he moved in before he joined the Montagues, right after he got back from Milan. It’s a five story walk up with roof access. He lives on the fifth floor in apartment C. It’s a studio, relatively small, with a tiny but functional enough kitchen, a table, a couple chairs, his bed, a stack of half-filled sketchbooks, and a television. He owns an Xbox and he almost exclusively plays Call of Duty live with the sensitivity turned all the way up.

He’s the resident handyman for the place, fixing the things he knows how and googling the rest. His landlord gives him a discount on rent because of this. She’s ancient, keeps paper records, and doesn’t give a shit that he gave her a fake name when he moved in.

The only way to know where Battista lives is if he tells you, or if you somehow manage to tail his paranoid ass all the way there. He never locks his door

i. 1a. Maria Esposito, 78 (prev. mentioned here)

Maria Esposito is no stranger to the ways of the Mafia. She knows who he is, what he does, and she bullies him into drinking tea with her on Thursday afternoons anyways. She always oversteeps it until it’s nearly too bitter to drink, but he sits on her ugly fucking paisley couch and listens to her rattle off complaints. Complaints about the weather, growing old, politics. She tells him what the tenants have been complaining about, what needs fixed. She complains that he doesn’t know how to cook, and she complains about her sons who ran off and left their poor old mother, and he listens to all this quietly. She them complains about how taciturn he is, and sends him away with a list of tasks.

He doesn’t mind listening to her raspy tenor for an hour. Old people are lonely. And she buys expensive cigarettes, the kind that feel silky when you inhale the smoke, and she gives him one to nurse while she talks.

ii. 1c. Danya Elkayim, 67

She’s recently widowed, a tiny woman, with curled shoulders and arthritic old hands. When he introduced himself as Battista, Tahan ma’am, she’d ceased speaking to him in Italian and switched to Hebrew so fast he’d barely been able to keep up, so long his native tongue had gone unused. But he’d picked it back up quickly enough to satisfy her, and, well-- he suspects she breaks things in her apartment on purpose, if he forgets to check in on her. Ms. Elkayim makes far too much food, and shares it with the rest of the building. Matzo ball soup, borekas, shakshuka, bazargan; all a taste of his childhood. She always reaches up with gnarled old fingers to pinch at his cheeks and coo at him, ask after his health, and he helps her pay for and carry her groceries whenever

He feels bad, but he tries to avoid her sometimes when he’s feeling just a little too brittle to function. She makes him think about what his mother would have been like, if she’d lived that long. Danya’s kind about it, at least-- gives him his space when he can’t meet her eyes, pressing food containers into his hands with a small, sad smile.

iii. 2b. Doriano Colombo, 43

Doriano is a strange sort of fellow. Keeps to himself, mostly, but kind enough. Sometimes Battista will catch him on the roof, where they’ll both stare out at the city in stoic silence and smoke a cigarette or two. He’s a butcher, or something, missing the tips of two fingers and a couple of teeth as well. At first Battista had pegged him for a Capulet, and the thought had made his heart pound, but after a long afternoon of the two of them smoking on the roof, the man had opened up.

Said he was a sea dog-- a sailor, in the navy. Spent twenty years away from this godforsaken city, retired, and came right back to run his parents’ shop. He’d asked, then, how long Battista had been in the army. Fifteen years. Huh, funny how time flies isn’t it? Sure is. They’d finished their cigarettes, gone back inside.

iv. 3a. Lalia Perrone, 25

He knows the look of somebody that’s trying to get away. Hastily bleached blonde hair, the nervous way her eyes always dart around to check the street when she walks into the building. It’s instinctive to let her be, mind his own business, a polite nod in the hallway and the occasional pleasantries exchanged. When her sink breaks, he fixes it with the bare minimum of words, and when he leaves he gives her a container of Ms. Elkayim’s matzo ball soup, from 1c, yeah she’s great, cooks way too much-- have you spoken with her?

After that they smile at each other, continue exchanging polite nods, occasionally chatting. She helps Sana in 4c out by watching her kids in the daytime, if she has to work and they don’t have school. She’s nearing six months pregnant, now, and Ayaan and Maira are both fascinated by her bump, always squealing when they can feel a kick. Battista’s excited too, he likes babies, and she’s already wrangled a promise out of him that he’ll babysit sometimes.

v. 4b. Enzo Ricci, 27

Enzo Ricci is, as far as Battista can discern, either some kind of starving artist, a teacher, a madman, or some combination of the three. He’s up at all hours of the night, pacing the hallway on the fourth floor or the entirety of the staircase from top to bottom. The younger man doesn’t smoke, or drink, or do any drugs, as far as he can see. His apartment is tidy as a pin, the only mess being the clutter of hundreds of half finished paintings on canvases, scenes of burning buildings and portraits with far too much shadow, broad strokes of paint, explosions of nonsensical color. He catches Battista staring at them absently one day as he works on rewiring the light in his kitchen, and he practically drags him off his little step ladder and over to the collection leaned on the wall, tearing through them and asking what he thinks about every single one.

Battista wasn’t quite sure how to answer, quite tongue tied, no longer familiar with the words he’d learned to describe art in his youth. Things like form, balance, perspective had all slipped from his mind. Enzo had given him the one he’d liked best without him even commenting on the thing, pressing it into his hands with a wide eyed look. As a thank you. Far be it from him to argue.

vi. 4c. Sana, Ayaan, and Maira Baqri, 35, 10, and 6

Sana’s husband had died or left before he moved in. No mention of him is ever made, and he doesn’t ask, unwilling to pry into something that isn’t his business. She’s a nurse, works a lot, always seeming just a little tired and a little older than her years. Sweet as can be, but always eyeing him critically like she can see all the bruises along his ribs, on his arms-- tutting softly at him whenever the splashes of purple, yellowbrownandgreen end up on his face. He watches her kids, sometimes, when Lalia is working in the night or taking a morning for herself. The pair of them are delightful. Ayaan is fiercely protective of his sister, quick witted. A better cook (better at Call of Duty, too, but they refrain from telling his mother that) than Battista, too, not that that says much at all. Maira is a quiet little thing, always clinging around his shoulders whenever he lets her get away with it, and eager to color in the lines of whatever he’s drawn her, a process she watches with absolute fascination.

Sometimes he leaves the Library early, gone for just an hour or so, to walk them home from school in the afternoons if Laila is too sick to go all that way. Maira likes to hold his hand, and Ayaan kicks a football around all the way back to the building. They hug him goodbye, and make him promise to be good at work.

He always laughs and promises to do his best, at least.

#/ / HEADCANON .#a lil different from my usual hc format but yeah these are people battista interacts with a lot outside of the mafia life

5 notes · View notes

fanficsrusz · 5 years ago

Text

My collection - part two John wick AU

A/n: so ive already wrote part 2 because ive been brain storming ideas all day at work and i just had to get some of them down. So this was the out come.

Masterlist

_________________________________________

A week had passed and y/n had found herself in front of her new college. This is where her life would begin and y/n felt a knot form in her stomach from nervousness and excitement. “So what do you think?” y/n turned to where the voice had come from and saw Tom. y/n smiled “it looks huge” she laughed and Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry about it you will get used to it. Come on you need to get to your first class” Tom lead her around the college showing her the various points of interest before he stopped outside a lecture room. “So this is where i leave you. But I will see you at lunch and I will introduce you to a few on my friends” Tom leaned against the wall. “Thanks again tom. I don't have many friends yet” y/n laughed looking down. “Don't worry. You will have no trouble making friends here” he said before someone had called his name “ ok i have to go. See you later” he said “bye” y/n muttered as she watched him walk towards a group of guys who were all staring and watched as they all clapped and laughed as he got closer. y/n heard Tom say a quick shut up before they moved out of view. y/n giggled before pushing open the door to the lecture room which was still filling up with students.

She placed herself a few rows back from the front and pulled out various books and pens ready for the class to begin. “Good morning everyone.” y/n looked up and a small amount of panic set in as she saw John stood in front of the class in a suit, his hair slicked back:a complete 180 of the john y/n had met just a week earlier. She sat up straighter in her chair. “It's nice to see you all after such a nice break a…” John paused as he made eye contact with y/n and smiled. “I also see we have a new face in the class.” and just like that all eyes were on y/n. y/n wanted to jump out of the nearest window out of pure embarrassment but decided to give a small smile instead which john returned. “Ok moving on please open your books to page 70. We have a lot to cover this year people.” john said keeping intense eye contact with the new girl in his class.

y/n tried to focus as much as she could on the lesson but every now and then her mind would slip back to her teacher/ neighbour and why he gave her such a weird vibe. She just couldn’t pinpoint why she felt this way about this man. He had done nothing wrong to threaten her in anyway shape or form. In Fact so far he had been a model neighbour. So why was she scared to be around him?.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the bell and everyone stood up rushing to go to lunch. y/n tried to put her stuff away as fast as she could.

It was as if john had super powers because he was suddenly next to her. “y/n. What are the odds that you’re in my class” john gave a smile and y/n gave the best attempt at a smile she could. “Small world John” she replied “dr wick” he said sternly, the smile dropping from his mouth instantly and was replaced with a look that could kill. y/n was shocked at the harshness of his words and john must have understood the confusion on her face because the smile quickly came back as if someone had switched a flip in him. “please call me dr Wick whilst you are in class. You don’t want people getting the wrong idea”. That sentence made y/n shudder out of disgust. Any other girl would have swooned and it would of had the same effect on her any other time but for some reason it didn't. Dr wick was a good looking man but there was that feeling again. The feeling that there was something off with this man. “Well i must be going. Im meeting friends for lunch” she hastily pushed past him running out of the class before anything else could be said to make y/n feel any more weirded out. It was at that moment she knew she was going to be seeing a lot more of john and she dreaded it.

John looked down at the table y/n had been sitting at and smirked when he saw she had left her planner on the desk. It was as if some unseen force was pushing john towards the young girl. He slipped into the seat and closed his eyes; the seat was still warm and he could smell her sweet perfume. John looked down and opened the planner and flipped through it all. There was nothing of any interest, a few notes for her homework and some to do lists. He skimmed over the words 'pick up veg' 'tidy pantry' ect. But two sentences took his interest 'gym meeting at 2pm sat' and ‘ parents visiting sunday’. He now knew where she would be this weekend and made a mental note of it. He finished flipping through the book until he got to the back and the smile that had previously been on his face had now changed to anger. He picked up a note. Reading the words slowly he felt the anger grow in his chest. John screw up The note tom had given y/n with his number on and shoved it in his pocket. John knew tom and he would make sure he was going to stay away from her. He picked up the book and moved over to his desk and put it into his bag. Sighing he closed his eyes and pictured y/n.

Never before had john been so quickly drawn to a girl before. Was it her y/h/c hair? Or y/e/c eyes? John didn’t know. But he wanted her and that's all he did know.

Y/n walked into the canteen and saw Tom sitting at a table with a few other people. As she got closer Tom looked up and saw her, a smile grew on his face. "hi" y/n said and tom stood up "hi. Everyone this is y/n. She’s living in my grandads old house. Y/n this is sarah, jack and leon." they each looked at the new girl and greeted her, beginning a conversation and talking with her as if they had been friends for years. They made y/n feel at home and soon the encounter with john was pushed to the back of her mind. If only the same could be said for john.

Dr. Wick walked into the canteen and scanned for his new favourite student. He saw her sitting with tom and the way the two students looked at each other sent a deep hatred through his body.

John stormed over to the table. Y/n looked up and her face went pale. "y/n? What's wrong?" tom asked. " Tom" john seethed "what did i say to you about your work? It's terrible i want you to redo it again but this time i want you to do 50 pages. On my desk tomorrow. You also have 2 weeks detention for making me read such a terrible piece of work" john stormed off and the whole canteen was staring at the boy. "what was that about?" leon said breaking the silence. Tom shook his head "I don't know. I handed in my assignment a few days ago and he said it was perfect. He never acts like that. He’s always the nice teacher. I'm sorry I have to go. I won't be able to re-do the work in time if I don't start now. I’ll text you later y/n" tom quickly stood up and rushed out of the canteen. Leaving everyone to their lunch.

The school day had finished and y/n climbed into her car just as the rain started to pour. As she turned the key the car didn't start . "ohh come on" she groaned resting her head on the wheel as she tried several more times and nothing. She jumped out the car and started the long walk home, deciding on calling someone to fix it tomorrow . As she walked out the car park, a car pulled up beside her. It was a beat up old mustang and as the window rolled down she inwardly cried. John leaned out the window.

"miss y/l/n. Where's your car?" John asked with a weird tone in his voice. "it broke down. I'll call someone to fix it tomorrow" she said quickly as she pulled her jacket closer to shield herself from the rain. "I can give you a ride home. I mean you do live across the street" john laughed but y/n didn't. "um i'm fine really i ca…." john interrupted her "nonsense i am not letting you walk in this rain" y/n looked up “it's not really that bad I can walk “ and as if on cue the rain got heavier and thunderstruck. 'why do you hate me God' y/n thought. "sure. Fine" she said throwing her hands in the air and she walked to the other side of the car and climbed in.

As she got in the car she tried to sit back as far as she could in the car in an attempt to disappear but obviously luck was not on her side. "so what do you think of the college so far?" John asked as he began the drive back to their street. y/n looked out the window and replied “yhh i really like it actually. Everyone is so nice. '' John looked at her “good”

The rest of the car ride home was quiet only filled with the sound of raindrops hitting against the metal contraption that the pair sat in and soon enough john had pulled into his driveway.

“And we’re here” john smiled gently hitting his hands on the wheel.”thanks again John. I really appreciate it. I have to go. I've got a lot of work to do still” y/n climbed out the car and practically ran to her door. John stood in the driveway and watched as the girl entered her house. Even when she was out of view John still stood there watching in the pouring rain.

Eventually he made his way into his house, changed into comfy clothes and made a beeline to his chair where he continued to watch y/n. If only she knew that nets may work if it's light outside, but when it's dark out and the lights are on inside, it gives the world a perfect view. This had becomes Johns new favourite pastime. Watching the pretty girl across the street. John could see y/n walking up the stairs and go into her room where she began the routine of undressing and walking into the bathroom to shower. Its was John's favourite show really and knowing no one knew what he saw made him buzz with excitement. John had y/n routine memorised already. Come home, shower, tidy up, watch tv, eat and read. However this night the routine changed when there was a figure at her door. John stood up suddenly and watched as he saw y/n answer the door and suddenly smile. ‘Who was this? Why were they there? How dare they interrupt our time together!’ hundreds of questions and thoughts went through his head as he watched the two interact. As the mysterious figure came into the light, John felt the anger boil inside his chest once again and grabbed a glass from the table and threw it across the room smashing it against the wall.

The doorbell rang and y/n was confused. She never had visitors at this time or anytime honestly. She made her way to the door and opened it revealing a very wet Tom. “hi” he smiled “hi” she replied. “What are you doing her? Come in quickly before you catch pneumonia” she laughed dragging him in and taking his jacket to hang in the hall, the rain falling of it and creating a small puddle. The two walked into the living room and sat down. “Well, sometimes when it rains heavily the garden floods and i just wanted to check it was alright” tom scratched his neck and looked down. y/n laughed “ you're a terrible liar you know that right. What do you really want “ john looked down before looking her in the eyes again. “Well i wanted to actually ask you out. On a date. With me.” y/n smiled and walked forward placing a soft kiss on his cheek “i would love to. How about we watch a movie here? I have popcorn” tom nodded and the two began to make the preparations needed for the movie night to proceed. Soon enough the two were cuddled next to eachother as the film played, unbenounced to them that john was watching their every movement and planning to make things right once again.

Soon the pair were fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket to keep the cold air out and John saw his chance.

He slowly made his way over to the house and round the back to the patio doors where there was a clearer view of the couple on the sofa. The sight made john feel sick. She was his and his only. He grasped the handle with his gloved hand and it slid open. John walked in quietly making sure to close the door behind him. He looked around, the place just screamed y/n and he like it. All the little things she had collected throughout her life and all the pictures which held so many memories. John looked around carefully taking in every detail he could. He soon stopped when he heard a soft moan come from the pair. y/n moved in her sleep to get comfy again but didn’t wake up. John walked over to them quietly and looked over her sleeping form, bringing one of his fingers down to ghost over her body. Her hair was a mess over the pillow but somehow she still managed to look like one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. John could have stayed there looking at her forever but his mind was brought back to reality when his eyes scanned down to her waist. Tom’s hand hugged her waist as they slept and john's mission had become clear again. Pulling out a chloroform soaked cloth he held it over tom's face. There was no struggle as toms slumber was took even deeper and john was free to continue. John slowly and carefully picked tom up as if he weighed nothing and hoisted him over his shoulder making sure not to wake y/n up. slowly john mad his way back to the patio doors where he had come in and just like that john had disappeared into the darkness, taking y/ns chance at love with him. There was no trace that john was even there.

The morning sun beamed through the open curtains and the quiet morning was interrupted by the sound of y/n alarm, signalling her that it was time to wake up for college. Stretching, y/n sat up rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As the memories of last night flooded back to her causing her to smile like a child in a candy shop. She looked around the room and was confused as to why she was alone. "tom?" she called out and was met with silence. She stood up and looked around the house but he was nowhere to be found. A little bit of sadness crept into her chest as she put two and two together. Y/n was not dumb. She knew when she wasn't wanted and it wasn't the first time she had been left. " see this is why I don't bother having a love life. They Are never interested" she said angrily to herself and stormed upstairs to get dressed. From today she was going to focus on her work and nothing was going to stop her.

Tbc

_________________________________________

Tags (just ask if you want to be tagged)

@homesoutofhuman

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #keanu reeves x you #keanucharlesreeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #imagine #fanfic #fantasy #Au #Obsession

174 notes · View notes

knxckhisassout · 5 years ago

Text

UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE

@tahitiwoke

the first year, it takes her by surprise. it’s not their first christmas--they hadn’t been able to stand each other enough to even consider exchanging gifts for that one. they’ve known each other for a little while, have grown a little closer, but the neatly wrapped box on her desk still brings her up short. she recognizes his handwriting on the tag, with a note about seeing her in the new year that she discards with the wrapping paper. inside the box is a little model of her plane, her callsign etched into the metal in looping script. despite her hurry to get out of the office and on the road toward boston, she takes the extra couple of minutes to rearrange things so she can station it at the corner of her desk.

ii.

it’s another year when they just miss each other. he’s headed out a few hours before she makes it back to the city. she leaves the present on his desk on her way out of town and the obnoxiously bright and merry bag against the backdrop of his tidy, neutral office is a stark enough difference that it makes her smile. she’s damn proud of this gift. it had required a trip into enemy territory, some light bribery, and some flexing of superhero muscles. but she had made it out with a louisville slugger dotted with yankee signatures and it’s both her proudest and most shameful achievement of the year.

iii.

they don’t speak anymore. they don’t see each other. they barely spend time in the same city, let alone the same room. but she keeps tabs and knows he does, too. so she isn’t surprised that he knows where she’s staying, even if it does throw her for a loop to find the package waiting for her. there’s no note, just her name, and it’s all she needs to know immediately that it’s from him. it sits on the counter for a while, then gets pitched into the garbage until three in the morning when her determination withers and she retrieves the unopened box. inside, on a bed of tissue paper is a groszy coin that she recognizes immediately. she remembers throwing it at his head from the backseat of a shitty truck in poland. it’s probably not the same one, she reminds herself, because that would be crazy. it doesn’t quite stop the backflip her stomach does, though.

iv.

carol tells herself she does it because of roman. they don’t see each other quite as much anymore, with her out of s.h.i.e.l.d. and him a full blown agent. they finally find a couple of hours together while christmas shopping and end up wandering around a department store. roman stops in front of a display of ties--ties like the ones he used to pick out for phil years ago when he and carol would go shopping. it’s something about his small smile, something about how he glances at her out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything. he moves on to the next display but she lingers. eventually, she picks one that’s a deep green, one she’s not sure he’ll ever even wear. still, she buys it and sends it with roman without comment, working hard to ignore the look he gives her before they part.

the unsigned, unrecognized presents come like clockwork every year, arriving in her hangar the day before christmas eve. there are a few years she isn’t there to find them, when she discovers them a week later once she’s finally back in town, but they’re always waiting. the first year is the only year she thinks about not opening it, about tossing it out without giving it a glance. there are a couple of times that she considers getting rid of them once her curiosity’s been sated, but she never does. this is one of the years that sparks the debate. it’s a simple wooden box without decoration, a top that slides off to reveal a handful of pictures. most of them are ones she’s seen before, ones she remembers taking. and then there’s one of her taken in profile, a blanket wrapped around her with one shoulder bared. she’s on the porch at the cabin and she looks...comfortable. content. at home. carol buries it at the bottom of the pile and shuts the box in the bottom drawer of a tool chest.

vi.

her gifts are not nearly as consistent as his. she doesn’t send them every year and every year she does is preceded by weeks of internal debate, by the reminder that this could be the year he doesn’t leave one, and does she really want to prolong this? but some years, she just can’t resist. more often than not, it’s a throwaway gift. something that can be discarded or tossed in a drawer and forgotten about without a problem. finally, she settles on cards. they’re simple, unassuming. they expect nothing and send no message beyond ‘merry christmas.’

vii.

the first year after they’re married, it takes her a full day to understand the sense of anticipation when she’s walking through the hangar two days before christmas. it’s on her way out that it clicks. he’s always left something for her, every year for almost two decades. except this year. and it makes sense, given that she knows their presents are in their living room stacked around a tree, but she’s still surprised to find herself feeling just a touch disappointed. after a long moment stood at the door of the hangar, carol moves over to a filing cabinet tucked in the back corner.

stacked in the bottom drawer, behind a sheaf of papers, are all the gifts she’s been unable to part with over the years. the coin is there, in the same small package it came in, right alongside the box of pictures. she takes them all out one by one and turns them over in her hands, studying the etching on a carved wooden ornament that looks like the windmill they nearly burnt to the ground while working, running her fingers over a wool scarf almost the exact shade of the one she vaguely remembers losing on a mission in ireland. there are a dozen little gifts, all of which hold memories both good and bad. knowing what she does now, they all seem so important, like the universe knew all along.

or maybe just that he did.

#tahitiwoke #*cd #<3

4 notes · View notes

purkinje-effect · 5 years ago

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 54

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 21. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Surveillance, drugging, lascivious behavior, heavy inebriation. Giving toasts and getting toasted.

______________________________

Outside the rowhouse, ‘Choly mounted Angel, but between the rigidity of his orthotics and the weight of the uniform fabric, he struggled to sustain the jockey-esque crouch he had used to ride the Mister Handy. He knew he’d need to modify they way he rode Angel in order to be able to ride it.

“We’re visiting the storage hangar before we go see Olivia.”

A Mister Gutsy intercepted them before they got to the door.

“State your intent,” Green-One barked. “This is not the destination that’s been requested of you.”

“We wanted to stock up before we left,” ‘Choly began, dismounting with some difficulty. Angel handed him his cane, which he took appreciatively. “Do you... happen to have any straps? I’d take a fistful of uniform belts, if that’s all you’ve got.”

Sticks had decided, after the argument at the rowhouse, that he’d keep his mouth shut for the rest of their time on base, if he could help it. This decision, however, did not prevent a wide range of facial expressions. To the request, the ghoul cocked his head to one side.

“Request to enter the storage hangar has been confirmed,” the Gutsy replied after a minute of floating idly. “Come in, gentlemen.”

Although 'Choly disliked the awareness that she could communicate wirelessly with her network of robots, he, Angel, and Sticks all followed regardless. As the rolling hangar door peeled fully open, the Gutsy sped off into the uniforms section of the hangar, returning with its pincer full of various leather, fiber, and metal.

“I have five belts, as well as lengths of rope and chain, if they’d be of use, Colonel. I take it these are for better affixing what your Handy’s traveling with?”

“No, well, yes. It is carrying me. I’ll take all three things, if that’s all right. So I can figure out what will work best.” It handed over the things readily.

“Will you need any materiel stock?” it pressed gruffly. “I’m instructed to ask if it’s the real reason you came here first.”

“We came here for the belts,” Angel started before anyone else could reply, let alone explain why ‘Choly had wanted to come to the hangar first. “But if you could top me off on fusion cells, that would be truly divine, G-1.”

“Of course, Handy Angel.”

As G-1 worked, Sticks eyed the incendiary laser attachment customization Olivia had done for Angel.

“I could use a fresh tank for my flamer,” the ghoul requested, to deflect G-1 from its tinkering.

“We always try to keep another tank handy for the next time you pop on base, Sticks. Just have to leave the low tank with Deenwood.”

The ghoul shrugged explicitly, setting the flamer on the ground where G-1 could do as asked. Between the physical exertion and soup of charged emotions, ‘Choly’s head had begun swimming hours ago and had yet to stop.

“--And anything else for you, Colonel? Or will the ropes and such suffice?”

“--Oh!” He jerked back to reality with an unpalatable high-brow squint to shove down his mental state. “I don’t-- Actually. If you’ve got ammunition on hand for Sticks, you’ve likely got something for me as well. What variety of Syringer darts might you have?”

“Variety, we do not have, Sir, but we most certainly have darts for your Syringer. Pax darts don’t come free, mind you. They’re not standard military issue.”

The chemist nearly blurted out incredulity that the flamer was considered such, but he recalled the flamethrowing Assaultrons that chased him and Angel onto base. He dry swallowed and nodded as his face tightened, motioning to Angel to gain access to its storage compartment. He rifled in the false bottom, his wallet in many ways.

“You still accept the American dollar, don’t you? Silly of me to ask such an obvious question, but--”

“--Caps only,” it snipped, showing its first impatience with him.

He straightened in an instant with a thin smile and a cap-stuffed paper sack in hand. He disliked affirmation that caps were, in fact, a common currency these days.

“Say no more. How many for a case?”

“Three-hundred fifty, Sir.”

Any color left in his face washed out, but he grinned and simply handed over the bag without counting. In its pincer it scaled out the value of what it had been given. Its programming sounded off in the affirmative, and it left to the aisles and returned with the requested ammunition. The bag of caps had vanished in the shuffle.

“Here are three cases, plus two. You forfeited a little over a thousand, so that should be to your liking.”

‘Choly warmed to the exchange once the ammo cases fell into his hands. He gave G-1 a genuine smile, and nodded, then used the strap-snaps to affix them to the harness under his coat. The loose darts went into one of the incomplete cases already threaded onto his person.

G-1 escorted them to the R&D building personally, but vanished once they had entered. They came to Wing IV to find the heavily encrypted door already open, and Liv on a desk sprawled out atop a recumbent Helen. The ghoul general didn’t wholly unglue from her mate or tidy herself when she realized they had company, but she did sit up. Disheveled and incredibly drunk, she grinned broadly with heavy lids, patting to either side of her to suggest her guests take a seat.

“Oh, yes, please, thank you,” ‘Choly wheezed out without hesitation, slouching back in the office chair.

Sticks did not follow in kind, and crossed his arms to listen.

“So good to see you both again,” she murmured. “I hope your visit to the hangar was benefih-shul.”

“Very.” ‘Choly glanced to Sticks for a cue what more to say, but gleaned nothing.

“The case on that one desk over there is the X-Cell-Root Voire’s requested. There’s enough Furriers partaking in the conflict, that I didn’t have enough inhalers on hand. So! I used ampuoles instead.” She couldn’t keep one hand from wandering the inside of Helen’s thigh while she spoke. “It’s been mixed with adjuice-- advu-- adjuvant. Adjuvant! It’ll last longer. Ideally, long enough to carry over into shepherding maneuvers. My Eyebots scouted the past two days. The Back Central Rust Devils are holed up in the Robert House Charter School.”

The red-headed ghoul kissed the Assaultron on the breastplate, unable to resist another moment without her tongue against its chassis, then stood to retrieve the flare gun from atop the aforementioned enameled metal pharmaceutical case.

“‘Choly, you’re to instruct the Furriers to herd the Back Central Devils off school property and out onto the South Common. Sticks, you’re to use this flare gun so I know everything’s in position for my Sentries to fire. If you don’t wanna get hit, don’t fire unless you’re on the other side of the river.”

“We wouldn’t want to get hit with Rad-I-Canned, now, would we?” Seeing her so inebriated disenchanted ‘Choly, and he couldn’t read whether this was celebratory or as a consequence of stress.

She gave him a dopey smile as she sat again, in Helen’s lap.

“I forgot just how well you clean up, ‘Choly. It suits you.”

“I noticed you did more than edit the RFID in my ribbon rack... What exactly does this ribbon suggest?” He pointed to it.

“Oh, silly, that’s not a new ribbon. Your memory must not be too sharp. Certainly a new concept, though! Much like the addition of stars shows count of things other ribbons signify, I applied a star to your Meritorious Service bar. Consider it simple gratitude for having attended active duty two separate occasions. Though, it will be your first time having attended the battlefront proper, hm?”

She laughed, bubbling into pointed mocking as she sank comfortably across Helen and ran an arm behind the Assaultron’s neck.

“It didn’t have to be civil war for it to be bad and you know it. It was worse here than the front line every day of the Battle of Anchorage.” He gnashed his teeth at her, desperately shoving down anger as he eyed her. Deeply unbecoming of a commanding officer. “Have I missed the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Olivia glanced up to Helen, brow raised. “Don’t we seem already long-since wed?” Sweetly, she kissed the front side of Helen’s skull-plate.

“Olivia has a point,” Helen seconded. “Though my programming predates our meeting, I feel as though I were manufactured just to be hers.”

“And I’m yours,” Olivia beamed.

“And did she--” ‘Choly flinched in recognition, his brain processing what he was saying as he said it. His eyes widened as his volume escalated. “...Take your name or keep her own?” He waved a finger at his commanding officer indistinctly. “You... your offer to wipe Angel’s imprint matrix. That’s not the only way to achieve the same results and you know that.”

“Liquor’s even quicker,” she slurred through another bolt of cognac. She got up again, to pull two more glasses from the makeshift wet bar by the storage closet. “Gentlemen! Join me in a toas-scht.”

A Mister Handy that had idled in the far corner came to her, and with unspoken instruction it mulled the glasses and iced them. She then filled them with cognac. It stirred them and brought them to ‘Choly and Sticks. The ghoul broker’s tension didn’t go unnoticed, but he didn’t interrupt the ritual. ‘Choly didn’t object, either, but the offer of spirits certainly dulled his anger.

“To the success-sh of Deenwood! And to Voire, and their bi-shen-tennial alliance with the base! We’ll stamp out the Devils once and for all.”

Olivia raised her glass, and they followed suit. Once the glasses clinked together, Sticks wrenched ‘Choly’s from him and knocked it back in three swallows. ‘Choly staggered back. Olivia choked on her own drink in incredulity. ‘Choly immediately understood Sticks suspected it was drugged as usual.

“It’s just Daytripper, isn’t it!” The chemist nearly hissed in exasperation.

Furious and fed up, he tried to grab Sticks’s glass for himself. To get it away from ‘Choly, he drank that one too, and set down the glasses on the next nearest desk to catch his breath. When he turned around again, ‘Choly slapped him in the face, but he didn’t budge otherwise.

Olivia stared softly at ‘Choly, nearly sobered.

“Just what exactly do you think I do to the drinks I offer friends?”

“You think of either of us as friends?” Sticks choked out, terse. “Could have fooled me.”

“Well, you two are sher-tainly more than friends,” she quipped, poorly concealing her hurt. “We don’t we all just lay bare some honesty while we’re at it?”

“It wasn’t Daytripper, was it.” ‘Choly began to melt apart mentally, finally forefront with what had been chewing steadily away at him since the argument at the rowhouse. “What did you do to him. All the years you had him here on base, what did you DO to him? It all comes so easily for you, doesn’t it!?”

“He told you I experimented on him?” She laughed, elated again. “Who do you think helped me perfect the Daytripper formula? Most chems aren’t potent enough to work on ghouls. Nerves are deadened, chem receptors broken, by the mutations and keloidal scarring. There’s no short supply of ferals in Lowell, but they’re not viable to test charisma. I needed a shub-ject of like physiology. The day he could convince me to let him out was the day I knew I had it right.”

“...And the artificial hand?” he asked, carefully sitting back down.

“Serves him much better than the Pipboy did, if you ask me.”

The chemist slouched into a stupor, between how bad he ached, and how mentally frayed he grew. He failed to shove down trembling.

“So it really wasn’t Daytripper, then,” Sticks began at last. “And you were testing me. To see that I’d step in, and keep ‘Choly from taking whatever you gave him. If it was meant for me, it had to have been Klutz.”

“It was meant for you, and it was Magnetizer. I did expect you to drink it, but I didn’t expect you to drink both of them. Have fun overdosing, Hawthorne.” Ignoring the dread in Sticks’s eyes, she instead concerned herself with Angel. “You sure are traveling heavy, Angel, dear. Aren’t you bogged down with all that?”

“--I want to be as prepared as possible on site at Voire,” ‘Choly interjected dumbly. “I’d be remiss to have left something behind, only to end up needing it.”

Sticks disliked the transparency, but let it go unaddressed when Liv shrugged off any tension she could read on the chemist or the other ghoul.

“You always were one to be over-prepared. Mm mmh.” She clicked her tongue.

“We’re going to get going before we lose anymore daylight,” Sticks blurted out in pointed impatience.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” she pouted, slinking against her Assaultron again. “Blow it out for anyone but me, Sticks. The faster the two of us can regain our privacy, the better. Isn’t that right, Helen?”

“Affirmative, Tiger. Please leave.”

Angel grabbed the case and carried it behind itself as they exited. On their way off base, the trio all felt like Deenwood’s every eye was upon them, as though every robot set to ensure these potential defectors followed through with their announced intentions. Once off base, the whole perimeter came to life, complete with locking mechanisms, rotating warning lights, and a low bleating siren.

“Deenwood Compound will fully enter DEFCON One in sixty seconds,” the robotic speakers announced. “After this time, approach by any entity, personnel or not, will be met with lethal force.” It would repeat this announcement for the next minute, but the trio did not wait around to observe the final stages of lockdown.

Once they were two blocks away, ‘Choly stopped them so he could catch his breath.

“Guess you were right,” the chemist wheezed, sweating. He remembered the straps he’d shoved into Angel’s storage, and he requested them. Without them in the storage compartment, Angel could fit the Voire crate inside. “About Liv locking us out.”

“We’ll get back on base,” Sticks said, distracted. “We just have to do it on her terms now. What are those straps for, anyway?”

“I’m having trouble, crouching on top of Angel, in this uniform.” He continued speaking as he could, while he worked, in stuttered phrases. Angel helped him string the twist of straps through its car door handles. “I figured, some kind of reins might work better, than the handles. These reinforced gloves, make it easier, to grip things.” He hooked them all together into a loop, then mounted the foot pegs and steadied himself upright with this latest fixture to Angel’s body. “This works much better. Almost like jewelry for you, hm, Angel?”

“It’s for more than simple decoration, Mister Carey. Ha-ha!”

Silence followed as they made their way North through the residential Highlands. Sticks led them a different way than how ‘Choly and Angel had come the first time, but while they passed more housing this way, they encountered no ferals. They ended up again on the street that became Rourke Bridge, but before they got to the bridge itself, Sticks fumbled with the flamer and sniveled, only to snort-chuckle when he picked it back up with some difficulty. ‘Choly wasn’t sure whether to say anything, certain the chem had begun to take effect.

“Should I ask what Magnetizer is? Or what it does?”

“Magnetizer is like Daytripper, but dialed up. All the way up. The mood enhancement is more potent, but the side effects are, too. My muscle power and stamina are both gonna be shit for a few hours.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we’ve planned to unload the majority of our stuff at your place, then.”

“You’re not going to like me once it takes full effect.” Sticks choked up his grip on the flamer, but still didn’t look to ‘Choly. “Fuck, actually-- you of all people might.”

Words eluded ‘Choly, and he stewed on his worries. Sticks pressed on across the bridge, weaving carefully between the weather-rotted vehicles congesting the way.

“...Why did you drink it, without knowing what it was? If you thought it was anything at all?”

“I was confident I knew what it was. And I didn’t want her to poison you.”

“--Why drink it, if you thought it was poison? Couldn’t you have just... poured it out on the floor or something?”

“We don’t always make the most rational decisions when someone’s life might be on the line.”

“Are you... glad it wasn’t poison, at least?”

“That much Magnetizer would have killed a lightweight like you, that’s for sure.”

Silence overwhelmed the trio again, and they crossed the bridge without further comment. By the time they were on solid ground again, ‘Choly hemmed.

“...You had the feeling, too, right, that we were being watched on base?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Why?”

“Do you still feel it?”

“I want to be wrong, but honestly? Yes.”

“I didn’t want to mention it,” Angel agrees sheepishly. “I still don’t trust my sensors, I’m afraid.”

“What is it?” ‘Choly asked his Handy.

“Something robotic, I believe.”

“Fuck-me-in-the-mouth, she tailed us.”

An Eyebot rattled through, with a prerecorded script on loop. Anytime a specific name or noun came up, a different quality of voice and recording interrupted with it. The spherical hovering robot, with a grill plate guarding its front and a myriad of antennae jutting backwards off it, did not seem bothered at all that it had an audience, and announced its information readily and repeatedly without a care. ‘Choly unclenched when he realized it was just an Eyebot, but Sticks remained poised, watching.

“RobCo Industries. A household and industrial power-House since 2042! Are you looking for a rewarding career in computer technologies? RobCo Towers is now hiring for a variety of positions specializing in data processing! Apply--”

The ghoul lost his composure and let loose with the flamer, immolating the robot. It turned hostile, and got off a single unaimed laser shot in their direction before it crashed to the shore sand. Its speaker crackled and sputtered, and at first the three of them thought the sound an indicator how quickly the robot was melting, but then a third voice came through.

“--Olivia, it doesn’t have to end like this--”

The trio jerked back when the Eyebot exploded.

‘Choly started to yell at Sticks for having destroyed it, but the ghoul cut him off.

“--I haven’t seen a robot Pawtucketville side in decades. Can’t be a coincidence. And it didn’t come from Deenwood, that’s for damn sure.”

‘Choly’s face slacked. “...The Devils. They know we’re mobile.”

“No, they think The General’s mobile. I guarantee you, she’s about to get some very surprised unannounced visitors. I don’t think the DEFCON One was for us.”

The chemist dismounted, to walk the remainder of the way to the Sampas parlor. He didn’t like what Sticks was insinuating the Eyebot signified.

“...She dressed me up as a high ranking officer to decoy the Devils’ surveillance. They think I’m her. They think no one’s home. Am I really that disposable to her--”

“--Ideally, she’ll have knocked out most of their robotic assets before we have to deal with ‘em. Stressful as it sounds, it’s bought us a little time for me to let this stuff wear off before we get to Voire. Let’s get inside, hm?” Sticks thumbed at the parlor expectantly. Once he had the security mechanisms disarmed, he held the door open for the Handy and its owner. “Angel, get in there so we can unload ya. We’ve got some time to kill, and a lot to get done today.”

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fo4 #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #fallout #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #sticks #olivia francis #ghoul oc #mister handy #mister gutsy #angel #we have one more detour before we see how messy voire can get

3 notes · View notes

khadij-al-kubra · 6 years ago

Text

Useless

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairing: Belial/Emile (can be seen as romantic or platonic)

Characters: Belial, Emile, Virgil, Thomas.

Author’s Note: This fanfic oneshot is based off of the wonderful “Illumination AU” created by @altruistic-skittles. The story itself is my own original idea, but the concept of soulmarks, the characters, and world writhing are her territory. So kindly go read her work as well. Seriously, it’s awesome. Hope you enjoy my story and as always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice.

* * *

Belial stifled a yawn as he walked over the the Heart & Soul Cafe. You’d think he’d be used to these 8am Tuesday therapy sessions by now, but it had been a late night performing his tricks and he didn’t sleep so great in general. At least the money he’d made was pretty good. He was really starting to get some popularity for his magic tricks.

No doubt Emile, his therapist and apparent soulmate (another thing he still wasn’t used to), would be chipper as ever. Sometimes he wondered if the man wasn’t actually a cartoon character come to life. Still, Belial supposed he shouldn’t complain. Dr. Emile Picani was good at his job, He could even handle a hopeless case like him. Now Belial had progressed to only sometimes lying compulsively. ‘What a real improvement’ he thought as he walked through the doors of the cafe.

“Oh great,” groaned the familiar voice of his ex from behind the coffee counter.

“Always a pleasure seeing you too Virgil,” he said, venomous sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Are those new bags under your eyes?”

Virgil responded with a growl and a glare combo. He only eased up when Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy Virge, he’s not worth it,” said Thomas.

Belial smirked and headed to the corner office at the back. ‘Not worth it.’ Of course he wasn’t . Belial was never worth it to anyone. But he hated to admit how much it stung to see Virgil, someone he once loved, relying on someone other than him. Not to mention Virgil now had three soulmates . Three! Well, at least Belial could say he (by some miracle) had a soulmate of his own, platonic or otherwise. The jury was still out (not that he cared). A fact he still couldn’t wrap his head around. Emile was the complete opposite of him. Good and honest in all the ways he wasn’t. And sure, it was clear from their sessions how the doctor would be someone Belial was destined to rely on or need to some degree...on a professional level of course. Yet he couldn’t fathom how he himself would possibly be someone for Emile to lean on when times got hard. What use was he to someone so put together?

He was at the door to the office now, but to his surprise it was already ajar. No knocking needed. What was even more odd is that there was none of the usual ambient music playing. And Belial could’ve sworn he heard a muffled sob from the other side. Before he could think better of it Belial went inside. He was not prepared for the chaos he was. Couch pillows were torn and knocked to the floor, stuffing spewing from the fabric wounds. The tiny waterfall lay cracked on its side. Papers, pencils and pens were scattered everywhere, and even one of Emile’s favorite cartoon posters was torn half hanging off the pastel blue wall. Worst of all though was the sight of the normally Happy Doc (damn, Emile’s humor was rubbing off on him) sitting on the couch, bent over with a hand covering his face as silent sobs shook his shoulders. Even his hair was messy like it had been tugged at and his signature pink tie askew.

Belial’s own facial soulmark ached at the sight. He didn’t know what to do. So he just awkwardly cleared his throat. Emile jerked up, putting his glasses back on. The soulmark around his eyes glowed green, matching the therapist’s emerald eyes perfectly. But they were so sad. That sadness didn’t belong there.

“Oh, Belial. I didn’t here you come in,” he said with a smile. Belial knew a fake smile when he saw one.

“Yeah, I’m here for my session.”

“Of course! Right...Now’s not a good uh...I’m sorry. Let me just tidy up a bit, then we can...get started.”

Emile started to pick up papers around him and set them on the table. He moved painfully slow, not even getting up from his seat. Belial signed and sat across form the therapist. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sooo what happened in here?” he asked.

Emile sighed. “I happened. I guess you could say i sort of went Tasmanian Devil on the place.”

Didn’t see that coming. Frankly, Belial didn’t think the man had a rage filled vein in his body. Well, he supposed even therapists were entitled to a bad day once in a while. Of course it had to be on his session day.

“You? If anything you’re usually more of a Tweety Bird.” Shit. Another one. Worst of all, his slip of the tongue reference didn’t even get a chuckle out of the cartoon enthusiast. Not a good sign.

“Yes, well, i uh...got some bad new this morning and well,” Emile waved at the mess around him.

“Are you okay?” he asked on instinct. Hopefully Emile didn’t catch the tone of sincere concern in his voice.

“Oh i’m alright. Its...” he taked a long breath, “It was a patient of mine. She’d been coming to see me for some time now. Early this morning I got a call from her father that she...passed away a few days ago.”

Oh shit. “I’m...sorry. How...how did it happen?”

“...She happened.”

“Oh...” Really? Oh? That’s the best he could think to say in this situation? It’s not like he couldn’t sympathize. Belial remembered form his time with Virgil how hard someone could struggle with fighting mental demons like that. Hell, there had been times when he’d even entertained the idea. Those were his darker times when he’d felt the most worthless...Things got better after he could afford to move out of his mother’s house. To actually go through with it though, even with a therapist like Emile trying to help you... A hollow laugh bright Belial back from his thoughts.

“And I thought we were really making progress. I-I thought she was getting better. How did I not see? It’s my job to see! I should’ve--” He took off his glasses again as fresh tears fell from his eyes. “I could’ve done more!”

Belial would never admit how much it killed him inside to watch Emile hunch over wracked with sobs, In the past few months of therapy with him, of time spent in and out of the Heart & Soul Cafe, Belial had begun to feel more than he had in a long time. And his didn’t know what to do with it all.

What could he do now? He didn’t have Logan’s tact of Patton’s sensitivity. All he had up his sleeve was--

“Wanna see a trick Emile?” he asked, grabbing a blank scrap of paper and a pencil from the floor.

“I really don’t feel in the mood,” said Emile, pausing in his hiccuped cries for a few seconds.

“Trust me, it’s a good one,” he said as he drew a rough picture of a spoon on the paper.

Actually this was one of the more difficult tricks in his arsenal of illusions. He’s only been able to pull it off twice before among numerous tries. But if it worked now, it was sure to amaze Emile and maybe even cheer him up a little. It would be worth it.

“If you must blink, do it now,” The Kubo reference coax a small smile out of Emile. “Watch closely.”

He swiped a hand over the picture, holding the paper by a corner. Then he began to gradually pinch the handle of the spoon picture. Belial watched the grown man’s face change from sorrow to awe as he saw the spoon bend while the paper itself remained smooth. Seriously, he could almost glimpse what Emile looked like as a child.

“wha-what the heck-that’s so cool! How’d you do that?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Yep. the thrill of amazing people with his magic never got old. “And for my grand finale...”

He crumpled the paper in his hands and then held them both up, fingers spread open to reveal that the paper had disappeared. Lastly he reached behind Emile’s ear and pulled out a soft yellow hankerchief. He felt a sense of pride at hearing Emile laugh and clap.

“Now blow,” he said, offering the hankie.”

Emile thanked him as he took the small cloth, giving it a loud elephant like blow. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and put the glasses back on.

“Look, said Belial, “I get why you took the news so hard. I’m sure you did as much as you could for her, but it’s not your fault that she...ran out of strength to keep fighting. You can’t save everyone, and it’s not your responsibility to.”

Emile looked into his eyes with those emerald ones. “Then what use am I?”

Hearing that broken tone in his voice, that kind of question, coming from such a kind, patient, and selfless person like Emile felt like a punch in Belial’s heart. (Well, if he had a heart) He understood better than anyone what it felt like to be worthless...useless.

He was, but Emile definitely was not!

“I could easily lie and say that you’re the best therapist in the world and can save someone the next time. But I wont, because I don’t know that for sure.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “But you are the best I know, and from what Ive seen a lot of others think the same. I mean come on, if you haven’t given up on a broken mess like me yet-don’t talk, just listen-then you probably won’t give up on anyone else either. You put your all into what you do and actually give a damn about people. Make them feel like they’re worth something. That gives them a reason to...hope...and that can mean more than anything. So you Emile Picani are not useless.”

Phew that was a lot! Maya wasn’t nearly this much work. He tried to be as honest as possible (not an easy feat). Was that the right thing to say? No clue. Could he have phrased it all better? Probably. Emile half shrugged in response for crying out loud. .At the very least he wasn’t calling himself useless anymore, but he was still clearly upset.What else could he do? He thought back to how he’d try to comfort Virgil during anxiety attacks. Belial took a deep breath and placed a hand on Emile’s shoulder, giving it a gently squeeze.

Belial did not expect the man to lean forward. He didn’t expect him to bury his teary face into his shoulder. And he definitely didn't expect his chest to skip a beat the way it did. He caught the glow of his own yellow soulmakr reflected in the doctor’s glasses. Belial was terrified of making a wrong move, but he let instinct take over and hesitantly wrapped his arms over Emile’s back. He made soothing stroked as his soulmate got out the last of his silent sobs.

After who knows how many minutes, Emile Stopped shaking and with a shuddered breath he finally sat back up. Belial was sorry or the loss of contact.

“Thanks Belial.” The smile on his face was finally devoid of melancholy.

“Don’t mention it. I’m so glad to have used up my therapy session time this way,” he said. Emile just laughed.

“I am sorry about that. I’ll be sure to make up for the missed time next session.” Emile looked around at the state of his office with a sigh. Seriously. It was a mess. “I really should clean up in here before my next appointment. It’s not till noon, but still. Elliot is rather punctual.”

Typical Emile. Thinking of others even after having an emotional meltdown. It was far too pitiful for Belial to allow.

“Better Idea: You leave the cleaning for later and I take you to get some ice cream now,” he said.

“You really don’t have to,” said Emile.

“Of course I do. Didn’t you know? Ice cream is the cornerstone of any healthy breakfast.” He was unable to hide the smirk that ghosted his face at hearing Emile’s full laughter for the first time all day.

“I’d like that,” Emile said, holding open the door for both of them.

“But it’s only fair that you buy, given that I lost therapy time.”

“Nice try Mr. Banks. I’m the one who needs chim-chim-chima-cheering up. We can go halvsies.”

“Oh fine.” Belial put his hat back on and followed him out.

As they exited the cafe and walked down the block, he caught the low hum of a Disney song (Mary Poppins maybe?) coming from the therapist. Well what do you know? He’d actually been able to be there for his soulmate in some small way. This time, Belial allowed himself to indulge in a genuine smile.

Maybe neither of them was useless after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #altruistic skittles #My writing #deceit sanders #emile picani #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #holy shit im tired #i wrote this in a day #worth it #KDsWriting #sympathetic deceit

126 notes · View notes

alicedoessurveys · 6 years ago

Text

VERY long survey

Where have you lived throughout your life?

Birmingham UK

Do you find your job rewarding?

N/A

What kind of cake did you have for your last birthday?

chocolate

To you, which is better: English muffins or bagels?

I enjoy both, but bagels.

Do you paint your nails?

yes. although they're not painted at the moment because ive been cleaning the house so much the past couple days and its stripped my varnish off

What’s the last website you signed up for?

a dating thing

Do you check your email everyday?

yes, I cant stand having the little red number above the mail app

Have you created any pages on Facebook?

yes but I dont have them anymore

Is there a subject that you absolutely suck at?

every subject, but especially maths and science

What’s your favourite song by Dave Matthews Band?

I dont know any

Are there people you have absolutely nothing in common with, but still enjoy talking to?

I dot particularly enjoy talking to anyone :’)

Have you ever wandered around drunk with your friend?

yes, we wondered around through the middle of Birmingham at 4am

Are you good at holding back your laughter if needed?

haha nope

Have you ever been so unfortunate to suffer from a hangover?

yes

Have you ever had a panic attack?

many, I had to drop out of college because of them

Are you deathly allergic to anything?

nope

Have you ever had a mouse in your house?

nope

Do you know anyone who DOESN’T have an ex?

myself

Is anyone you know really religious?

my family

Are your eyebrows naturally thick?

yes

Has speaking in front of people ever made you sick?

not physically sick, but definitely felt it. the worst experience Ive had with speaking was in college when I had to give a speech then teach a 10 minute class. my throat totally dried up and I literally couldnt speak. everyone just stared at me and I was trying so hard not to cry. longest 10 minutes of my life and as soon as it finished I legged it out the room and burst into tears.

What was the last movie that made you teary-eyed?

Mary Poppins Returns almost got me but the last film to actually make me cry was Coco. That shit had me SOBBING!

Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other?

yes

Has a laptop ever burned your legs?

not really, I put a cushion on my lap normally

Do you know anyone who has a scar through their eyebrow?

Who was the last person to flip you off?

probably rhys, as a joke

Anyone’s birthday coming up soon?

my dad turns 50 next week

Would you ever wear fake eyelashes?

I have done a few times but they annoy me

Are you good at following directions?

no no no I get confused very easily

Do you have someone that you can just act a fool with and not care?

yes rhys

From where you’re sitting, can you touch a wall?

if I reach behind me

When at a restaurant, do you put your napkin on your lap?

occasionally, it depends where I am and what im eating

Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpeners?

manual

Are your biceps at all noticeable?

they used to be before they went into hiding under a layer of fat

Have you ever seen a walrus?

nope

When it comes to dropping food, do you believe in the 10 second rule?

no, I believe in the ‘what food is it’ and ‘how dirty is the floor’ rules

If given the opportunity, would you ride on a camel?

yes. I was supposed to have gone on a camel ride in Tunisia ages ago but I was ill so we didn't get to go

Do you believe that cellphones actually do cause cancer?

they could be. the number of people getting cancer has gone up a lot since everyone has mobile phones

When people you know cry, does it make you feel like crying too?

depends who it is

Do you tend to jump to conclusions?

yes. Im an anxious person so im constantly overthinking and I also find people really hard to read and can get

Are you good at remembering your friends’ birthdays?

yes my brain cant remember important things but when it comes to dates its like a sponge

Is there something you need to do, that you’re trying to avoid doing?

getting a job

Ever pop someone else’s pimple?

ew no

How long does it take you to fall asleep?

about 15 minutes depending on how tired I am

Do you crack your neck often?

no that freaks me out

Did you have a weird dream last night?

not that I can remember, I have been having a lot of weird dreams this week because im ill

Who do you sometimes compare yourself to?

everyone. especially when im at the theatre, im constantly watching other people and wishing I could act like they can or look like them or have their style

Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?

both

In what way are you your own worst enemy?

every way, I dont look after myself at all

What activities make you lose track of time?

sims

When you help someone do you ever think, “What’s in it for me?”

not really

Who do you tell your secrets to?

these surveys

Who do you live with?

my parents and our foster kids

When did/will you graduate?

I didn't

When are you moving next?

I have no idea. probably never

When is the last time you took a vitamin?

this morning, im fighting a cold

Why are you stressed?

im not too bad right now tbh

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call?

nope

Where do you keep your birth certificate?

no clue, my mom has it somewhere

How many books are in your room?

a lot. I have quite a few on display and a whole bunch hidden away in my closet because theres no space for them anywhere else. I'll include some photos of the books in my room;

(the book on my bedside table in the second picture is actually a lamp that lights up when you open it)

Have you ever been IN a wedding?

nope

What was the last thing you laughed out loud at?

probably my mom

Do you have a nickname? Why?

my family call my bongy or Ali bong, I dont know why.. (my name is Alice)

Have you ever had a bad concert experience?

nope

When was the last time someone told you that you were beautiful/good-looking? Do people often tell you this?

my mom tells me almost every day but Im like youre my mom of course you would say that

Are you missing someone of the opposite sex atm?

Want someone back in your life?

meh

Are you currently sad about anything?

actually nope

Are you wearing anything shiny?

my pj top has glittery silver letters on

How important is a sense of humor in a significant other?

very, I fall very easily for people who make me laugh

How many followers do you have on Twitter?

198 (@alicethenerd if ya wanna follow 😉)

Do you sleep with the door open or closed?

closed. I aint about letting those murderers and monsters just waltz straight in easy peasy

Have you ever been to the beach?

yes every summer since I was a kid

Can you handle blood?

nope

Do you pay your bills or do your parents?

I pay my own bills. no way my dad would be up for paying my bills, he already digs at me constantly about the fact that I live rent free even though I look after the foster kids and tidy the house more than he does

What’s your best friend’s middle name?

Connor

Has any place hired you underage for a job?

not officially

Have you ever barely passed a grade/year in school?

yes

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon?

Have you ever tried to sell something overpriced to someone?

Do you plan to become very wealthy some day?

I hope to become wealthy enough to not worry about having enough money to put fuel in my car anymore and to be able to pay back my parents and grandad for everything they've done for me

Do you remember your first time going to the movies?

no, but my earliest cinema memory was going to watch Monsters Inc with my dad when it was first released

Does eating breakfast make you sick?

if I try to eat before a certain time yes

Are you dying to say something to someone right this minute?

not dying to nope

Book series you enjoyed reading recently?

im reading eve of man atm which apparently is going to be a series

Do you enjoy lying in the grass during the summer, and just existing?

I prefer lying on a blanket, I dont like the feel of grass and I dont like the bugs crawling around

Do you have a passport? If so, how many stamps do you have in it?

yes, it doesn't have many stamps in because I lost the one that did have lots in and I havent been away much since getting the new one

Are there any keys on your keyboard that have letters fading away?

nope

Do any of your close friends have children?

What do you plan on having for dinner?

we already had dinner, we had chippy

Do you like Chinese food, or do you find it disgusting?

I only really like one meal

Have the police ever come knocking on your door looking for someone?

actually yes, literally a few weeks ago

Know anybody who works in a tattoo parlor?

yes, my second cousin

Have you ever played flashlight tag?

ive never heard of it

Could you call yourself a movie buff?

not really, im a huge movie fan but theres still a lot I need to see

Have you ever had a piercing get infected?

never had a piercing

Do you check your fire alarms when you’re supposed to?

dad does it

Are you a shorts wearing kind of person?

nope nope nope, my legs are not suitable for public viewing :’)

Is your grandparents’ house obsessively tidy?

not really no. my nan and grandpa’s house is always neat but not obsessively neat. my grandads house is full of clutter because my nan was a hoarder

About how much can you bench press?

I dont know, I havent lifted in years

Have you ever had your phone die on you in the middle of a conversation?

yes

Is anybody in your family a carpenter?

Are you avoiding someone?

yes

Do you call your boyfriend “Monkey”?

I dont have a boyfriend but if I did I doubt id call him monkey

What’s your favorite primary color?

yellow #hufflepuffpride

What were you for Halloween?

nothing, I didn't dress up

Do you have any clothes from Walmart?

nope, we dont have Walmart here

When did you get a Facebook?

about 10 years ago

What color are your eyes?

green/hazel

What motivates you?

happiness

Can you walk in heels?

nope

When was the last time someone asked you your age?

the other day, my own mother forgot how old I was

Do you keep a journal?

not really

Have you ever tried a weird flavor of vodka?

never had vodka

Do you wear a ring on your finger?

occasionally

What are you doing?

watching ‘the greatest dancer’ and wondering if this survey is ever going to end

What’s the last kind of soup you ate?

tomato

Do you currently have a sunburn?

no. its winter

Who did you last text?

my sister

Who’d you last call? About what?

my mom, to ask her to come downstairs and let the dogs out because the baby was asleep on me and there was no way I was going to risk waking her up

Are you currently frustrated with someone?

yes

Do you drink water or soda more often?

water

Do you straighten your hair?

yes

When did you last talk to your brother or sister?

today

What is your least favorite vegetable?

all of them

Outside of family, name 3 people that make you smile/laugh often.

Rhys, Addison, Jacob

In school, what subjects did you achieve your highest grades in?

Was there a subject that you enjoyed, but weren’t too good at?

I didn't really enjoy any subjects at school

When was the last time something didn’t go to plan? What happened?

today. I had planned to deep clean the bathroom but I went super dizzy and had to give up half way through cleaning

Do you have any children? If not, at what age do you think you’ll feel ready to be a parent?

I dont but I am seriously considering adopting one of our foster babies atm. I want to adopt anyway, theres no way I could be pregnant

When was the last time you bought a new item of clothing?Describe it.

I honestly cant remember, im due a shopping trip

Was your last Facebook friend request from a male or female?

female

Do you have an item of clothing that makes you feel especially beautiful? Describe it.

not really no

Think of the last person that betrayed you. If they said they were sorry, would you forgive them?

I would cautiously forgive him but I would also make sure he knew that how he treated me was not okay and that he really upset me and this would be his last chance. but tbh I think hes done with me so 🤷🏻‍♀️

Nastiest thing you’ve ever done?

I dont know, I dont like being nasty

Have you ever been in a lighthouse?

nope

What colour is your shower?

I think its silver, ive ever actually noticed

Where do you order your pizza from?

dominos

When is the last time you had a serious talk with someone?

few days ago

Do you find that you have a certain meal you eat every time you go to certain restaurants?

yes, im a creature of habit

What colour is your bike?

silver & purple

What word can you not stand to hear people say?

the c word, I cant even type it

What room of your house are you in?

living room

What is the temperature in your city right now?

9°c

When did you last use a post-it-note?

last week in the script for the show im currently working on

Would you ever want to own your own restaurant?

yes

Do you have a fan in your bedroom?

no I dont like them, they make too much noise

Who is the last person that you took a picture with?

one of our foster kids

When is the last time you were stuck in a fairly long traffic jam?

the weekend before christmas

Do you have certain friends that you hug every time you see them?

not many

When was your most recent trip to an aquarium?

almost two years ago

What do you like in your salads and what dressing do you prefer?

I dont like salads

If it has one, do you ever use the notepad function in your phone?

all the time, Im constantly writing lists or reminders to myself

How good would you say your memory is?

long term good, short term bad

About how many times during the night do you wake up from your sleep?

a few times

Are there any air fresheners in your house? What kinds?

multiple, we have plugs in and sprays and those automatic ones that go off every 15 minutes

What’s one thing you’re glad you’ve done recently?

done my laundry :’) im on my last pair of pants!

Have you ever done something sexual that you regret?

Do you like to sit in the sun and tan when it’s hot out?

not really, I dont like being too hot

Ever had a person who was obsessed with you so much that it scared you?

Can you drive, and if you can, do you like it?

yes, I love driving most of the time

Have you ever said anything to the last person you kissed that you regret?

Do you like french fries?

yes

Have you ever eaten so much you puked?

not since I was a kid

Do you care about what others think of your physical appearance?

annoyingly yes

Would you rather go to Greece or France?

greece

#survey #long #very fucking long

2 notes · View notes

barpurplewrites · 6 years ago

Text

Common Appetites

Today’s grisly tale was born from @a-monthly-rumbelling non smut prompt.

This one is gory with descriptions of blood injury and cannibalism, (I bet you can guess which RC character stars) Enjoy, but read with caution.

-x-x-x-x

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

A hulking shape stepped out of the shadows at the back of Thomson’s Barbershop. The weak light from the streetlamps glinted off a tooth and the edge of a knife. Barney sighed and backed up against the locked door of his shop.

“You really don’t want to try this pal.”

“And what is a short arse like you going to do to stop me?”

Barney knew exactly what he was going to do, the problem was he had no idea what his damn cursed luck was planning. The mugger stepped forward and Barney turned on his heel and scarpered down the alley.

The alley behind the shops on Main Street was perfectly straight, but filled with obstacles; the dumpsters, the boxes that the grocery store had out for recycling, and the bicycle that the pharmacist still hadn’t got repaired. Any of them could be a hazard, even the wobbly slabs were capable of sending a man sprawling to his doom.

None of these caused the wee accident Barney knew was about to happen. A sickening screech of metal and a wet gurgle stopped him. It took several shaky breaths before he was ready to turn around.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

The now very dead mugger was still standing and would have looked threatening with his arm raised over his head brandishing the knife. Would have been threatening if it wasn’t for the rusted ladder of the fire escape that had dropped and impaled him, pinning his arm to the top of his head. Barney edged closer and swallowed bile when he spotted the sharp end of the ladder sticking out of the man’s gut.

“Oh, fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck.”

Barney was terrified. Again. You’d have thought after all this time, he’d be used to this sort of shite. But no, here he was out of breath and feeling like he was going to puke his guts up, with a would-be mugger standing six foot away from him.

“I’m sorry pal. I didnae mean it. Yer were just waving that great big knife around and I panicked.”

If he wasn’t so much of a coward he would have stood and took the beating, or even the stabbing the man wanted to give him. It might not have been that bad, and there was a fair chance that he would have lived to tell the tale. Instead he’d run, knowing full well that it wouldn’t end well for the mugger.

“I’m cursed, you see. It was my Ma, she was the killer, I just had bad luck, but it’s all gotten so much worse.”

He’d thought his luck had changed. The police hadn’t even looked at him for the deaths after those four coppers topped each other in the woods. Then old Mr Henderson had passed away of natural causes and left him the barbershop and a tidy lump of cash. For the first time in his life Barney had felt free. He’d sold the shop and moved to the States, thinking a fresh start would do him the world of good.

For six months good had been an understatement. His shop was doing a roaring trade, he’d made some friends and was even enjoying a wee bit of flirting with the librarian. Then some dumbarse rumour had started that the comb cleaning fluid was a great high. It was shite of course, but late one night some desperate sod had barged into his shop and tried to hold him up. It had gone down just like it had with Wullie; Barney’s scissors sunk into the robber’s chest, and a dead body on the floor.

Of course, he didn’t get away with it quite as clean as he did with Wullie. He’d have given anything for Charlie to have blundered in, but his luck was an evil bitch. What had walked through the door and found him standing over a bloody body was proof that his mother hadn’t been the worst monster lurking in the world.

After that his bad luck returned in force. For the past six months he’d counted himself lucky if he made it a fortnight without killing anyone. This bastard had broken his current streak at nine days. Barney was tempted to kick him in the shin.

“You’re a fucker, you know that?”

A wee part of Barney’s tattered soul told him he could call the Sheriff. It had been an accident after all, there was no way that anyone would think he’d forced the ladder through the man’s head. In fact, whoever own this fire escape would cop it, because they’d let the ladder get into a bad way. He could call the Sheriff. He should call the Sheriff. He wouldn’t. He dialled a monster instead.

Calhoun picked up on the fourth ring; “Good evening Barney. Let me guess there’s been another wee accident?”

“Aye. A mugger. It’s a right mess.”

“This can’t keep happening, Barney.”

A cold sweat broke out on Barney’s brow; “You ain’t gonna help me then?”

He didn’t want to threaten Calhoun. The man was bloody terrifying, but he would if he had too. After all he knew where all of Calhoun’s skeletons were hidden, he’d helped him lug them to cold storage.

“Of course, I’ll help you Barney. I’ve never fed so well as I have these last few months.”

Barney shuddered. There would be no point threatening Calhoun. There was very little left of the bodies he’d helped move. The sick bastard ate them. Wendigo he called himself. How the fuck had Barney’s life come to this?

He was so wrapped up in contemplating his miserable existence that he didn’t notice a pair of blue eyes watching him from the window of the library.

-x-x-x-

Ives strolled into his home and dropped his jacket directly into the trash. Getting the blood out of something that cost so little was too much effort. Besides ‘Mr Calhoun’ was a very rich man. He’d been feeling a touch nostalgic when he last updated his identity; it had been a very long time since he’d used the name of the unfortunate priest, but it was an easy one to answer to, almost like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers.

He poured himself a drink and smiled. Barney Thomson was a walking disaster; painfully awkward but a master of his trade. Ives appreciated a barber who didn’t blather on while wielding scissors or razor, and Barney took quiet while plying his trade to an extreme.

Very little scared Ives these days, but realizing he recognized Barney had given him pause. From what he recalled of the caustic way Cemolina had spoken of her son he doubted that she would have mentioned their little arrangement to him, but caution was wise. In his own way he rather missed the old whore turned murderer, she’d supplied him with fresh meat for a few months before his wanderlust had made him move on again and had been the closest thing to a friend he’d had in years.

After ascertaining that Barney had no idea who he was, he’d decided to eat him. A little tribute to dear Cemolina who’d always said her son was a terrible waste of space. Ives chuckled to himself as he recalled that night six months ago when he’d followed the junkie into the barbershop. He’d fully expected to either have to finish Barney off, or simply pick up his body after the junkie had killed him. It hadn’t turned out like that and Ives was oddly very pleased with his new arrangement.

Fate had chosen a strange plaything in Barney Thomson. He was either the luckiest bastard to walk the Earth, or the most unfortunate bugger under Heaven. He didn’t appreciate how what he referred to as his ‘bad luck’ had rendered him damn near unkillable. Ives certainly wasn’t going to tempt whatever forces surrounded Barney, no matter how tempting it was to carry out his plans to eat him occasionally. He couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s good fortune would pass to him via his flesh.

Ives finished his drink and strolled into his study. Putting Barney’s curious talent to one side for the moment, he had a small problem of his own to deal with. Someone was stealing from his larders. He’d suspected Barney at first, thinking the man had decided to take the limb or two as insurance. He was far to squeamish to be eating them, but being able to throw the Sheriff a bone, as it were, would be a plan if the focus of the law turned upon him.

He’d dismissed Barney as a suspect. The man was petrified of the Sheriff and turned in to a stammering mess if she so much as wished him good morning. Setting the cameras up in his larders had been a calculated risk. There was a chance that the CCTV feeds could be hacked and then he would be in very hot water, but he needed to know who he was dealing with.

As he settled down to watch the feeds the cat that had adopted him finally deigned to grace him with its presence. He scratched it’s furry head and said; “What do we think, Puss? Whose been pilfering from our supplies?”

The cat just purred at him. Ives had expected to have to spend a long night waiting for a glimpse of his thief, but in less than an hour there was movement on the screen. The cat grumbled its displeasure as he leaned forward to peer closer at the image.

“Well, this is certainly surprising.”

Of all the people he’d considered, he’d never once thought it would be the little librarian raiding his larder.

“Miss Belle French. Whatever are you up to?”

#halloween house of horror 2018 #Barney Thomson #Ives #Belle #blood and gore

5 notes · View notes