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arvinsescape · 4 years ago

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Meet mum.

A/N: I do not think Nikki would be like this. Written for entertainment purposes only. As always hope you enjoy! I only changed the setting of the request.

Based on this request: Hey I was wondering if You could do a Tom imagine where he brings the reader home to meet his parents and brothers but his mum don’t like her and judges her but Tom gets angry and sticks up for her ect.

Warnings: Language.

W/C: 2.5K. Wow how’d this get so long?

To say you were nervous too meet Tom’s family was an understatement. The only member of his family that you had officially met was his brother Harry, who you got on with really well. You were going to a restaurant in town, completely Tom’s idea, he was adamant that it was time you met the rest of his family and you were excited but also nervous.

You finished up getting ready and made your way downstairs were Tom and Harry were waiting.

“Sorry, I just needed to finish my hair off. It wasn’t cooperating.” You said as Tom grabbed his keys, wallet and jacket. He moved towards, placing a swift kiss to your cheek.

“That’s alright darling, we’ve got loads of time. You look beautiful by the way.”

“You look so nervous Y/N! Lighten up, my family are amazing, I’d say you’ve met the worst of us when you met Tom.” Harry laughed as he took in your tense posture.

“Oi! Don’t start already, you only get worse when Sam is with you.” Tom laughed as he gave Harry a light slap to the back of the head. “He’s right though love, they’re lovely, they’ll love you.” Tom reassured you with a smile as he grabbed your hand and you all made your way to the car.

The drive to the restaurant was quite relaxed, making your nerves die down slightly and you mostly had Harry to thank for that. He was consistently making jokes in order to settle your nerves. As you pulled up you realised that you were the first ones to arrive, having not spotted anyone else’s car. You made your way in, taking your seats at the large table, looking at all the empty seats, reminded you just how big Tom’s family was, and the nerves came back quicker than they’d settled.

“Sorry I’m late! Didn’t finish work on time!” A voice pulled you from your thoughts. You looked at the male as he approached the table, this was Harry’s twin Sam, that much was obvious. “You must be Y/N! I’ve heard a ridiculous amount about you.” Sam teased as he pulled you into a hug. “Sam, the better twin and superior brother.” He joked as he punched Tom’s arm before hugging him too. Okay maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“This is going to be a long dinner then?” Tom groaned as he watched the twins greet each other. You engaged in small conversation as you waited for his parents and final brother to arrive. It wasn’t too long after that they did. Paddy making his way over first.

“Hey guys!” Paddy said as he approached the table, taking a seat next to Sam.

“You won’t get a hug from him Y/N. He’s a typical teenage boy, I’m sure stuff like this has inconvenienced his night somehow.” Harry laughed as he watched Paddy pull his phone from his pocket.

“Shut up Harry! You were a teenager once you know. Hi Y/N, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Paddy said as he offered you a small smile.

“Where’s mum and dad?” Tom asked as he furrowed his brows.

“Dad was parking the car and mum went straight to the loo, they won’t be long.” Paddy answered, more interested in his phone than the conversation. You laughed at his typical teenage response to social events, reminding you of how you were at that age. Just after he’d said it you watched another man arrive at the table, presumably Tom’s dad.

“Y/N, this is my dad Dom. Dad this is Y/N” Tom said as he got up to hug his dad. You stood up as well extending your hand for him to shake unsure of what he would have expected as a first response, a hug would be too much maybe?

“It’s nice too meet you.” You said shyly. Dom laughed as he pulled you into a hug, startling you at first.

“We’re huggers if you hadn’t already gathered. Well, everyone except Paddy, he needs a couple years.” Dom laughed as he let go of you and took his seat next to Paddy. Tom grabbed your hand under the table, giving it a small squeeze to reassure you that this was going well.

“Paddy how many times do I have to tell you, it’s rude to be on your phone at the table.” A woman’s voice suddenly interrupted the light conversation. You looked up at Tom’s mum, she was beautiful. Paddy groaned before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Hi Tom.” His mum said as she hugged him, she eyed you up and down, before mumbling a quick ‘hi’ and sitting down in the final seat. Your nerves were back, had you done something to offend her?

Tom cleared his throat awkwardly before engaging in conversation with Sam. Harry leant over towards you. “Ignore her, she can be like that sometimes, she’ll snap out of it.” Harry whispered as he gave you a reassuring smile.

You all ordered after five minutes and light chatter, started out amongst the table. As the starters were served, Dom switched the attention to you, which in hindsight, you really wish he hadn’t.

“So, Y/N? What do you do for work? Tom’s told us a lot about you but at the same time not all that much.” He laughed.

“Yeah it’s cause he’s always talking about how pretty she is.” Paddy mumbled as he stuffed his fork into his mouth, Tom’s cheeks burned red as he mumbled a ‘fuck off’ in his brothers’ direction. Paddy laughed at him before adding. “Not that he’s wrong! I didn’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just all he usually talks about when you come up in conversation.” Paddy stumbled over his words as he thought he may have caused offence, you laughed, again being reminded of when you were an awkward teenager and thinking anything you said would be taken as offence.

“I’m a book editor. I’m hoping to move into script editing because I think that’d be more fun but for now, I’m with the books.” You answered confidently as you smiled at Dom. Your smile faltered as you heard a scoff come from Nikki’s direction. Tom eyed her carefully before he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Yeah, it’s great. She gets to travel with me a lot because she doesn’t have to go into a workplace to do her job.” Tom said as he finished his starter. Shortly after they were cleared. Tom took your hand again under the table, interlocking your fingers.

“That’s great! How long have you been doing that?” Dom asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“About three years, I graduated at 21 and got straight into it.”

“Ah, so you’re the same age as Tom then?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, he’s a couple months older than me.”

“So how did you meet? Like I say Tom has told us a lot about you but at the same time nothing at all.”

“We met in a pub actually.” You laughed as you recalled the memory. “I wasn’t sure Tom would remember talking to me let alone remember he’d taken my number. He was really drunk.” You teased as Tom went red again. Everyone laughed except for Nikki, who eyed you in a way that made you feel quite small all of a sudden.

“So, did you know who he was then? When you gave him your number?” She asked in an accusatory tone.

“I mean yeah, I’ve seen all the marvel films, so I did know who he was, but that didn’t really matter to me. I liked Tom for Tom.” You answered carefully.

“I’m sure you did.” She said as she gave you a sarcastic smile before sipping her drink.

“Mum.” Tom groaned before squeezing your hand that was still in his.

“What? I’m just making small talk.” She answered as Sam and Harry rolled their eyes. Paddy shifted awkwardly in his seat as he watched the conversation unfold. Luckily the main course arrived to settle the tension.

“So are you hoping to get into script editing through Tom’s career.” Nikki asked. Dom choked on his drink out of shock as you dropped your fork back onto your plate. The question completely taking you off guard. Tom’s hand found your thigh as you saw him tense next to you.

“You don’t have to answer that Y/N.” Sam said as he smiled at you.

“No, it’s okay. That’s not how I’m hoping to get into script editing. I’ve been applying for different companies for a while now, before I met Tom actually, I just haven’t had any luck.” You answered as your eyes met hers.

“But surely you would have hoped Tom’s career would help if you haven’t had luck.” She sneered.

“Nikki.” Dom hissed.

“No that’s not it at all.” You answered, slightly offended. You knew what she was implying but it wasn’t true. You could make your own way in the world.

“We’ll see.” Nikki said as she continued to eat. The atmosphere around the table had shifted dramatically it was incredibly awkward now.

After you had finished your mains, things hadn’t got much better. Everyone was engaging in small talk, but no one dared shift the attention back towards you. Well, for a while anyway.

“That’s a nice necklace.” Nikki suddenly said out of nowhere. You clutched the necklace that was around your neck, it suddenly felt very heavy around your neck.

“It’s from-“

“Tom? Yeah I’d have guessed. Is it real gold?”

“Yeah but-“

“Of course it is.” She sneered as she rolled her eyes at you. You suddenly felt like this wasn’t going anywhere and you felt the tears brewing in your eyes. You excused yourself from the table, finding your way into the bathroom.

“What the fuck was that?” Tom asked his mum as his nostrils flared.

“Don’t swear Tom.” Nikki replied. Paddy was eyeing the exit at this point. He knew it wasn’t going to end well.

“Okay, sorry for my language. My question still wants an answer. What. Was. That?” He asked through gritted teeth. He’d never in his entire life felt so angry with his mum. He looked at his dad who just offered him a small smile.

“I don’t know what you mean. I was just making conversation.”

“No, you weren’t. You were being rude. Why?”

“I’m just making sure she’s good enough for you.” Nikki answered her son, honestly.

“By making her look like a money grabbing, opportunity seeking bitch?” Tom fired back. Trying to keep his anger under control. He didn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of a restaurant. Nikki just shrugged and he felt some of his anger spill over.

“That’s not fair mum! I pursued her! She hasn’t once asked me to help her further her career, in fact she’s very careful to try and keep herself distant from what I do and what she wants to do. That necklace you felt the need to point out, came from her grandma, it was left to her after her grandma passed away. Something her granddad bought for her grandma. But of course, you’d have known that had you let her speak. I am so beyond angry with you right now, mum. You had no right to speak to her like that, you don’t know her, I do. I’m also a little offended that you take me for someone who can fooled. I get it you want to protect your kids, but you can’t treat people like that. You need to give her another chance, because I love her, and your little show tonight won’t change that.” Tom felt some of his anger dissipating. His brothers and dad looked at him, almost as if they were proud?

Nikki’s expression dropped at her son’s words. She suddenly felt immensely guilty. Tom was right, she’d taken it too far and judged the poor girl without giving her a chance.

“I’m sorry Tom.” Nikki said sincerely trying to meet her son’s eyes.

“Not me you should be apologising to.” Tom crossed his arms as he refused to meet his mum’s gaze.

“Your right.” Nikki swallowed as she got up from her seat.

“I swear if you’re on your way to upset her again, I’m going home.” Tom called after his mum as she made her way into the bathroom. He sighed as he looked at his dad.

“I know your angry son and I know she had no right. But forgive her yeah? She had your best interests at heart even if she went about that the wrong way.” Dom said as he offered his son a reassuring smile.

“I know. It just upset me that she treated her like that.”

You’d managed to stop the tears and you were splashing your face with cold water trying to get rid of the redness in your face. Would Tom believe you if you said you weren’t feeling well and let you go home? No, then you’d be taking him away from his family. You were pulled from your thoughts as another person joined you in the bathroom. You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to draw attention to your tear stained face.

“Y/N? I’m sorry.” You heard you were shocked as you turned around to see Nikki. You didn’t say anything, not wanting to upset her further.

“I mean it. I’m sorry. I just get so protective of him you know. He has had girlfriends like that in the past and I’m just scared someone will take advantage of him again. I know I shouldn’t treat him like he’s naive, but I can’t help it sometimes. I’m truly sorry for the way I have treated you tonight. It was unfair of me to judge you when I don’t know you.” She said as she smiled at you. You sighed as you took in her words.

“Look, I get it. I get that you want to protect him but I’m not like that I swear. I really do love Tom for Tom. I’d love him whatever he did for a living.” You said sincerely. Nikki smiled as she pulled you into a hug. You hugged back.

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. Let’s start again?” She asked you hopefully.

“I’d like that.” You mumbled as she helped you fix your appearance. You made your way back to the table Tom, instantly standing and pulling you into a hug.

“Are you okay? Did she upset you again?” Tom whispered protectively into your ear. “Tell me if she has, we’ll go if that’s what you want.”

“It’s okay Tom. She apologised. We’re going to start again. I get were she was coming from in a way.” You whispered back as he squeezed you tighter.

“Doesn’t make it right.” He mumbled and you hummed in agreement before whispering “let it go, okay,” kissing his cheek before you both sat back down. He didn’t let go of your hand all night. The rest of night went by without any more awkwardness, in fact when you left, you’d argue that you and Nikki had gotten quite close. Tom let his anger towards his mum disappear over the course of the night and when you all left to go home you made plans to do the same again next week and everyone left far happier and content than when they’d arrived.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years ago

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Lost - Rudy

[Masterlist]

TW: Lost Whumpee, sprained ankle, falling from window, helplessness, learned helplessness,

Rudy hit the ground and rolled. The very moment after, a sharp pain shot up his right ankle. He had hit the ground hard, sure that the sound made its way up to Casey. He couldn’t make anymore, couldn’t cry out. He bit into his hand with a strangled whine. Oh, it hurt, it hurt so bad. Pain was pulsing through his ankle and up his leg, radiating out sharply. With tears in his eyes, he pressed his head and shoulder into the grass and whimpered again.

It didn’t help.

Finally, it seemed to relax a little bit, at least enough for Rudy to come back to his senses. He really had to get going, he had to get away. Carefully, putting as little weight on his ankle as he could, he got to his feet and looked around. Tentative steps proved successful, so the pet picked a direction and started walking.

Rudy went as fast as he could, streetlights reflecting on the wet asphalt. It was dark and cold, but he didn’t hear Casey behind him. He kept going, panting and sides burning painfully. Car lights appeared far ahead of him and scrambled behind a large trash bin. Logically, it couldn’t be Casey because it was coming from the wrong way. But, but still. He pressed one hand over his mouth, as if the stranger passing the car could hear his heavy breathing from inside.

It passed without issue.

When it was gone, Rudy whimpered to himself. That, that was stupid. He was lost, he was hurt, he couldn’t keep going like this. How was he going to get home if he didn’t find help? He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know where Master lived. Well no, he knew the words and numbers that people could use to find Master’s house, but he didn’t know how to use them. He was just a pet - he wasn’t supposed to be left alone like this in the big scary world.

Shakily, he rose and stood on the sidewalk. Part of his brain wanted him to keep running, to get as far from Casey’s house as he could before the man woke up, but he was already tired and sore and his ankle felt worse and worse with each step. He wouldn’t be able to go for long. With chattering teeth and his arms wrapped around himself for warmth, Rudy started to limp along.

Things didn’t seem to get better. He was always looking over his shoulder, tripping on rocks and cracks, passing by buildings more than once. He was lost, in more way than one. Wrapping his arms tighter around himself, he pleaded with his own body not to fall apart, not to start crying again. He was so thirsty, and hungry, and tired that he could barely keep himself up.

He had to find somewhere to hide, to sleep, just for a little bit. The people weren’t awake yet, he understood that as he wandered past closed doors and darkened stores. There was no one to find him in the middle of the night. He just had to wait.

Stumbling, he made his way down one of the alleys and crawled behind a disgusting dumpster. It smelled, but at least he knew Casey wouldn’t want to come back to here to look for him. There was a box back there that he flattened to at least keep off the concrete. It was no dog bed, but it was something to sleep on.

Rudy heard footsteps at the entry of the alley and he froze. He couldn’t decide - curl farther behind the dumpster and stay safe, or crawl out and allow himself to be found, to be taken home.

“Hello? I thought I saw someone back here. Is anyone there?” a female voice asked. The footsteps came closer and he heard a sigh.

He wanted to go home, he needed to get home. He needed someone to find him and save him from this absolute nightmare. With one more breath to steady himself, Rudy peered out.

“Oh he- hey,” the girl said, voicing pitching with concern after she saw the state of his face and hair. She tucked a strand of long brown hair behind one ear and crouched down closer to his level.

“What are the odds,” she muttered to herself before the focus moved back to Rudy. “You’re lost? Did your Master leave you back here?”

Rudy crawled out a little farther, heart spiking at even the implication Master would do something so horrible to him. “No! N-no, no he would never! Master would never! S-someone, someone else took me and I ran from him but then I got lost and… and-” his voice broke into a whimper, desperately trying to hold back more tears. His jaw was trembling.

“I just want to go home. Please, please take me home - I wanna go home. I have, it’s a - oh,” Rudy lifted his t-shirt to show her the code Master had put into his skin but it was messed up somehow. It looked like someone had taken a black marker to it, scribbling over it and making the lines useless. He didn’t remember Casey doing that.

That destroyed the last of his resolve and he sobbed. Curling over on his knees with his hands wrapped around his waist, Rudy cried into the concrete with huge, painful gasps. He was so tired. Tired of being hurt, and lost, and hungry, and cold, and alone. Everything hurt, from his bruises and scrapes down to his very heart. He knew deep down that it wouldn’t get better until he was back with Master and Clyde - where he belonged.

“Aw, sweetheart,” the woman started, reaching out to comfort him. Before she could, another voice echoed down the alley.

“Kayla? What are you doing back there?”

Kayla tensed, head swiveling back quickly. “I-”

“Pl-please,” Rudy managed, lifting his head to see another woman walking towards them. “Please, I want to go home. Please can you take me home?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she started, joining Kayla on her knees.

“Maria! I, I was going to, to take him to the shelter on 5th street.”

Maria’s brow furrowed. “What? Don’t you still have like three clients this afternoon? You said your chair was booked. I just finished my last one, let me take him.”

“No!” Kayla cried out, a little louder than she meant to. “No, it’s fine, I was going to run an errand anyway. And I found him, so, uh, you know I want to make sure he’s safe.”

The other hairdresser looked at her quizzically for a moment before her face broke out in a conspiratorial smile. “Kayla,” she started, voice amused and accusing. “Were you going to try and take him home? I feel like you’d be the kind to pick up a stray.”

Rudy, who had been quietly watching until now nearly fell over in his dive towards Maria. No, nonononono please he wanted to go to the shelter - please take him to the shelter. That other woman, the brown haired one, would take him home and give him another collar and another name and he would never go back, never go home.

“N-no! Please! Please, please I want to go home. Please I have an o-owner, his name is Master Mason Driver and I know he’s looking for me. Please don’t steal me again I need, I need to go home.”

Maria put an arm around him and laid a hand on his head. “Shh, shh shh you’re okay. I promise Kayla’s not scary she’s just a too little soft-hearted for her own good. Come on, lets get you up and home.”

Enthusiastically, Rudy got to his feet and tried to hide behind her. Yes, yes yes yes. Home, he was going home.

Kayla watched them leave the alley and sighed heavily.

“Good job,” she said to herself. “Failed another one.”

Tagging: @whumpingredroses @suspicious-whumping-egg @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee @whumpeesblog

#whump #pet whump #stalker arc: rudy and clyde #lost whumpee #sprained ankle tw #falling from window tw #helplessness tw #learned helplessness tw #Kayla 100000% would have taken him home and tried to help #I don't know when in the time line it happened!#but yeah!#kayla

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blinder-secrets · 4 years ago

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False Employment

tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words

warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw

ao3 link

a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3

When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?

In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.

On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.

‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’

He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’

You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.

The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.

‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’

‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’

When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.

From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.

‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.

He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’

You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.

When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’

You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.

Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’

Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.

By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.

Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.

You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’

‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’

You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.

She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’

‘He has?’

‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’

But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?

She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.

With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.

When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’

You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.

‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.

He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.

You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘[Y/n], sir.’

He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.

Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘

‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.

‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’

He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’

It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.

When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.

He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.

‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’

He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.

‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.

‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.

‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’

You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.

His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.

‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.

It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.

‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’

‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’

The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.

‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’

You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’

His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.

He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’

It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’

After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.

At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.

The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’

Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.

He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’

‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’

He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’

Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’

Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’

You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.

‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.

His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’

Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.

‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.

He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.

‘Just me then, sir?’

He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’

He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.

‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.

You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’

He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’

No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’

Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’

‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’

He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’

He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’

‘I do?’

You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.

‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’

You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.

The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’

Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.

He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.

Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.

‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.

His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.

‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’

It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’

‘If that’s what suits you.’

He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.

He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.

‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.

His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.

You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.

You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’

A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’

When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.

‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’

Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’

His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’

You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.

‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’

You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.

‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.

He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’

You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #strap in guys its hell of a ride

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le0watch · 4 years ago

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langa grimaces as he steps out of his carriage, shoes chuffing against the pavement ground. the sounds of downtown london fills his ears, ranging from the chitchat of workers and civilians to the clomping of horse's hooves on the streets. it's raining today- of course it has to be raining. why wouldn't it be on his already least favorite day of the week?

his servant steadily holds an umbrella over his and his mother's heads to keep the raindrops from drenching them. he, of course, isnt saved from getting wet, but this is his job. langa will just make sure to pay him extra for his work this month, and make sure that he doesn't catch a cold from the cool breezes brushing by.

today, he and his mother are visiting the busy streets of london per her request. since langa's father died and the large erikson heritage was passed down to langa, shes been asking him for numerous favors, including this weekly walk through the busy, muggy streets of london.

now, langa doesn't hate the people or the peasants or whatever you want to call them. he's just not a fan of the constant rain and loud chatter of said people around him. they're all incredibly loud and irritating, and sometimes he'd like them to be quiet while he and his mother are there. but that's not the point of their trips. his mother came from poverty before langa's father had found her and fallen for her, before he'd proposed to her. moving from japan to england during this time had given his mother a horrible disadvantage against any of the nobility or even white people of the lower classes.

but his father had been infatuated with her, and she became infatuated by him. they married for love, a rare occurence these days. then, they'd had him, and he loved his large home and the days he spent with his mother in the garden or the days he went with his father to the various horse stables they owned.

he can't visit the stables with his father anymore, however. because his father died a year ago, leaving their large fortune on the shoulders of langa, barely old enough to chose what happens with that wealth.

he insists in private that his mother make mistakes of the financial decisions, since he's still in the process of learning his family's buisness. she agreed to do it, in exchange for trips to the busy streets of london, where they could make donations to small charities or poor families that need the help.

honestly, it's a win win situation for langa. he doesn't have to fully handle the responsibilities of his family's fortune, and he has always wanted to help the poor, like his father. because when his father was living, he would hold monthly giveaways of some of their stables' foals to the poorest of the city.

other families of nobility often turned their noses up at what langa's father did for the poor, not that his father ever cared.

that's what probably got him killed.

"where shall we visit first, mother?" langa asks, holding his arm out for her take. she loops her arm through his, smiling up at him for his manners.

"i was thinking the orphanage down the road," she replies as they begin to walk. their servant- kaoru, langa's favorite servant and teacher- follows close behind to keep the umbrella over their heads the entire time. he wants to tell kaoru that he could cover himself with his own umbrella, but he already knows that he would be denied. kaoru has always been very serious about his job.

"as you wish," he says with a small smile.

their visit to the orphanage is longer than they'd originally intended. the owner of the orphanage needed help moving some heavier objects and boxes, and so langa had stepped in. she was instantly grateful to him, and only became moreso when he handed her a large wad of cash.

"thank you so much, mister erikson," she said, bowing low to him. his mother was in the background, entertaining the children. "are you sure there's no way we can repay you?"

"you can by taking care of the sick children here," langa replied, and she nodded eagerly.

they'd left soon afterwards, kaoru waiting outside for them. his long, pink hair is pulled back in a ponytail today, and he's wearing his favorite kamino. he was also born in japan, like his mother, and had been a friend of hers before she'd moved here. he moved not long after her, and she hired him as their servant and langa's tutor. he's been around for as long as langa could remember.

suddenly, there's a flash of red ahead of them, and a kid- not of the orphanage- rams into his side, knocking them both over in the process. langa hits the muddy ground with a grunt, before the kid is apologizing profusely, bowing his head continuously. he's in scrappy clothes, and is soaked to the bone.

"it's fine," langa tells him, and the kid relaxes. "don't worry about it." he wipes the mud from his shirt as kaoru helps him stand, and his mother hurries over to look him over. they're all soaked at this point.

"sorry again!" the kid exclaims, before running off.

with langa's donation wallet in hand.

normally, langa wouldnt bat an eye at stolen money. his family's wealth is nearly endless. but that's the money he's using for his trip with his mom today- and he doesn't have anything extra. he doesn't want to cut this trip short- his mom loves it too much.

he takes off after the kid without much thought, ignoring the calls from his mother and servant. the kid lets out a loud laugh once he notices he's being chased, before two more kids that look identical to him fall in step behind him. langa's eyes widen- they have this thought out.

they end up running through twisting alleyways, and langa is hardly keeping up. every time he gets close, they duck away or slide around another corner, throwing him off. he grits his teeth together, lungs beginning to burn from the exertion.

the kids run across a crowded street, easily weaving through its crowded traffick. langa skids you a stop just before crossing, before giving chase once more. he reaches a hand out, about to grab one of the buggers- when they suddenly leap at a building's front, scaling its side like a ladder. he stops in his tracks, gaping as they reach the roof, pointing at his with laughter.

he's so busy gaping, he doesn't even notice he's still standing in the middle of busy traffick until a coachman is shouting at him to move, with the horses screeching with terror. his heart stops beating- oh god, he's about to die like his father had, leaving his mom all alone. he already knows he won't be able to move in time.

but then something- or rather, someone- crashes into his back, knocking him to safer ground instantly. the horses and carriage roar past where he'd just been, and he pants on the ground, the person who'd saved his life still over him.

"wow- you nearly died," the person- man- above him says between pants, finally peeling away from him. langa pushes up with shaking arms, bruises and scrapes burning at his skin. geez, kaoru is going to kill him- he ripped his pants. he then looks up at his savior, and all thoughts leave his mind.

the most gorgeous man he's ever seen sits in front of him, soaked curly hair still a brilliant shade of bright red, poking out from the under side of a grey ball cap. his eyes are a beautiful honey amber, shining with mischief and a kind soul. his tan skin is peppered with freckles, along the cheeks on his face and his shoulders and forearms. he has a crooked grin as bright as the sun- making langa almost believe that it had stopped raining and the clouds had opened up. he's wearing a thin and torn short sleeved shirt, a pair of suspenders over his shoulders keeping his pair of black pants up.

lord have mercy on langa's soul. he's already fallen for the stranger that had saved his life. it didn't even matter that he was a man. langa could feel his heart thudding in his chest, and heat gathering in his cheeks. he can't even respond. luckily, the man- around his age- does it for him.

"lucky i was there to save your ass, huh?" he says with a bright chuckle. he has the same accent as his mother's and kaoru's, with a similar facial structure to both. he must be from japan too, then. langa opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, and the redhead's grin only widens. he reaches a hand out, wiping a splotch of mud from langa's paper white cheek. the heat in langa's cheeks worsens. the redhead then looks up at the roof where the kids are still perched at, watching with wide eyes. "they took something of yours, huh?"

"y- yeah," langa replies shakily, wanting to hit himself for sounding so pathetically like a schoolgirl with a crush. the guy doesnt seem to take notice- either that, or he doesn't point it out.

"right. be right back," the redhead says, before slipping past langa and leaping onto the side of the building. the kids at the top screech with surprise, before disappearing just as the redhead reaches the top, leaping over while calling, "tom, rick, toby- get your asses back here!"

horrifyingly, the kids leap from one rooftop to the next, somehow not slipping and falling off the edge. and even more horrifyingly, the redhead follows with amazing grace, landing perfectly, grabbing to of the kid's by their shoudlers. the third stops, dropping his head like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"right. which of you have it," the redhead asks, loud enough for langa to hear. langa is surprised by the strength the redhead has- he's able to lift two children clear off the ground without much effort. his arms aren't shaking or wavering at all! the kids don't answer, pouting. "don't make me talk to your mum about this-"

"toby has it!" two of the kids cry out at the same time, and the third glares at them both with betrayal.

the redhead sets the two kids he's holding back down, and holds his hand out expectantly. the kid- toby- pouts some more before relunctantly dropping langa's wallet into the redhead's hand.

"thank you very much," the redhead says, pocketing langa's wallet. he points at each kid individually. "i catch you three stealing from nice men like him again, and i'll stop bringing home candy for you after work."

"no!" all three kids cry at once. the redhead tuts.

"right. don't do it again," he says firmly, before shooing the triplets away.

the redhead then slides down the side of the building, hit the wet ground with a splash. langa watches with disbelief as he casually saunters over, handing him his wallet back once he's reached him.

"sorry about them," the redhead says. "they live with just their mother, so they take to stealing to help her out occasionally. they shouldn't bug you again." he chuckles. "but if you ever need eyes and ears around london- hire those three. they're amazing at snooping."

langa clears his throat, forcing himself to stop staring at the redhead's pretty face as if he was in a trance. he slides his wallet into his suit pocket yo make sure it's not stolen again.

"thank you," he says, gratefully bowing his head. "i appreciate your help- what was your name?"

"reki kyan," the redhead replies with pride. "i work on the train tracks and take care of the kids around these parts best i can."

"well, mister kyan, you're amazing," langa tells him, surprising himself with his boldness. reki's eyes widen, and his eyes dart away quickly. langa then holds a hand out to him, the other behind his back. "my name is langa erikson. it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

reki chuckles awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. "pleasure's all mine," he replied, and shakes langa's offered hand. "you can call me reki, by the way."

"then you may call me langa, reki," he responds graciously. reki averts his eyes again as they release each other's hands. "is there some way i can repay you?"

"don't worry about it!" reki says quickly, throwing his hands up. oh, he's wearing a pair of thick, black gloves, langa has just realized. and his biceps are absolutely huge with muscles- probably from working on tracks all day. "just don't get those boys in trouble. they mean well for their mum."

"wouldnt even dream of getting them in trouble," langa replies lightly. then he frowns. he doesn't want to go home and never see this sunny man ever again. he's a delight to look at- ruby red hair and honey amber eyes with a sunshine smile. it would be a shame to never seen him again. "though, i must insist on repaying you." he has a brilliant idea of doing just that, too.

reki shakes his head again, desperatly. "no, really, there's no need-"

"why don't you come and stay at my home, so that i may repay you with dinner?" langa says smoothly, once more surprising himself with his boldness. he's basically asking this man to live with him and have multiple dates with him. hopefully, the redhead doesn't realize that, yet, since gay relationships are frowned upon. but perhaps- later on. "you may stay in one of my rooms, take off from your job, and have warm and fresh meals everyday."

reki's eyes widen significantly, his jaws snapping shut. oh no, maybe langa was laying too much on him at once. "i- uh-"

"please, it would mean the world to me in repaying you this way," langa says, to further convince him. "and it would be a small exchange to you after saving my life."

the redhead scratches at the back of his head again, and langa can't help but stare at the way his bicep moves to complete the action. lord have mercy, reki was good looking. he's always tried to repress his gay feelings and desires, but this ripped train track worker with burning red hair is destroying all of his effort in one foul swoop.

finally, reki lets out a heavy sigh of defeat, lowering both of his arms. "you won't be happy unless i accept?" he asks, and when langa nods eagerly, he lets out another sigh, shutting his eyes. "okay, i will. i'll try not to be too much of an issue while i stay-"

langa cuts him off by catching one of his gloved hands in his, holding it up between them. he offers the redhead a small smile, excitement rolling in his gut. "you could be no trouble at all," langa insists, and reki draws back a little, and is that a tin of red coloring his freckled cheeks. langa sure hopes it is.

and that's how langa takes home a gorgeous redhead, who had in fact, saved his life.

#this is longer than i intended #whoops #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki kyan #langa hasegawa #snowgear #my writing #my drabbles #au

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

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Hey! I have a fic/HC request - it's a bit specific - jake and Amy are on a date and they see a guy who went to the academy with Jake and worked with Amy at the 64 and when amy goes to the washroom he tries to make fun of her/says creepy stuff about het in front of Jake and he gets all angry and protective

“Gotta say I’m surprised.”

“About what?”

“That you got Santiago.”

Jake stares at Daniels over the rim of his beer glass. There’s a million instincts shouting in his brain, mixing into a little symphony. To tell him to fuck off, basically. Tell him he worked hard to ‘get the girl’, and continues to work hard to keep her. Tell him that whatever he’s got in his head about their relationship is probably far stranger than whatever he’s-

“Whyyyy~?” Is unfortunately all he manages to squeeze out inbetween anger, confusion and a bit of shock. It seems to be enough for Daniels, who guffaws.

“Well, no offense, Jakey, but you’ve been a detective for what, eight years now?”

“Eight and a half.”

“Amy Santiago needs more than a detective to keep her career floating.”

It had started out as a frankly lovely evening. It wasn’t date night, per se - just a random evening where they’d both found themselves out of the precinct earlier than expected, and Jake had spun Amy round on her heels once while holding her hand, grinning and asking if he could ‘take a lady for a drink’. (He was well aware that he did corny-romantic the best, and it usually worked with Amy. Like it did that night, making her giggle and roll her eyes and lead him down the streets to Shaw’s anyway.)

“I mean, that’s all she was about back at the 64. Going up the ladder. Nice girl, but jesus, her constant work chatter really pushed down her ratings.”

“Ratings.”

“Yeah.” Daniels grins and Jake tries not to think about punching those teeth out. “You remember from the academy, yeah? We set them all up during darts night. Much better than the 0-10 scale.”

“I never went to darts night.”

“Oh right.” Daniels sips on his beer. “You were always hanging out with that Rose biker chick.”

“Detective Diaz.”

And since it wasn’t established date night, and they were only having a beer each before they’d probably head home, it didn’t feel all that wrong to invite an old academy pal to their table when he bumped into him ordering at the bar. If it had been anyone from the 99, Amy would’ve probably done the same, and Jake was a bit too busy introducing him and laughing about the fact that they actually knew each other from Amy’s old precinct to notice her raised hackles.

“Diaz, sure, sure. Gotta tell you, if she wasn’t such a hardass bitch, she’d be a straight A.”

“Oh good, a letter rating system.” Jake groans through gritted teeth.

“Your Santiago, though...” Daniels leans onto the table with a wink, and Jake imagines his face crashing into it if he slapped the elbow he’s leaning on away. “She was a whole A+ at the 64th. Until she opened her mouth, and got into that whole career shit with the captain.”

He was not too busy, however, to notice her complete silence ever since Daniels had sat down - nor his clear disinterest in changing that, talking to Jake only, slapping his shoulder and recounting those ‘good old days’ Jake didn’t really remember the same way. Not too busy, either, to notice her jumping up ‘for the bathroom’ when Daniels started on their time in the 64th, and rushing through the rest of the bar patrons like something had stung her.

Jake sees red, and tries to blink it away. Unsuccessfully.

“Amy’s ambitious, and rightly so. She’s one of the smartest detectives we’ve ever had, and she’s gonna be a sergeant, lieutenant and captain before any of us even manage to get the first test topics into our brains.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, right.” Daniels grins and winks again, and the red turns into pure fire in Jake’s eyes. “With a bit of shmoozing, those tests are a doozy, I know.”

Jake’s hand slams onto the table so hard the guys next to them look over for a second, and Daniels’ beer topples over right into his lap.

“Hey, dude, what the fuck-”

Amy’s been in the bathroom for a good 10 minutes. Daniels chatter has turned from good academy pal to annoying classmate to ‘jesus fuck, I remember this douche, Rosa used his picture as her personal darts board’. He’s been talking about ‘Santiago’ as if she hadn’t been in the same room as them only minutes ago, and his face as Jake calls her his girlfriend says more than enough.

“You know jack-shit, you stupid piece of crap.” Jake snarls, and the guys next to them quickly shuffle away. “You’ve bumbled your way into your job by being a mediocre white guy with just enough racism and sexism in his brain to appeal to the same brand of assholes in higher positions, and now you think it’s okay to spew that kind of trash to anyone with a badge. Amy and Rosa are gonna wipe the floor with douchebags like you. Without the need for shmoozing, or rating systems, or whatever else fucked up shit you’ve been using to get where you are.”

“Listen, you gotta take a joke, man-”

“It’s not a joke, and I’m not going to listen to any of your shit for a second longer. You’re gonna take your beer-stained pisspants out of this bar, and if I find out you’ve been talking like that about any of my colleagues again, or talking shit to them, I’m pretty sure either Diaz or I still have some of those ‘fun’ graduation party pictures you probably don’t remember taking.” Jake’s fist is shaking, but his face is steadfast enough to convey the message (and it’s not a lie - he does know Rosa keeps a blackmailing backlog, and he’s well aware of the academy photos in there, right next to the folder of his own fuck-up proofs that she keeps throwing at his head if he ever tries to refuse one of her demands).

Daniels mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish trying to breathe out of water, before he sputters something that might be an insult, but gets up, so it doesn’t matter. He runs into a few other patrons as he leaves, two of which give him as clear of a stink eye as they give Jake a nod as he passes them, but he’s barely noticing them.

-*-

“....Ames?” Jake steps into the, luckily, uni-sex bathroom Shaw’s had decided on years ago, and finds only one of the stalls locked. “You okay in there?”

“S-sorry.” comes as an answer, and he knows her slightly stuffy voice after crying far too well not to recognise it even when reverberating through an empty bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I made Daniels leave.”

“...You did what?”

The stall door finally opens, and Amy’s red-rimmed eyes are looking at him almost confused as she clings to the handle.

“I told him to fuck off, basically.” Jake shrugs, but then takes a step forward, lays his hand as softly as he can on hers still gripping the doorhandle like it was a lifeline. “I’m sorry I let him barge in like that at all, and didn’t remember what a colossal jerk he actually is.”

“It’s okay.” Amy sniffs, and his hand on hers tightens. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have. Should have remembered how much he pissed me off in the academy already. And even if not, I shoulda noticed how uneasy you were with him straight away.”

“Yeah.” Amy only nods, and sniffs again before he can wipe another stray tear off her cheek. “Thanks, anyway. For getting rid of him.”

“Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum.”

“It’s good to encourage proper behaviour.” Amy tries a little grin even with a wobbly lip, and Jake answers it with a snort as she leans against him, finally letting go of the doorhandle to wrap him in a hug he gladly reciprocates.

“He wasn’t the worst of them, anyway.” She mumbles into his flannel shirt, and his arms around her shoulders grow tense.

“Alright, I’ll need a kill-list then. To hand over to Rosa.”

Amy snickers into his shoulder, but shakes her head.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to deal with them anymore. I’m at the 99 now.” She mumbles, and it sounds a little bit like she’s trying to remind herself of it, too.

“You’re with the 99 now.” Jake nods. “We take care of each other.”

Amy sniffs once more before looking up at him.

“Did we need to have this heartfelt moment in a bar bathroom?”

“Let’s go home, Ames. Before they make me pay for the beer I spilled all over the seats.”

“Wait, what?”

-*-

She’s deep asleep next to him, her hair all splayed out over the pillow since he played with it until she dozed off, her lips slightly open for that little, high, whiney noise she makes that he knows means she’s completely gone into dreamland.

He turns his phone screen’s brightness all the way down to keep her there before starting to type.

- Roger Daniels u remember him?

- what did the douche want. Do I need a new dartboard

- can we break him somehow

- why

- made Amy cry. probs for years

- gimme 2 days

Jake sends only a thumbs up before he slides down under the covers, Amy’s cold hands immediately finding their way around his waist as he shuffles closer to spread his warmth over to her side of the bed as well.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic

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alto-march-of-death · 4 years ago

Text

I’m so excited to finally get this posted! For the secret Santa we did in the server, I got the chance to write this for the lovely @my-mass-hysteria! It worked out with my Christmas event since she sent in a request that worked with what I had planned! I hope you enjoy this! (Featuring this ↓ request)

Summary: Asahi plans a lovely date for the two of you, though he knows how you feel about the snow; “It’s too cold,” you always say. He’s hoping that you’ll enjoy it despite the weather.

Pairing: Azumane Asahi x gn! reader (let me know if you see anything that says otherwise)

Word count: ~1.4K

Warnings: none, it’s all fluff

A/N: I also want to say a thanks to @shnnn for putting this whole thing together! You’re an absolute gem and I love you ❤️

Asahi stood on your doorstep, his coat pulled close around him. His scarf was wound tightly around his neck, and a beanie was atop his head, keeping his long hair sitting around his shoulders; the way you liked it. In his hands were two cups of hot chocolate; one made just the way you like it, and the other for him.

He had spent so long planning this date, booking and planning while you slept, so that it would be a surprise. He wanted it to go perfectly and without a hitch. The usual nerves were starting to get to him, and the cups in his hands shook with just the slightest tremors.

Once you opened the door, however, those nerves faded away. Asahi knew you got cold easily, and a smile broke out across his face when you walked out in your heavy coat, thick scarf, and ear muffs with matching gloves.

“It’s so cold,” you whine. “I like you a lot and I know that everything you had planned will be great, but it’s just so cold; almost too cold!”

“Here, take this. It’ll help warm you up a bit,” he says, handing you the hot chocolate. Once you’re holding the cup, he offers his elbow to you, pulling you closer to his side once it’s looped through.

As the two of you walked, you discussed how the last week had been. You had been busy with your job, and he with his, so catching up was a must. He kept you close the whole walk to the park, which was your first destination. The closer the two of you got to the meeting spot, the more he began to sweat. The person that was supposed to be there hadn’t arrived yet, or at least not from what he could tell.

“Asahi? Hello? Everything okay,” you ask. He had been spacing out, lost in his own world as you walked. “Thought I lost you there for a minute.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling a bit. “No, everything is fine! I’m just expecting someone to meet us here, and they haven’t arrived.” As soon as the sentence left his mouth, there was the sound of bells and horse hooves. “Ah, guess I just needed to be patient. Here they come now.”

You turned, not at all expecting what you saw. Coming across the snowy park was a horse-drawn sleigh. Once the man leading the horse stopped in front of you, he tipped his hat, and stepped down from his spot.

“Whenever you’re ready, you can climb on in. There are a few blankets in the seats so that you don’t get too cold,” the driver was telling them. Asahi nodded, helping you up into the seat before wrapping a blanket around the two of you.

It was lovely, the trip through the park and down the nearby streets. Snow fell softly, the large flakes landing in his hair and yours. Asahi was quiet, letting you take in the sights around you. He knew you didn’t much like the cold weather, but he did know that you loved spending time with him, and also loved when he planned dates so he took advantage of that.

He loved the way you looked when your eyes looked at the snow. You would squint, eyes and nose scrunching up when the sun would reflect off of the snow. It hurt your eyes, but you had to admit that it was rather beautiful. It looked soft, and when you lifted your gloved hand to the sky to catch a few flakes, you realized that you were correct. The snow was soft, but it melted almost as soon as it hit your palm.

Asahi continued to watch you. Small snowflakes would get stuck in your lashes, and you’d blink until they went away. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, nose twitching every once in a while from it.

He knew he was in love with you, but every day he found new things to love. Whether it was the way you looked brushing your teeth in the morning, hair in every direction and toothpaste dripping down your chin, or the way you trusted him to hold you while you cried; he loved you, and he loved it all.

He grabbed your face in his hands, turning you towards him, and planted a soft kiss against your lips. It left you stunned, and a little breathless. It wasn’t that it was rough, just that it surprised you, and it was so gentle.

His cheeks burned red, ears warm beneath his hat as the blush spread to them. “I’m sorry! I didn’t… I hope that was okay. You just looked so beautiful and I wanted to kiss you! I love you so much and I-”

“You love me?” Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes as he stared at you with wide eyes, realizing that he had let the words slip out.

“I… yeah, I do. I love you a lot. I’ve been scared to say it, for some reason.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t be, but I was.”

You wiped at your eyes, tears staining your gloves. “I love you too. I love you so much. Thank you for planning this date, and all of this.”

Before you knew it, he was kissing you again. It was just as the first, but there was less hesitation in the way he slotted his lips against your own.

When he pulled away, his cheeks were still red, but his eyes were bright. “I hope you don’t think this is all to the date. I’ve got something else planned too! I don’t think you’ll like it as much as this, but I imagine you’ll enjoy it as long as we’re together.”

Thanks to his comment, you spent the rest of the sleigh ride trying to think of ideas as to what he could have planned. You were so lost in your head that you almost spilled your hot chocolate. Luckily someone was paying attention, and Asahi saved it before it could spill in your lap.

The sleigh came to a stop at a large lake. There were couples, groups, and families all skating on the frozen ice. Surely he wasn’t…

But, he was. He pulled a pair of skates from the sleigh for you, and a pair for himself. Where had those even been?

As you laced up your skates, Asahi held his hands out to you. Gingerly, you stepped onto the ice, your hands keeping a vice tight grip on his wrists. Once both skates were on the ice, by some miracle, you were skating.

A laugh escaped your lips. “I’m doing it! I’m skating!”

He chuckled at you, skating backwards while you held on tightly. “Baby, you’re barely moving. Do you want me to let go?” The tightening of your fingers let him know the answer without you speaking it. “Okay, that’s fine. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

After about an hour of “skating”, he decided it was time to go home. You looked tired and sore, and your teeth were chattering.

You watched as he removed your skates for you, slipping your winter boots back on your feet. Once they were tied and his own shoes had been replaced, he took your hand in his own. His fingers threaded through yours, somehow radiating immense warmth through his and your gloves.

The walk back to your place was quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was a silence that spoke words of comfort and ease; one that said the two of you were content to just exist in the other’s presence.

The comfortable silence soon turned into an awkward one when you arrived on your front doorstep. Your poor boyfriend; his cheeks were bright red and he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands.

You leaned forward, taller than him now that you were on a higher step, and pressed your lips against his softly. “I love you. Thank you for planning this date.”

He cupped your cheeks in his hands, giving you a kiss in return. “I love you, too, sweets. I’ll let you know when I get home.”

As he walked away, you ran your finger over your lips. Snow had never been your favorite thing. It was always too cold, the tiny flakes causing you to grumble. But now, as the snow fell into the strands of your hair, and melted on your clothes, you found that you didn’t mind the snow or the ice, as long as he was there to keep you warm.

#asahi #azumane asahi #asahi x reader #azumane asahi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x read #secret santa fic #server secret santa #a lil christmas event #al’s writing

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dokoni-mo · 5 years ago

Text

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 3)

(A/N: hello all yet again! welcome back to my little series here on this little cite!! :) I am so glad that y’all have been enjoying my series thus far. I have had a blast writing it and seeing y’all’s reactions to it. As always, please feel free to ask to be on the taglist for this, or just ask questions about the series in general! I love talking with yall :))) links for the previous chapters have been provided below. This is where the series is really gonna start picking up, so stay tuned!!! also, do I see the smut chapter on the horizon? I believe I do...)

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Four: [x]

WARNINGS: slight angst, a bit of crying, mentions of death (nothing too serious), cursing, otherwise none!!

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~4600

Peace and tranquility were two old friends that had not visited in a long time. Yet, they finally came for one today.

After cleaning yourself off that morning and hastily getting yourself ready, you had made your way over to the site of our new workstation: Lord Vader’s personal hangar, primarily used for entering and exiting the Super Star Destroyer on his TIE.

The walk to your new station was everything but pleasant. Everyone had seemed to know exactly what you were up to. This is partially due to the fact that you were now the talk-of-the-town amongst your peers. Some new-face baby coming here and getting one of the highest positions imaginable so damn quickly? Unheard of. Getting picked out personally by the Dark Lord himself? Impossible. Unimaginable. How could someone like (L/N) manage to pull off the impossible?

This was also partially due to the direction you were headed. Anyone walking this direction was always eyed by those around them, if they didn’t happen to look exactly like some odd mouse droid. Lord Vader’s hangar was located dangerously close to his personal quarters. Everyone knew that it was the number one unwritten rule of working on this empirical vessel: Do NOT enter Lord Vader’s personal quarters under any circumstance. Unless you wanted to be dead within a matter of mere seconds, do NOT enter that room. Everyone had heard the stories of those who had tried. A stormtrooper who came out with his neck snapped, a woman who was impaled with his lightsaber, each one more terrifying than the last. So, as your polished, black boots clacked right in that direction, it was only natural that you got some stares and silent prayers for your safety.

You thanked them silently and unconsciously, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

Following the directions that the old officer gave you, you eventually made your ways over to the new doors of the new hangar. The doors were almost exactly like him. Tall, dark, cold, unforgiving, to name a few characteristics. As you stood before them, you felt an odd feeling of nervousness in the bottom of your diaphragm, your fingers trembling all so slightly.

If I ever piss him off, you thought to yourself, there is no one around to hear me scream.

But who would care?

Who would dare challenge the Dark Lord himself?

No one. No one at all. So, don’t screw this up, (F/N).

Without turning your head, you let your eyes fall to the keypad adjacent to the door, it's buttons emanating a soft glow. Reaching out a hand, you punched in the digits that the old man gave you to allow you access into the hangar. You were surprised that the code actually worked, despite you knowing that it would. In the back of your head, you had still thought that maybe that old officer was somehow toying with you. That door opening was confirmation that this was no sick joke.

Stepping into that hangar almost felt like stepping right into the jaws of some beast. The hangar looked almost exactly like your last one, only smaller. However, you instantly noticed that it was much quieter than the one you had started with. Much emptier, too. The only thing within the whole hangar was one workbench full of tools, a few crates of unknown contents, one mechanic who’s heartbeat was thumping a mile a minute, and one destroyed TIE Advanced x1.

Despite the atmosphere of unease, you smiled brightly at your surroundings.

It was so quiet. Tranquil, even.

You were so happy to finally be able to work in peace.

As your first action as Darth Vader’s personal mechanic, you quickly ripped off your uniform jacket and threw it on the ground, giving it a kick and a stomp. You hated that thing. And, Lord Vader never seemed to mind you breaking your dress code. So, you decided that your new uniform was your pants, boots, goggles, and tank top.

Eat shit, Empire.

Your second action was to immediately get to work.

~~~

The silence was much more deafening than you had originally thought.

Yes, it was nice not having to listen to the annoying chatter of the other workers in your prior hangar, but this was something else. The silence had let you slip into your own thoughts far too often, much the opposite to your liking. Thinking let your mind wander, and you had a tendency to think about impossible scenarios. Going back home, seeing your family again, finding a new job, to name a few.

The diagnostic had returned nothing of great importance, thank the stars. Just some alerts of wires being fried. Nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Right now, sweat was leaving a heavy sheen on your forehead, and your arms and legs were screaming for some sort of rest. You were currently trying to make some progress to the destroyed wing of the craft, a way to take a break from trying to turn the damn computer back online. And, this wing was giving you no sort of break. Of course it wouldn’t, (F/N). Nothing is ever easy anymore.

You currently had the biggest wrench you had on your workbench wrapped tightly in your grasp, to the point where it made your knuckles white and your palms burn. Your nose and eyes were scrunched, your teeth bore for all to see as you tensed your shoulders and pulled the tool towards you with all your might. You needed this bolt off for you to gain access to the ligaments of the wing that held it onto the TIE. You had tried everything else to get it off (burning it off, freezing it off, and even praying to your maker while giving the ship a swift kick in the ass), but nothing had seemed to work. You were only left with one last tactic: hoping your brute strength was enough to pry off the stubborn piece of shit.

Tears had started to brim in your eyes from the stress of your pulling. Your arms were so tired, and your legs were equally as such. Relaxing your muscles suddenly, you loosened your grip on the wrench, finally allowing yourself to exhale. Panting in silence for a moment, you turned your hands over to inspect them. They were much redder than normal, and the joints in your fingers ached like hell.

Looking down at your hands in silence, you were overcome with an emotion you had no way of describing.

Why were you here? Why did you even accept this job in the first place? Things were so much simpler when the Empire hadn’t come to your home planet, when it was just you, mom, and dad. You could have run. You could have gone with them off-world, but you didn’t believe them. You didn’t believe that the Empire would totally destroy your home. You didn’t believe that the Empire would force you into working for them just so that you could have some sense of protection. You didn’t believe that if you had stepped into their hands, you would never see your home or parents again.

Liars, you had thought back then, mom and dad do not see the truth.

Oh, how wrong you were.

If you could turn back time right then and right there, you would punch your past self in the face for being so fucking blind.

You didn’t notice that you were crying until you felt something warm and wet drop against your palm. Focusing your attention back, you stared deeply at the small puddle on your palm. Letting your mind brew a few moments longer, you frowned deeply as you closed your eyes and bunched your hands into fists. You leaned against the surface of the TIE Advanced, covering your face from the outside world.

Maker above, please, grant me the power to turn back the hands of time. Even for just one day.

Your legs finally giving out, you slowly slid down the surface of the ship until you were crouched on the cold, shiny floor, your tears now only a slight trickle. Forgetting exactly where you were, why you were there, and who exactly was your boss, you sniffled as you allowed yourself to lay on the ground, your legs and arms sighing in relief.

Staring up at the ceiling above you, you had noticed that there was a small window garnishing the roof of the hangar. This had caused you to let out a small chuckle past your tears. Something added to this damn ship purely for aesthetics? You must be going crazy.

Looking at the window, you let your eyes be transfixed on the view that the tiny opening provided. The stars were just barely visible from your point of view, like miniscule flecks of dust. A fleeting moment of relaxation overtaking you, a thought quickly made its way across your brain.

I need to get back to work.

You made no attempt to do so as you felt your eyelids become heavier and heavier.

~~~

He had only the faintest idea of exactly how long you had been there when he found you.

He had sensed your force energy waver from halfway across the Super Star Destroyer. The sheer amount of anger and frustration emanating off of your person was surprising. He had thought that you were the more calm and collected type, but reminded himself that human emotions were common. It surprised him that someone as small as you could feel such overwhelming amounts of anger. Being a sith lord, he would say that he was almost impressed. However, something inside of him kept him from feeling as such.

Instead, he felt… saddened. He didn’t exactly know why.

As fast as your immense feeling of anger came, it went. Sensing this new feeling within you, his attention was piqued.

A deep sadness. A melancholy, even.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell where exactly he had felt such a thing before. He did not have to delve far into this memory before realizing exactly where he has sensed such strong feelings prior to now.

He had felt them from within himself.

As he was currently in a meeting with some high-ranking officers and a handful of moffs, he knew he couldn’t step away so suddenly and without warning without them pestering him. He did not like to be pestered. Yet, something deep down inside him told him to go to you, to check on you and make sure that you were…

No. He had more important matters to attend to, he told himself.

Continuing on with his meeting, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sensation bubble within the core of his being. It pulled him away from the meeting, and beckoned him to leave these people and direct his attention towards you.

There are more important matters to attend to, he had tried to tell himself, but his thoughts did nothing to silence the voice telling him to leave.

After a long moment or two, he felt what was left of his natural body stiffen beneath the leather and robotics that encased him. Honing in on your force energy once again, he felt a cold feeling run through the web of nerves that remained within his body. Your presence had faded suddenly, a shadow of itself only a few moments prior. He couldn’t tell what you were feeling.

Surprising him, he felt his mind race with various scenarios of what could have happened. Was something finally fixed on the ship? Had you inadvertently broken something further? Were you taking a break?

He clenched his fist when the most worrisome thought of all popped inside of his head, making all the others fade away into nothing.

Were you dead?

He tried in vain to calm himself of the thought and put it to rest. He had seen you only the night before, and you appeared to be in perfect health. You had even smiled. This did little to calm him, however. As he would try to focus on what these idiotic officers had to say, his mind would always slip back to you.

A great sense of frustration started to smother him whole, causing him to clench his fist even tighter. He was frustrated that he could not pay attention to the meeting. He was frustrated that he had to attend the meeting in the first place. He was frustrated that these officers and moffs were so damn stupid. However, most of all…

He was frustrated that he couldn’t go to you.

He was frustrated that you had such a profound effect on him. You were just his mechanic. Why did he care whether you were dead or alive? You could be replaced.

...couldn’t you?

The second that words were spoken to signal the end of the meeting, he had turned and exited the meeting room, the wind of his fast exit making his cape flutter behind him. He sensed that the other men in the room were confused and almost startled by his sudden departure, but he didn’t care. He had to go to his hangar immediately.

Marching past all the other workers of the Super Star Destroyer in his path, he ignored all who tried to grab his attention. Idiots. Fools. Worms.

Couldn’t they see that he was in a hurry?

But why was he?

Why was he so in need to see you? To hear your voice and see your eyes? To hear a report on your progress?

Because (F/N) is my mechanic. Nothing more, he told himself. Why did it feel like a lie?

Finally at the doors of his hangar, he punched in his code to the keypad and stepped through the doors. The space was eerily quiet, and this unnerved him. Were his suspicions true?

Hastily making his way over to your workstation, he couldn't help but notice the palm of your small hand capsized on the floor in front of his TIE, the rest of your body obscured by a crate in the way.

No.

This cannot be.

Quickening his pace, he moved his hand to extend in front of him. Reaching out with the force, he threw the crate covering the sight of you across the hangar, it’s landing making an unholy crashing noise.

As he drew closer to you, he noticed how you were laid on the floor, one hand stretched to an unknown receiver and the other pulled close to your chest. You were resting on your side, and, unsurprisingly, your jacket was long since discarded. He did not blame you for hating that infernal article of clothing.

Finally within conversation distance to you, he stopped his quick pace and pointed the face of his mask to look at the tiny frame at his feet. Watching you carefully, he noticed that your chest and shoulders were slowly rising and falling in a rhythmic beat.

You were alive.

He pretended not to notice the feeling of relief wash over him.

~~~

When you finally awoke again, you were immediately hit with three startling realizations.

Number one: you had no idea how much time had elapsed since you were looking at that window. Squinting your eyes to open slightly, you tried to process the time based on the amount of light within the hangar. This was hard to do, however, since you were still very groggy from your sleep. A for effort anyway.

Number two: you were no longer on the floor where you had originally laid down. You could tell this from the feeling of one of your legs dangling off the edge of the object you were laying on, as well as the same feeling in one of your hands. This was confirmed as you pulled in your hands close to your chest, turned your torso, and pushed yourself up with wobbling arms. Your mind was still very fuzzy, but you were just able to make out the foregin surface beneath you. From the patterns on its surface, you deduced that it was one of the crates that littered your workstation.

Number three, and probably the most frightening of all: you were not alone. After a moment of your grogginess slipping off of your body, your ears finally turned back into your consciousness. They told you of the noise they heard, and the fear you should be feeling as a result of it.

Heavy, mechanical, rhythmic, breath.

His breath.

Taking a quick glance up from the surface of the crate, you beckoned your eyes to tell you whether or not your two ears were the biggest liars in the galaxy or not. Of course, they weren’t. Before you was that silhouette you knew all too well.

Shit.

Quickly rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you scrambled to try and stand up and assume your attention stance. You found this difficult, however, since your muscles were still aching from before.

Oh maker, you thought, is this how I die?

“My Lord! Lord Vader!” you were able to say, your eyes finally able to focus on your boss. After a moment of processing the sight before you, you thought that maybe you were dreaming, or somehow hit your head on the way down to the ground. Lord Vader was about ten feet away from you, his buff arms folded across his large, taunt chest, and his gaze locked firmy on your frame. All of these were not surprising. What was surprising, is that he was doing all of this from a seated position upon another crate, only this one had obvious scratches and skid marks on it. Was it always like that?

You realized that this was the first time that you had ever seen Darth Vader sit down. He was always standing, always looming above everyone you ever saw. But, even as he was in a more neutral and open position, he was still very intimidating. If anything, he looked even bigger and more dominating than when he was standing up.

You hoped he didn’t notice how your cheeks turned pink as you beheld him before you.

“My Lord, my apologies you have to see me this way, I-I have no idea...” you began to speak. If he was going to kill you, he was sure taking his sweet time with it. He had every reason to do so. You were resting on the job. Not even pretending to do your job, on the first damn day no less! This would have been met with the harshest punishments by the officers. And, if the stories had taught you anything, Lord Vader’s would be even harsher.

Trying to formulate the rest of your apology, you were also trying again and again to stand at attention. Your arms and legs, however, had different plans. Their weakness kept you firmly in your sitting position upon the crate. This only made the internal panic for your life stronger. Lord Vader detested weakness. Saw it as only a burden, and would be eradicated swiftly and unkindly.

After a few attempts to stand and choke out an apology, Lord Vader rose from his sitting position, letting his strong arms fall to his sides. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. He was coming to kill you. You knew it. You would be dead here in a matter of minutes, sliced in two by his red saber.

Adrenaline kicking in, you hoped that the hormone would give you the strength to stand once again. Nothing.

Vader stepped slowly and decisively closer to you, his gaze still locked upon you. Despite the rapid beating of your heart and your brain telling you to run as fast as you could, you stayed put. Lowering your head, you stared down at your feet and sighed quietly, taking a long, slow blink. If he was going to kill you, you hoped that he would give you at least the mercy of making it as quick as possible.

Once he stopped about three feet away from you, you closed your eyes and braced yourself to hear the sound of his saber igniting in his grasp.

This never came.

Instead, you felt something heavy, strong, and leathery make contact with your left shoulder. It was enormous, and dwarfed the joint in almost every way. Picking up your head, you darted your eyes over to the source of the pressure. Following your gaze from the touch, you followed it to its source.

Lord Vader.

His hand was on your shoulder.

Maybe you really had hit your head on your way to the ground.

“(F/N),” he said, his mask pointed squarely on your face, “I have been waiting some time for you to awaken. Do you wish to tell me why I have found you in such a state?”

Oh yeah. You definitely hit your head on the way down.

Licking your bottom lip and swallowing, you paused a moment before responding. You decided to tell the truth. If he wanted me dead, you figured, he would’ve killed me already. He doesn’t seem the type to draw these things out.

“I… I was trying to loosen one of the bolts on your TIE, my Lord. I tried many methods to remove it, but none of them worked. So, I thought that I would try and just try and pry it off myself. I guess I tried too hard because I just felt so weak all the sudden… Please pardon me, my Lord, I was not trying to avoid my work.” You said, letting your gaze fall only briefly as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You felt your cheeks burn brighter the longer he had his hand on your shoulder.

“I see.” he said flatly, taking his hand off of you and placing it on his belt alongside his other hand. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you felt something like it, but you quickly missed the feeling of his hand upon your body.

“I do hope that you have enough strength to continue on with the day, Miss (F/N). I can see that you are making good progress, and it would be a shame if you did not continue as such.” he continued, tilting his head to the side.

“Y-yes, My Lord. I can continue on with the day.”

“Good.” he responded. Lifting up his hand once again, he unfurled it from it's gripping position, pointing his palm towards the ceiling as he extended it within your gripping distance. It took you a second of staring at his hand dumbly for you to register what exactly he was doing. “Do not allow me to keep you occupied then, Miss (F/N).”

Flicking your gaze from his hand to his mask over and over again, you hesitantly lifted your hand, your fingers loose. Gently placing your hand within his, another shot of blush made its way onto your cheeks. Your hand was noticeably smaller than his, your palm and fingers being dwarfed by his own. You could barely wrap your hand around his.

Once your grip was secure, Lord Vader wrapped his robotic digits around your grasp. Cue another shot of blush on your cheeks. His grip was strong, secure, stable.

Deep down within you, you wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on other parts of your body.

Helping you bring you to your feet, Lord Vader flexed his arm to pull you up off the crate. The strong motion definitely helping you to your feet, your legs only wobbling in protest for a moment before allowing you to stand again.

You were now awfully close to Lord Vader.

Only about a foot away, your hand still wrapped tightly in his.

Realizing that you had forgotten to pull your hand back, you blushed for what seemed like the fifteen-millionth time that day and slowly pulled it back. You kept your neck craned as you looked up at him, your height different now more apparent than ever. Looking right into the eyes of his black, menacing mask you mumbled out a quiet thank you, my Lord.

The two of you stood dead-locked in a galaxy-wide championship of a staring contest for a long while. The only sound that interrupted the silence between two of you were his breath and the distant rumbling of the engines of the Super Star Destroyer. Many thoughts darted through your head as you looked right at him, trying to see if you could see his eyes beneath the mask’s.

What exactly is his game here? Why didn’t he just kill me? Am I that important? Of course not, I’m just a mechanic, he could always get another one. Then why? I wish I could see his face. Don’t think that, (F/N), that would never happen. I want him to touch me again. STOP THAT, (F/N). I don’t want him to leave. I want…

Stop humoring yourself, (F/N). He sees you as his mechanic. Nothing more.

It was him that broke the silence again. A simple sentence, nothing more.

“Do not dawdle any longer, (F/N). I will return again for another report at a later time.”

You gave him a nod and a courteous yes, my Lord before he turned to leave, walking off yet again.

Sighing to yourself, you returned to your earlier position, wrapping your hand around the wrench that was still wrapped around the bolt from before. You had hoped that the bolt would have just magically loosened itself from the time you had fallen asleep to now.

With a brief complaint from your arms, you tried pulling the wrench towards you once again. Big shocker, it still didn't move. Cursing to yourself silently, you tried again. Want an even bigger shocker? It still didn’t move. Surprising, isn’t it?

Taking a step back to try and think of some other way that you could pry off this bolt, you shook out the pain from your hands, your brow furrowing.

You thought that you must be hallucinating as you stared at the wrench. Without you even touching it, the wrench had started to turn towards you, taking the stubborn bolt along with it. Your confusion only grew as it repeated this motion a few more times until, suddenly, and without warning, the bolt came undone, crashing on the floor with the wrench. The sudden noise made you flinch and jump back, your mouth opening in a silent yelp.

You were beyond bewildered. How the hell did that happen? Are you high? Hallucinating?

Quickly putting two and two together, you turned your body to the door, your lips parting. Sure enough, there he was, his hand extended it the direction of the wrench and bolt, fingers relaxed. You couldn’t believe it. You had heard the stories of this power before, his power, but you didn’t believe them. You thought it had just been people exaggerating the level of his strength. But, now, you knew that it sure as fuck wasn’t.

You should have been scared. You should have cowered in fear, knowing that all the legends you heard were true. Yet, you didn’t. You couldn’t, even.

All you could do was smile. Smile like a dopey, bumbling idiot and laugh in disbelief.

You had no idea what came over you.

Calling out a hasty thank you, my Lord, you hoped that you didn’t look as girlish and giddy to him as you felt. You hadn’t smiled like this in such a long time.

Offering nothing more than a long look and a nod, Lord Vader left the hangar, leaving you alone there once more.

You ate an extra ration that night, the ghost of Vader’s touch still lingering in your nerves.

How you craved for him to do it again.

TAGS: @spaghetti-666 , @soullesstaco , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian , @captainrexstan , @easterncryptid , @deviatedwinter , @roseangel013bf , @danicalifxrnia

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #fanfiction #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #star wars fanfic

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

Text

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Mentions/Heavy Descriptions of Death, Murder, Gore, Blood, Guns, Knives, Fires, PTSD, Angst. All Explicit/18+ Content is indicated by (**).

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 2,142

Plot Summary: With nowhere to turn after the failed assassination of Oswald Mosely, Thomas Shelby accepts the help of a covert assassin with a knack for nabbing fascists.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

“Authorities Puzzled as Third Man Goes Missing” read the headline of the local newspaper.

“In the span of one month, three men have gone missing from Birmingham and surrounding areas. They were last seen entering the a meeting for the fascist party. No suspects have been brought in, nor have any witnesses reported seeing suspicious activity around the building. Please use caution when going out, and report anything of concern.” The column read. The paper was wrinkled at the ends, the ink fading in spots where rain had fallen too hard. The pictures of the three missing men posted under it with stoic expressions on their faces.

Not many people cared as to why they were missing it seemed. The police’s lack of involvement and general chatter around town made clear of that. But the one thing everyone wanted to know was who caused their disappearance? considering they had the guts to take three men in broad daylight from a highly publicized event.

The news made Isla chuckle as she flipped through the paper, her eyes gazing lazily at the scene before her. Not many people knew her name, but the ones she caught were sometimes lucky enough to hear it before taking their final breath.

The three men from the photos sat before her tied to chairs, stripped from head to toe of all clothing. Weary looks graced their faces as their jaws slacked from the exhaustion of holding their ties in their mouths.

Isla’s heels clicked on the ground as she reluctantly got up from her desk. Looking at each of the men as their tired gazes followed her.

“So....You lot thought you could take me down aye?” She asked, lighting a cigarette as she leant against her desk. They hesitated before shaking their heads, fear evident in their eyes as she stalked closer.

“A little birdie told me you all were going to. All for your beloved Fascist party right?” She remarked, stomping her cigarette out on the groin of one of the men. His groans erupting from clenched teeth as she reached under her dress, the men watching nervously with their hands tied. She felt the cool handle of her knife hidden against her thigh as she lifted her foot off him.

“You should know better than to follow someone blindly, gentlemen. The sheep are often led to the slaughter.” She said, retrieving it and slitting the men’s throats with an easy flick of her wrist. A small smirk playing at her lips as their blood sprayed about. Their eyes fixed in a permanent state of shock as they fell limp before her.

Un-phased, she quickly wiped her hands of the blood and silently walked back to her desk to finish the letter she’d been writing only mere hours ago. The three faces on the newspaper staring at her as she swiftly moved her pen to sign one initial: “I.”

She kept most of her business to herself and her closest informants, only using the initial as her signature, along with the bloody thumbprints of her victims. Thinking it would give them a more “personal” touch.

As she pressed the third mans bloody thumb onto the bottom of the letter, she sighed, knowing she’d have to clean up her mess after sending it out.

The dimly lit room made her silhouette dance along the walls of her office. The flames from the candles flickering brightly as she counted down the minutes on the clock, waiting for her informant to arrive at midnight. It was always evident that she had a method to her madness, that was for sure. The people she employed knew that their fate was not only in her hands but in her wallet. They knew that if they failed, she failed. And if she failed...they might as well offer her their necks.

As the clock struck midnight, she heard the distinct knock on the door. The numerical tapping signaled that it was her informant, Jay, with cash from her latest job in tow. He quickly handed her the cash and she gave him a small smile before handing him the letter wrapped in a black envelope.

“Thank you. You know where to send this. Have it out by tomorrow morning.” She said, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jay swiftly headed down the dark hallway and out the door, the rain finally letting up as he made his way to his car. The destination was written on the envelope with gold ink, shining brightly as the street lights illuminated her thin handwriting.

As he headed to his destination, she began cleaning up the mess. The clothing the men wore hours ago reduced to ash in the fireplace.

With a loud huff, she stuffed their bodies into large flour sacks she’d taken from a certain “bakery” around town, known for its bread, pastries, and illegal business ventures.

Along with her interesting choice of connections, Isla always did her dirty work at night. Making it easier for her to evade capture. But one of the grimmest parts were disposing of the bodies, so she called in her other two informants to help with the task. Therefore, many nights were spent in her car under the guidance of the moon. Not many women drove around at night - let alone with men’s bodies in the backs of their cars - but she figured someone had to do it. And given the life she chose, it had to be done one way or another. After all, it was her best chance at keeping people off her trail.

As the tires skimmed along the damp roads, she saw the cemetery in the distance. Knowing this was the last stop for the month-long job.

Despite her small circle of connections, she had one outside person she could trust: the mortician. Along with his weekly salary, she paid him hush-money from her hits to incinerate the bodies of the men who crossed her. It was the easiest way for her to get rid of the evidence in her case, knowing authorities would have to spend days upon days trying to find any clues, especially in the ashes.

“Thank you again. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.” She said, watching him throw the bodies into the flames with ease.

“And thank you for the money miss. It’s really helped me out.” The mortician said, fidgeting with his glasses.

“I’m glad. Keep up the good work.” She said, tipping her hat and walking quickly to her car.

When she arrived back home, the two other informants were finishing up scrubbing the floor. Making her finally realize that she too had blood on her. It was trapped in her hair, and splattered on her face in a morbid constellation. It was often on big hits like tonight, that she’d forget she was covered, becoming accustomed to the metallic smell and sticky feeling of it on her skin.

“We’ve finished boss. What’s the pay?” One of them asked, wiping their hands on a bloody towel before throwing it into the fireplace.

“No one gets paid until this job is completely done. Tomorrow morning Jay will be back, but until then you’ll have to wait.” She said sternly. They too only went by short, fake nicknames. Her head informant and messenger was Jay, while the other two went by Nick and John. This was done so that if they were captured and interrogated, none of them would know each others real names, making the trail leading to Isla herself all the more complicated.

As the months passed since she’d begun her work, families grew fond of her skills, and that was especially so for the wealthier ones in the community. They resorted to hiring her for protection from the men like the ones she killed, and she used that money to pay herself and her informants as they took on new jobs.

These men she targeted weren’t just any average trouble makers though. They had close ties to the emerging fascist party. A party that turned against some people and turned towards others. A party who brainwashed their followers with money and empty promises. And for her, it was a party that killed her family.

As she excused Nick and John, she locked the door behind her once again, heading off to her bedroom that was adjacent to her office. She was never one for extremely lavish houses. Preferring less stuff around just in case she had to leave town abruptly. Despite this, amongst her tough outer shell, she was still wounded on the inside as the memories of her family plagued her mind.

An old picture hung on the corner of her bedroom mirror. It was a family picture of her mother, father, little brother, and her all sitting by the big oak tree a few miles out. It was the one thing she was able to save before the flames spread around her. The old rafters of her house coming down as she lay there in fear. Her mother’s screams echoing in her ears as she tried to protect her son from the flames. Her father somehow running through the fire and picking her up, ushering her out the door before collapsing from the smoke. The flames engulfing the small wooden house in minutes.

She remembered hearing her neighbors rushing out from nearby to help as she grabbed her arm without registering the pain. She had been in shock for most of the ordeal, knowing that even the physical pain she was in couldn’t top the pain she felt seeing her family perish before her eyes. She was only 20 at the time, and she had no family to go back to.

Fortunately, she worked her way up after her recovery. Living in abandoned houses and singing in the streets for money. She even ran into a friend of her fathers by mere luck, who took her in and told her the truth. He’d said that her father had gotten in the way of a deal between some of the early fascist party members, trying to stop them from antagonizing some of the families in the area, which they didn’t appreciate. In turn, they punished him by punishing his whole family, not knowing they’d left her behind.

As Isla stared at her now 30 year old reflection in the mirror, she let a tear slip as she brushed her hand over the scar on her arm. Hearing her mother’s voice telling her, “You have to take what you want in life my love, because the only thing we’re guaranteed to get in this life is death.”

She shivered at the memory every day, but heeded her mother’s advice nonetheless. She gathered information and took lives, but it wasn’t easy.

Over the years since the fire, she learned to fight from her dads friend, and learned to shoot as well. Eventually earning some good money from hunting for families near them. When she got tired of shooting birds though, she upgraded to humans, often joining hit men on their travels to gain experience and information. Seduction was also a facet of her plan, but she eventually made enough to end that part. Earning enough to buy the quaint apartment that she stood in now, alone with tear filled eyes as the water in the sink ran red from the blood being washed away.

Though through all the pain and training, she managed to gather a plethora of information over time. Leading her to finding the whereabouts of some of the fascist party members. For the last two years she’d been scoping out their meetings, taking note of the problematic ones and bribing vulnerable party followers with hush-money for more information. Slowly taking their power away from them one by one as she built up her empire.

But when news of the recent rallies came to light, she knew she had to lay low and act fast. Knowing other powerful people had an eye on her throne while the party gained traction at an alarming rate. It was during this time that Jay snuck into one of the rallies, overhearing the three men they’d captured, talking about the big meeting to come with a certain Oswald Mosley. And since his life depended on it, he reported it to her. Knowing he’d be paid a decent amount for the information.

Mosley’s life was the one thing that she genuinely wanted to take, given what happened to her family. And by taking out the leader, she hoped to take down the whole system before they hurt more people. She promised herself that she’d stop at nothing to take down the man who started the fire. But she’d have to make a deal with the devil himself in order to do so, and that devil was a man named Thomas Shelby.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x female!reader

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asian-hero · 5 years ago

Note

Hmm how does "Itss freezing, come here" sound with todoroki?

A/N: You got it! I hope you enjoy, and I also hope that I did Todoroki justice!

“It’s freezing, come here” from this prompt list (feel free to send in a sentence(s) and a character!)

Summary: When coming back from their remedial classes, Bakugou somehow breaks the heating system for class 1-A’s dorms, which is unfortunate, as it’s possibly the coldest night that year. However, you’re lucky to have your own personal heater to keep you warm through this dreary night.

Words: 1,846

There were some days when you questioned just why you came to U.A., of all places. Of course, you wanted to be a hero, and with U.A.’s track record, you knew it was the best school for your ideal job, not to mention all of the famous alumni the school had. However, whenever you had to deal with the mostly endearing, but also irritating, personalities of your classmates, it was safe to say that you questioned whether being enrolled here was truly a good idea or not.

You absolutely adored your classmates, for the most part. Everyone would do their best to help one another, even if it weren’t in the most conventional way. Even Bakugou, much to his annoyance, would help out his classmates, though it usually ended up with him yelling confusingly encouraging threats to everyone. All of them were, whether you liked it or not, were your family away from home. It was heartwarming to see how close you all had become.

With that being said, there were also times that, similarly to most family structures, they’d drive you absolutely crazy. Which is what brought you to what was currently happening:

You were just sitting on one of the couches in the common area, minding your own business, when you heard the soft click of the heater turning off. Lifting your head up, you looked around to see if anyone had messed with the dial, and before you could even get up and walk towards it, you could hear a certain overly aggressive, explosive porcupine of a student yell out: DAMN IT. Confusion and curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to follow the scream. Pulling on a sweater, you headed down the stairs and out the dorms. Popping your head around the corner, you were faced with Bakugou (what a surprise) looking towards something with a pissed off look on his face, and, more surprisingly, Todoroki, who was currently looking up at the sky, looking as if he wanted God to strike him down where he stood. Clearing your throat, you made your presence known.

“What are,” You started, before your eyes traveled to where Bakugou was looking, “How the fuck?”

“Shut up, extra.”

The two of you stared at the heating system, or what was left of it. Somehow, the damned idiot had managed to blow up the heater, if the large hole in the middle of it were to say anything. Slowly, you looked at the two boys, your face morphing from your initial shock to annoyance.

“I— Bakugou how do you even do this?”

His head whipped towards you, anger and embarrassment mixing together. “Why do you assume it was me!”

“It was him,” Todoroki chipped in, holding his indifferent facade as the other male turned his anger on him.

“Listen here, IcyHot—“

Not wanting to see this one-sided argument, you sighed loudly, once again capturing the two’s attention.

“Just,” You started, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Just get inside.”

With that, you didn’t bother to wait up, opting to walk back into the dorms, hoping to catch what was left of the disappearing warmth. However, once you got back upstairs, you noticed Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida sitting in the common area, bundled up in their blankets and perplexed looks on their faces. Once they had noticed you walking over Uraraka was the first to speak:

“What was that yelling outside?”

Squishing in beside her on the couch, you wrapped some of her blanket over your body, “Bakugou managed to blow up the heating unit outside.”

“Ah, so that’s why the dial wasn’t doing anything,” Iida chimed in, before frantically jumping up, “Wait, Bakugou did what?”

“He blew up the heating unit.” A new voice stated, his blunt nature making him easy to identify.

Twisting your head a bit, you took note of Todoroki coming in, waving a quick “hello” to the four of you before heading off to his room, most likely to avoid from the lecture Iida was about to give. When your eyes lingered on the spot he was at, Uraraka smirked, bumping your shoulder with her own.

“You know,” She started, her voice masked by Iida’s lecture, as Bakugou had just entered, “You can always ask Todoroki to keep you warm tonight.”

Feeling the heat rush up your neck, you shoved her face away, coughing in embarrassment. “Ochako, don’t say that!”

She wriggled her eyebrows up and down, her smirk never leaving her face. “I don’t know why you don’t ask, you know he’d be happy to cuddle you.”

You rolled your eyes, praying that your blushing face wasn’t noticeable. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not even that cold.”

She gave you a quizzical look, as if not believing you for a second, but she dropped the subject. For the next hour, it was rather pleasant. The conversation rolling between the four of you was distracting you from the fact that the air was getting considerably colder as time went on. Eventually, you couldn’t really keep the chill away from your body, no matter how tucked in you were. At one point you were convinced you saw Uraraka’s breath when she spoke, although, with the way her teeth were starting to chatter, it wasn’t a surprise. As a matter of fact, Midoriya and Iida were also shivering, with the latter doing his best to hold it in. It was honestly shocking that none of you brought up the fact that it was as if you were all sitting outside, but perhaps you could attribute that to the fact that none of you actually wanted to complain.

Just as you were about to call it a night and see if you could try and retain the small remnants of your body heat, Uraraka’s yelling pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, hey Todoroki!”

Turning your head slightly, you could see the Half-Cold Half-Hot quirk wielder shoot you all a small wave, his other hand occupied with a glass of water. Glancing at your fiend of a friend, you saw a mischievous smirk appear on her face. You didn’t even have the time to question it before she spoke:

“Well, it’s getting a bit late, we should head off to bed. Right Iida, Deku?” Standing up, she shrugged off her blanket and turned towards Todoroki, “(Y/N) wants to stay up for a bit, you’ll keep her company, right?”

She didn’t bother waiting for a response, instead opting to drag the other two by their blankets, not listening to either of their concerns.

“Ochako, your blanket!” You yelled after her, but to no avail. She’d already left the scene.

Sighing, you settled yourself back into the couch, further wrapping yourself into the blanket. A few seconds had passed and you felt the weight shift from under you. Peeking a glance at the boy, you noticed he didn’t have a blanket on him, or any form of coat for that matter. Actually, he didn’t even seem bothered by the lack of heat.

“Are you not cold?”

He shook his head, placing down his cup of water, “No, I can regulate my own temperature,” Bending over a bit, he tried to make eye contact with you, “Why, are you?”

You pursed your lips together in an attempt to stop any smart remarks to come flying out. Huffing, you turned your head away from him, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your flustered appearance.

“Well excuse me, but not everyone is able to control their body temperature on demand.”

The chattering of your teeth and your slight shivering made it hard to hear his comeback, but you just knew he said something snarky. You playfully glared at him, though, in your current state, you doubt that you looked any form of threatening. He snorted, but you could tell he took some form of pity on you, if the creasing of his eyebrows were any indication.

Thinking back to what Uraraka said, you couldn’t help but wonder that, if you asked nicely, Todoroki would be up to cuddle you. Not in a romantic way, as much as you wanted it to be, but mainly to keep you from dying of hypothermia. Of course, he’d probably be too nice to say “no,” but you didn’t want to overstep your bounds. But, on the other hand, you were cold as hell and he looked like a nice, warm, pillow.

“(Y/N)? Are you still there?”

You blinked a bit, leaving your thoughts. Todoroki was staring at you, one eyebrow propped up in an inquisitive nature. You must’ve been staring at him while you drifted off. Looking at him once more, all you could see was a warm heat radiator that wasn’t broken. So, as anyone would do in this situation, you spoke:

“It’s freezing, come here.”

It was his turn to stare at you, a bit confused at your request. “I’m sorry, what?”

You groaned internally, not really wanting to repeat yourself and kind of wishing that the earth would swallow you whole. However, you already jumped through the rabbit hole, so you might as well let yourself fall.

“I said come over here you glorified heating pad and cuddle me,”

You seemed to get his attention with that one, as a small smile found its way to his lips. Letting out an obnoxious sigh, he scooted towards you, pulling your blanket cocoon form by the waist. Once you were settled onto his chest, he wrapped both arms around your figure. Or, whatever figure your cocoon had.

“Better?”

You shook your head, wriggling your way out of his grasp so you could unwrap yourself from the blanket. Once you were out, you placed the blanket over the two of you and laid back down, burying your face in his chest so he couldn’t see you.

“Perfect,” You mumbled, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around his torso.

You couldn’t see it, but Todoroki’s facial expression turned even softer at that. Somehow you had managed to wrap him around your little finger, not that he minded. One of his hands had came up to brush through your strands of hair, while the other wrapped around you securely. You didn’t know how long it took, but somehow you had managed to drift off, and eventually, you fell into a peaceful sleep.

Once he’d felt your breathing start to even out, Todoroki patted your head. Shifting ever so slightly, he rested his head on the armrest of the couch. Looking down at you one more time, he smiled.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

It wasn’t that much of a surprise to you that, the next morning, you were woken up by the sounds of cameras shuttering and lights flashing. Of course, in all fairness, it also shouldn’t have been surprising for the half of your class watching you and Todoroki sleep that you’d immediately chase them and give them hell.

It wasn’t that bad though. After all, you did get a nice picture to use as your screen saver.

#bnha #mha #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years ago

Text

Mia Corazón (Commission)

Another commission I got via my FA page. This is from the same person who commissioned “Tick Tock” and “A Grim Dinner.” It features his OC based on Tick Tock the Crocodile, Tock Crockwork...BUT, more importantly, it also acts as an introduction to his newest OC, Caelyum De Macabre - a character based on Davy Jones (with hints of Tia Dalma) from “Pirates of the Caribbean.” And it’s NOT A KINK STORY. HERESY, I KNOW. I had a LOT of fun with this one; my only major regret is that I couldn’t make it longer than it already is. XD Also, just for the sake of making sure people know, I did not make up the lyrics to the song featured here. They’re actually fan-made lyrics for Davy Jones’ theme from the movies, originally created by a YouTube artist called Fiajela. I highly recommend looking up the song - it’s been covered by her and Man on the Internet, and they even made a duet version with the two stitched together. Anyway...hopefully you all enjoy. :)

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Valentine’s Day had come to Night Raven College. As you and Grim walked through the halls of the dark castle, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the decorations: pink paper hearts and streamers of white and crimson were everywhere, making it feel almost as if Heartslabyul had somehow managed to take over the entire palatial academy. Grim frowned up at you, trotting at your side, trident tail swishing as he went. “Nya? What’s so funny, Minion?” he demanded to know. “Nothing, nothing,” you responded with a shake of your head. “It’s just…everything looks so different.” Grim sniffed snootily, crinkling his nose at a poster of two young lovers embracing. “I don’t like it,” he remarked. “It’s all…mushy. It just doesn’t feel right for a School of Villains to be so…nya, what’s a good word…?” “Sentimental? Sappy? Saccharine?” “Gross,” was the word Grim chose, sticking out his tongue and shuddering like a small boy afraid of getting the dreaded cooties. You snorted with laughter. “Well, bring it up to the Headmaster,” you smirked, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you went. “I’d rather not,” Grim grumped. “Besides, we all know Crowley would just ramble on about it, or say he’ll get things done and never do…how come he’s Headmaster, anyway? He doesn’t do anything!” “Your guess is as good as mine,” you shrugged. “All I know is the only home I have is thanks to him, as is the only job. I’d like to keep both, thank you.” Grim shrugged back with an accepting sort of rumble as the two of you ascended the spiral staircase that led up to the Headmaster’s Office. Crowley had sent a call that morning; classes were dismissed for the day, so the university was a little quieter than usual: many of the students were off visiting family or loved ones, and those that were hanging around the campus still were largely engaged in…ahem…PRIVATE affairs. You, of course, could not leave; at least for now, Night Raven was your home, and as you were currently not in a relationship, Valentine’s Day wasn’t much different than any other day. Not that you minded much; it was still nice, in your mind, to see others happy and relaxed, and a holiday was a holiday, at any rate…though it seemed even St. Valentine’s holiday would not be saving you from helping clean up whatever mess Crowley needed dealt with this time. As you passed an image of two small, fluffy kittens holding a heart, a random thought came to your head: “Grim?” “Nya?” “Have you ever wanted to be in love?” “Not really,” the cat-like monster said. “Love is all…icky.” You frowned. “Icky?” you repeated. “All the kissing and hugging and…bleh!” Grim shuddered again, then went on: “Besides, it seems awfully difficult; makes you humans and even beast-men all crazy. I’ve got too much to deal with as it is, thank you very much! Nope. The World’s Greatest Mage won’t ever let love make him all soppy.” Grim stuck out his fluffy chest proudly at this, sticking his nose in the air. You smirked, and paused, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. He froze up…then purred and nuzzled into your touch. “Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…o-okay…maybe I love some things,” he admitted.

“Good kitty,” you teased, and snickered as Grim growled at you and half-heartedly swiped at your hand with a paw. You retracted it and the two of you kept moving. “Come on. The sooner we deal with Crowley, the faster we can get to our own stuff.” Grim nodded, as the pair of you drew nearer to Crowley’s office. You knocked on the door and waited for the sing-song call of “Come in!” before entering. Inside the office, things looked the same as ever, floating portraits of the Great Seven and all…aside from a vase of roses, plus a couple of heart-shaped ornaments on the desk, as well as the fact the purple-and-green curtains had been exchanged for solid red velvet drapes. Dire Crowley himself was seated behind his desk, sorting through paperwork, dressed in his usual attire. His feathery cloak rustled as he lifted his top-hatted head, and smiled at both yourself and Grim as you shut the door to the office behind you, his yellow eyes sparkling behind his Plague-Doctor-esque Venetian mask. “Ahhh! Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm! And the Little Monster!” he greeted warmly, rising and waving his hands, bidding you closer as he stepped around his desk. “Come, come, you’re right on time!” “On time for what, dare we ask?” Grim meowed. “Aren’t you celebrating Valentine’s Day, too, Headmaster?” you asked, politely. “Later,” Crowley smirked, winking and tapping the side of his mask’s long nose. “I’ll be entertaining a cute little fairy sorceress from the Land of Oz later tonight.” He let out a dreamy sigh, placing a hand to his heart. “Ahhh, Miss Upland…one day, you will be mine…” You and Grim gave each other a look, shrugged, then turned back to Crowley. “What’s the problem, then?” you asked, knowing better than to think this was a social call. By now, Crowley had firmly established yourself and Grim as the chief problem solvers of the Academy, so it stood to reason he had a mission for your both. “Oh! Yes, well,” Crowley muttered, and cleared his throat, adjusting and straightening his stance before going on in a business-like way: “As I’m sure you’ll both know, tonight there’s a special performance, directed by our own Vil Schoenheit, for the holiday.” “Nya? Isn’t it that play about the Sea Witch?” Grim checked, tilting his head. “Correct,” nodded the Headmaster. “And the Little Mermaid she assisted. We have a special guest coming to see the show tonight…” He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small photograph, handing it over to you. You knelt down to get closer to Grim’s level, and showed him the photo as you both looked it over: the picture was a portrait of a dark-skinned mermaid, with hair black as ebony and scales of red and gold. Her eyes were brown and soft and warm as milk chocolate, and a silver locket in the shape of a heart was clasped about her throat. “Oooh…she’s pretty!” Grim smiled. “Very,” you agreed with a smile of your own. “She,” the Headmaster spoke up, “Is Young Lady Mia Corazón. Her family is one of the richest in the Coral Sea.” “Which is why you invited her,” you guessed, trying not to sound as bored as you were. To your surprise, Crowley answered, “I didn’t invite her! She wanted to see the show on her own…but there is one difficulty: her family insists that she be accompanied by at least two bodyguards at all times. Much like the Al-Asims, they’ve had…ISSUES in the past, and if their daughter is going to be on land for a spell, her parents want to make sure she’s adequately protected.” “That’s fair enough,” you supposed. “Let me guess,” sighed Grim, crossing his arms, “You want us to be the bodyguards then?” “Well, I suppose I COULD hire professionals,” Crowley murmured, scratching his chin in thought. “But they can cost a lot…I’d probably end up having to cut your pay just to-” “Forget it,” you grumbled, while Grim growled and slapped a paw to his forehead. “We’ll do it. But something is worrying me, if you don’t mind my bringing it up.” “What’s that?” “Are you sure WE’RE the right ones for this job?” you pressed, then before Crowley could speak up, you went on quickly: “We’ll do it, like I said, but…are you certain we should?” “How do you mean?” the Headmaster questioned, tilting his head. “Well, we’re not from the Coral Sea,” you explained. “Wouldn’t someone from that area be a better choice? Perhaps Azul could loan out the Leech Twins for a day!” Both Grim and Crowley looked at you as if you had grown a second skull. “…Right,” you sighed, quickly catching on. “Azul. ‘Loan’ us the Leech Twins. And us NOT expect things to go HORRIBLY wrong, one way or another. Yeah, that was a dumb suggestion, sorry.” Crowley chuckled and shook his head. “I have every confidence in you,” he said, with a wide smile. “You’ve solved so many problems in the past! And it’s only for tonight! What could possibly go wrong?” “Well, great, now something will DEFINITELY become a problem,” Grim grumbled. “Look, it’s not that I’m ungrateful,” you pressed on, “Or even that I’ve got a whole lot else to do, just…I’m worried because I don’t have magic. And Grim is…well…Grim.” “Hey!” Grim yapped indignantly. “I could roast any bad guy’s butt if they tried to get to Miss Coronation!” “Corazón,” corrected the Headmaster. “Whatever,” shrugged Grim. Crowley rolled his eyes, then turned his head upward. “You do raise a good point though, Prefect,” he conceded. “I didn’t think of that…at the very least, you two will need some help.” You were just about to agree…when suddenly, you heard Grim shiver. Both you and Crowley looked down as the cat-like demon quivered and hugged himself, the fire in his ears flickering. “Are you okay?” you asked, worriedly. “Y-Yeah,” Grim answered with a slight chattering of his teeth. “But…does anybody else feel like it suddenly got colder in here?” Now that Grim mentioned it, you DID suddenly feel a light chill crawl up and down your back…and it wasn’t too long afterward that the source of the cold made its presence known. With an authoritative BANG, the Headmaster’s office door burst open, causing both yourselves and Crowley to yelp and jump in alarm. You turned around fast, and gulped nervously as you perceived the imposing figure of Chief Jehan – the school’s head of security, garbed as ever in his military style cap and long, black trenchcoat. “Headmaster,” the darkly dressed security chief intoned, bowing his head respectfully to Dire Crowley, “Forgive this intrusion.” “Oh, it’s alright, Claude,” Crowley sighed out, then frowned. “Whatever is the matter?” “I apprehended this rule-breaking scallywag in the school cafeteria,” Jehan stated, indicating a second figure. “Ow! OW! H-Hey, let go of me, you old…! I’ll bite your legs off, you hear me?!” You and Grim were surprised to see the short, thick-hipped, green haired figure struggling in the icy grip of Claude Jehan, trying to pull away as his ear was all but being yanked from the side of his cranium. “Tock?” the two of you chorused. Tock Crockwork just snarled as Jehan glared at him. He tried to return the glower, but it came off more akin to a wounded animal trying to look tough than…well…looking tough. Crowley’s frown deepened, and he stepped past you and Grim – uttering a quiet, “One moment please” – before approaching the chief and the unruly Octavinelle student. “What is the meaning of this?” the Headmaster boomed. The Security Chief pushed Tock forward, releasing his ear. Tock stumbled a bit and caught himself, massaing his sore lobe. “This young ruffian,” Jehan explained, “Started a brawl with Mr. Bucchi over the last Deluxe Menchi Katsu Sandwich. As the latter student was merely defending himself, I felt his punishment should be more lenient; both have been banned from the cafeteria for the rest of the week…but as the one who started the whole affair…” He trailed off as Tock growled rather pathetically, looking down at the floor sullenly. Crowley scowled and hummed thoughtfully, clearly trying to determine a fitting punishment. Your eyes, as well as Grim’s, widened, and you looked to each other. “Grim,” you whispered, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “I think so, Minion, but a show about a math teacher who’s also a criminal mastermind? Who’d want to watch that?” You facepalmed. “What are you two whispering about?” Jehan asked, suspiciously, as Tock and Crowley both looked to you as well. “I think I know a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak,” you suggested. “You mean, a way to deal with Mr. Crockwork while also dealing with your dilemna?” Crowley guessed. “Exactly.” “Dilemna? What dilemna?” Tock asked. You grinned.

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“Thanks for sticking up for me, snack meat,” Tock groused, petulantly pouting as he walked by your side. “You’re the one who decided to pick a fight with the hyena,” you shrugged. “Honestly, I think I did you a favor.” “Nya…my Minion has a point,” Grim nodded. “Do you really think things would have been better if Crowley had decided to punish you himself?” “Or worse,” you put in, grimly, “Leave you to Chief Jehan?” All three of you shuddered, and Grim even crossed himself at the mention of the security chief. “Fine, I guess that’s fair,” Tock grumbled. “But I don’t like having to protect a fish filet from harm. I eat fish!” “Well, you won’t be eating Mia Corazón,” you sniffed. “Alright…guess I’ll just have to eat YOU instead,” smirked Tock, and licked his sharp teeth. Grim mewed and hid behind your leg. You blushed. “…We’ll worry about that later,” you grumbled, making Crockwork snicker with a wicked smile. “For now, let’s focus on getting you some actual lunch.” “You ARE an actual lunch,” snorted Tock. “I am not on the menu!” you snapped, flushed with embarrassment as Tock gave you a knowing grin. “Well…not till your work is done,” he teased, winking deviously, then smirking down at Grim. “Maybe I’ll have the little hairball for an appetizer, too…” Grim hissed at being referred to as a “hairball,” but said nothing. “Do you always have to be so antagonistic?” you sighed. “It’s what keeps getting you into trouble, you know.” Tock just shrugged carelessly, hips swaying as he walked side by side with you. “So, where are we heading?” he asked. “Can’t go to the cafeteria, and the Mostro Lounge is way too expensive…” “The Mystery Shop,” you answered. “I’m sure Sam’s got something in stock for us all to snack on before we head to the beach to pick up our special guest.” “Nya! Between my fiery awesomeness, my Minion’s brains, and lizard-breath’s strength, we’ll be the best bodyguards ever!” declared Grim. “Call me ‘lizard breath’ again,” Tock warned, “And we’ll be back down to two people, fuzz-face.” “Fuzz-face?!” Grim snapped. “How’d you like to BURN off a few of those calories you’re so proud of, hah?!” “Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” you droned. The pair glared at you, then each other…then growled in unison as they stopped. “Thank you,” you sighed with relief. “Now, let’s be on our best behavior: I don’t want Sam’s Friends to give us a hard time…” As you spoke, your little trio reached the entrance to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop, and the three of you walked inside. Aside from a simple banner reading “Happy Valentine’s Day!” over the door, the shop was completely as it usually was…at least on the outside. To be fair, once you all entered the building, the store within seemed its usual self, too; no heart-shaped décor here, only the usual assortment of voodoo accessories. The strange part came when you not only realized Sam was nowhere to be seen…but you all also noticed who was tending to the store. Or rather, what. “Crabs?” all three of you gasped in surprise. Sure enough, crawling all over the Mystery Shop was an assortment of strange white sand crabs. Their shells seemed to have been made from smooth, ivory-colored stone…and as if the presence of the pale decapods wasn’t bizarre enough, their activities certainly would have gotten some unusual reactions. A few of the crabs were straightening out and sorting through items on the shelves, making sure everything was in top-notch condition. One crab was holding a miniature broom, while the other held a dustpan, the pair of them sweeping the floor. Still another crab was changing a lightbulb, while two more – clicking their claws encouragingly – were supervising. A bunch of crabs carrying a spray bottle and a wash cloth scuttled past you all, near your feet. Yourself and Croc stepped back, but Grim – with typical feline curiosity – leaned down and actually sniffed at one of the crustaceans… “ME-YOWCH!” he yelped, and jumped back, mewling and covering his muzzle after one of the crabs pinched his nose with their pincer. The crab seemed to strut away importantly afterward. “Heh…guess the crab cake bit back, huh?” teased Tock. Grim just growled and massaged his stinging snout. “This is new,” you muttered. “Where’d all these little guys come from?” “Cruel and cold, like winds on the sea. Will you ever return to me? Hear my voice sing with the tide: My Love Will Never Die…” The melodious voice soon sang into your ears, and you and your companions looked towards the source. In a corner of the shop, a lone figure was quietly mopping, and singing the lonely, haunting sea shanty you had heard. The figure was a young and slender man, dressed in a tan-colored jacket with ruffle-ended sleeves, and a brown hip-skirt. His legs were covered by dark beige trousers, while plain brown boots were on his feet. A fishnet scarf was loosely slung about his shoulders, almost like a shawl, and an orange muscle shirt festooned his abdomen. His hair was a curious pink hue, and done up in dreadlocks. “Ahem!” you coughed, catching the young man’s attention. He froze and looked up to you, blinking his brown eyes. For a moment, you noticed there was a look of pain and something…hollow in his face, as if something inside of him was missing and he longed to get it back. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness and sorrow seemed to wash over you…but it disappeared in an instant when the youth smiled. “Oh! Ahoy there! Didn’t hear you come in,” he greeted, bowing his head respectfully as he put the mop in its bucket and then walked towards you and your group. “Can I help you?” “Well, you can start by telling us who you are, and what happened to Sam,” Grim frowned. The young man chuckled, flipping his fishnet scarf over one shoulder. “Sam is taking the day off for the holiday,” he explained, then slowly added, “I don’t…make merry on Valentine’s Day, so I volunteered to keep the shop open and do some cleaning.” “Well, that answers one question,” Tock snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and lookin the taller youth up and down. “Mind answering the other?” “Oh! Right, right,” the young fellow chuckled, and cleared his throat before giving a mock-salute and answering: “Name’s Caelyum. Caelyum De Macabre. I’m Sam’s new assistant.” “Pleased to meet you,” you smiled, and shook Caelyum’s hand, and tilted your head. “Say…can I call you Cael for short?” The young man’s smile flickered, and he paused before quietly beseeching, “I’d…rather you didn’t, thank you.” “No problem, I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly. “Not at all, not at all,” the young man chuckled, and straightened his stance, recovering quickly. “So! What can I do for you, me hearties? Supplies, clothes?” “Food,” growled Tock. “I’m STARVING.” Caelyum chuckled and jabbed a thumb to one part of the shop. “You’ll find everything you need in that direction.” Tock nodded, and sashayed in the direction De Macabre had indicated. Caelyum smiled back at you and Grim in the meantime. “You’re the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, right?” he guessed. “That’s right,” you nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, then,” Caelyum smiled. “Sam’s told me all about you: he says you’re his favorite customer.” “He says that about everyone,” Grim snorted. Caelyum chuckled and knelt down. He extended a hand carefully. Grim sniffed it carefully…then smiled and allowed the shopkeeper’s assistant to pet him softly. “You have a beautiful singing voice,” you couldn’t help but comment. Caelyum looked up in surprise…then blushed a bit. “Oh, uh…you heard a little of that, did you?” he chuckled with embarrassment. “Nya! It sounded really sad, but…it was also really nice,” Grim mewed. “Thanks,” Caelyum said as he stood back up to his full height. “What song was that?” you asked, curiously. “I’ve never heard it before. Is it from your homeland?” Caelyum’s smile fell, and he looked askance. “Not exactly,” he murmured, then informed you aloud, in a matter-of-fact way: “It’s a song from the Coral Sea. I come from the Jubilee Port, near the Swamplands: same place as Sam. A…friend taught the song to me.” Catching the hitch in his voice, you smiled sympathetically. “It sounds like you two were close.” “We were,” Caelyum said softly. “Very.” “Nya…what happened?” Grim asked. Caelyum paused…then shrugged. “They left,” was all he said. Sensing the sensitive subject, you decided to drop the matter; Grim caught on and did the same. “How long have you been working for Sam? I haven’t seen you around before.” “Not long,” shrugged Caelyum, seemingly grateful the subject had changed. “He and I have some similar interests, and when I joined Night Raven, I applied for work.” “Oh, so you’re a first year?” “Yep.” “What house? Octavinelle?” you guessed, wondering why Tock wouldn’t have recognized the youth if so. “Scarabia, actually and weirdly enough,” laughed Caelyum, as if the placement struck him as some sort of very funny joke…he paused then leaned in and whispered: “Um…is it just me, or is the dorm head of that house a little…you know…how would you say it…?” “Too pure and innocent for this cruel, unholy world?” “…Yeah, that.” “Yes. Yes, he very much is.” The two of you were interrupted by the sound of Tock snarling in the food aisles. You all turned to see him trying to pry a bag of chips out of the pincers of one of the crabs, who looked very insulted to be interrupted in his work. “Hey! Can somebody make this crab cake let go?!” he snapped. “Oh, sorry!” Caelyum called out, and then snapped his fingers. Suddenly, every single crab inside the building froze…and then their claws and extremities retracted into their shells, leaving only a series of what looked like smooth, white stones scattered around the shop. With a second snap of his fingers, the stone crabs disappeared; there was no puff of smoke or flash of light. One second they were there…the next, they were not. Grim whistled, impressed. “Nice trick,” he murmured. “Is that your Unique Magic?” you asked. “Yep,” Caelyum nodded. “They’re called Locker Crabs, and you’d be surprised the kinds of things I can do with them…” “Cool!” Grim commented. “Hey, Tock!” you called out, hearing the rustling of snack food bags. “Leave some stuff for the rest of us, and hurry up! We need to get to the beach quickly!” “I’m hurrying, snack meat, I’m hurrying!” Tock called back dismissively. “The beach?” Caelyum spoke up, looking interested. “Why are you three heading there? What’s so important?” “We’re on a mission!” Grim cheered, puffing out his chest once more. “Oh, really?” smirked Caelyum, looking amused, and scoffed as he moved behind the front desk. “What for? Some sort of Valentine’s Day meeting, or something?” You frowned, sensing a bitterness to two particular words. “You mentioned you don’t make merry on Valentine’s Day,” you said slowly, approaching the desk and leaning on it. “What do you…y’know…have against it?” “Hm?” Caelyum murmured, then shrugged as he leaned back against the shelves behind the front desk. “Oh, well, it’s…not the day itself. More what it represents.” “Nya? What do you mean?” Grim asked, tilting his head. A shadow seemed to fall over Caelyum’s face, and he looked askance. Something icy and stormy flickered across his features. “Love,” he said, as if the word were some repellent toxin. You and Grim shared a look, then looked back to Caelyum. “Love is a lie,” Caelyum went on, seemingly talking more to himself than to either of you. “It’s like a parasite that burrows into your chest…and even once the sickness it spreads is cured, something in there remains, keeping you from ever knowing real peace. It pulls you along a blind alley, and just when you feel safe, it stabs you in every place it hurts most, and then leaves you to either heal on your own or die. It weakens your defenses, and confuses your resolve. And yet every year, every time this day comes around…I just see people acting like it’s the best thing in the universe.” He shuddered violently, looking positively ill. Grim meowed almost sadly. “I think love is mushy and gross, but…I don’t think it’s THAT bad,” he mewed. His words seemed to snap Caelyum out of it. The witch doctor’s assistant glanced up at you both…and, with a light chuckle, his helpful, friendly smile returned, the shadows departing in an instant. “Well…being mushy and gross doesn’t help,” he joked. Grim sniggered. Your own expression didn’t change, even as the employee leaned forward again. “Seriously, though, what IS your mission?” “We’re gonna be bodyguards!” Grim announced joyously. “Bodyguards?” “There’s a special guest coming to the show on campus tonight,” you explained. “The Headmaster assigned the three of us to look after her, since she’s a VIP.” “A really RICH VIP,” Grim added. “That’s our Headmaster,” Caelyum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “So, who is this special guest?” “Mia Corazón.” Caelyum’s smile vanished, as if it had been smacked off his face. “Mia…Corazón?” he repeated. “Nya? Do you know her?” Grim asked. Caelyum didn’t answer, looking away; that hollow, haunted stare came to his face as he seemed lost in another world. “Mia Corazón,” he repeated again, then let out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. “Of all the cursed days of the year…she chooses now…” Before you could ask what was wrong, Tock came lumbering over, arms loaded with various snacks and drinks. “There! That should be enough for all of us…or at least, for me,” he grinned, flashing you a wink that would have made you blush in an instant if your mind weren’t on other matters. He looked towards the assistant…then frowned, eyes narrowing. “Hey…who are you upset with?” The words once again snapped the brooding Caelyum out of it. He looked at Tock with surprise…then shook his head fast and brushed some of his pink hair away from his face. “No one. Nothing,” he insisted, and forced his smile back onto his face. “Now! Let’s, uh…let’s ring this up, aye?” In casual, business-like fashion, Caelyum charged Tock; you were grateful for the recent raise Crowley had given you as you paid for it all. The three of you then left the shop. Just before you exited, you turned to bid Caelyum one last farewell. He smiled and waved back… …But the moment you left, the darkness flooded his face once more, and he looked away, eyes smoldering like hot coals as he reached into his shirt… …Revealing the silver locket that was around his neck. The same sort in the photo Crowley had given you. The young man’s face became cold as an iceberg once more as he opened the locket…and sang to the tune the music box inside played. “Wild and strong, you can’t be contained. Never bound, nor ever chained. Wounds you caused will never mend, and you will never end…”

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“Why did you ask him that question?” Tock Crockwork belched and grunted as he finished up his lunch, licking and sucking on his fingers before looking to you, cheeks bulging as he still chewed his food. “Whuh queshun?” he mumbled out through a full mouth. “About why he was upset?” Grim spoke up, tilting his head. “I mean, he certainly looked upset, so…” “That wasn’t the question he asked though,” you clarified to Grim, then looked to Tock. “You specifically asked, ‘WHO are you upset WITH?’” Tock swallowed and let out a hiccupping burp before speaking. “Mph…yeah, and?” he grunted, patting his stomach and licking his lips free of any crumbs from the sandwich he had devoured. “Well…why did you assume he was upset with someone?” “I didn’t assume, I knew,” snorted Tock, and slung his arms behind his head as the three of you neared the beach of Sage Island. “That was the same look I saw in the mirror every day when I thought of Leona, or those boys back home.” Knowing what had happened in his conflict with Leona, you gulped at Tock Crockwork’s words. “Well, I hope he wasn’t mad at us,” murmured Grim. You smiled thinly; you had a very good idea you knew who Caelyum was mad at, given the context of things…and you were very much hoping you were wrong. You had the sinking feeling those hopes would be dashed as the three of you drew closer to the beach…and a familiar-sounding song, accompanied by the tinkling notes of a music box, drifted through the greenery and into your ears… “Over waves and deep in the blue; I will give up my heart for you. Ten long years I’ll wait to go by: My Love Will Never Die.” The source of the singing soon became clear as you pushed past the last few bushes of the wilderness and stepped onto the open, sunny beach. There was a single white bench nearby; standing beside the bench was a man in what looked like an almost Spartan uniform…and seated upon it was a young woman, with dark skin and long, black hair, dressed in a red and gold dress. In one of her hands, she lifted the pendant of a locket; the source of the music box tune. The lady snapped the locket shut, and she and her chaperone turned fast when they heard yourself and your companions approaching. She smiled, chocolate-toned eyes lighting up with interest. “Oh, hello!” she chuckled, seemingly a bit embarrassed at being caught in her reverie, and stood up as her suspicious compatriot narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you…my bodyguards?” “Yes, ma’am!” chirruped Grim, proudly. “Mia Corazón, I presume?” you smiled, respectfully. “That is right,” the young woman greeted, bowing her head in matching respect and lowering her locket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Wait a minute…why do you need us to guard you?” Tock spoke up, and pointed to the Spartan-looking fellow. “Wouldn’t he be enough?” “Oh, that’s Firme. He actually has a date with his wife,” Mia answered, giving the man a teasing smile.

The guard blushed. “Miss Corazón, not in front of civlians!” he pleaded. Mia chuckled. “Sorry, Firme,” she apologized. “Now go on; I know she’s waiting for you.” Firme nodded gratefully, then glared at the three of you more seriously. “Protect her at any cost; we’re depending on you,” he ordered. “Aww, don’t worry, we’ll keep the little fishstick safe!” Tock smirked, cracking his knuckles and neck. “You can start by NOT calling her ‘fishstick,’” you droned, noting the nervous look on Mia’s face and the anger on Firme’s. You gave both an apologetic smile. “Sorry. He’s half-crocodile. Trust me, though, he’s a softy when you get to know him.” “HEY! I AM NOT!” snapped Tock, angrily. Grim just giggled. The interaction and your promise seemed to relax both denizens of the Coral Sea. Firme bowed to Mia, and then walked towards the beach…and kept walking, straight into the sea, until his head disappeared under the waves. “Well!” Mia smiled, and cheerily hurried towards your group. “Can we go see the show now? I don’t wanna be late!” “Of course…um…Your Excellency?” “Oh, don’t bother with titles like that,” the girl giggled. “Just call me Mia! Everybody does!” “Okay, Mia,” you chuckled, quite liking her warmth and energy. “Follow us, and stay close.” “I will,” Mia promised as the three of you set off along the beach. “Thank you, by the way; I hope this doesn’t cause you too much trouble.” “Quite the opposite,” grumbled Grim, remembering what Crowley had said earlier. “Why do you wanna see some silly show anyway?” sneered Tock. “Oh, it’s not silly!” exclaimed Mia. “The story of the Sea Witch and the Little Mermaid is important among my people…and besides, I think theater is exciting! I always enjoy seeing it!” “Hopefully our show won’t disappoint,” you smiled. Tock just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I still think it’s for wimps,” he mumbled…then abruptly froze. The rest of you stopped, too, looking to the croc boy as he sniffed the air and growled. “What is it?” Mia asked. “Something wrong?” “Very,” Tock nodded. “We are being watched.” “How do you know?” you asked. “Instinct? Intuition?” Tock growled and narrowed his eyes, looking at you determinedly. “No, meat. We. Are. Being. Watched.” “By who?” whispered Mia, nervously. “I have an idea,” you murmured with some dread. Before Mia could comment on your remark, all three of you heard a sharp yelp, and turned to see that Grim had inexplicably toppled over. The feline-like creature sat up and massaged his bumped noggin. “Owwww,” he moaned. “What happened?” Mia asked, sounding concerned. “I dunno!” Grim whined out. “Just…s-something seemed to come up from under me and…” “GAHR!” You jumped as, right on cue, Tock toppled over as well. Then it was your turn, as you felt something shift under the sand where you stood, and you dropped to the ground. The wind was knocked out of you for a moment, but you managed to sit up just in time to see three large, round humps in the sand…which seemed to move of their own accord. The three humps began to trace a path, circling Mia, who froze up and squeaked like a mouse, clearly confused and frightened. It only got worse when, suddenly, more and more humps seemed to appear out nowhere: at least a dozen or more, which shot through the sand, burrowing through it with a barely-audible scraping sound… …Then, dust flew up as the shapes burst from the ground. As the dust cleared, you and your friends watched wide-eyed as a consortium of familiar white crabs toppled Mia Corazón, and – working together to lift her, carried her off across the beachside. “HEY! PUT ME DOWN! STOP!” Mia cried out, but the crabs wouldn’t listen, and soon vanished from sight. “Nya…we’re off to a good start with this job,” sighed Grim dismally. “After them!” you barked, and leapt to your feet as you dashed after Mia and her arthropoid captors, Grim hot on your heels. Tock grumbled sourly as he dusted himself off then jogged after you. “Taking orders from my lunch…I’m gonna eat that stupid, mask-wearing, feather-loving…!”

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Mia cried out as the crabs carried her along the sand, her “volunteer” bodyguards soon out of sight. She tried to fight free, but the crabs pinched and held her fast, keeping her in place. She wasn’t sure how far or for how long they carried her…but suddenly they stopped, and she let out an “eep!” as they moved into a pillar, and pushed her up, allowing her to stand. The mermaid-in-disguise turned around, panting for breath as she watched the crabs swarm about each other…then, they seemed to coalesce and mesh together; their pale shells took on more colors; hints of pink, brown, and orange… …Until, finally, standing before her was a familiar young man with dreadlocks and a fishnet scarf. In his hand, he held a heart-shaped silver locket. “Come my love, be one with the sea. Rule with me for eternity. Drown all dreams so mercilessly, and leave their souls to me.” He snapped the locket shut at the end of the verse, and paused before uttering, in a mechanical, robotic tone, two words: “Ahoy, Mia.” Mia blinked slowly, absolutely stunned. “…C-Cael?” Caelyum blinked back and said nothing, his face emotionless and blank. Mia slowly smiled, her eyes lighting up…then squealed with joy and rushed forward, throwing her arms around the young man…who stood stiff and rigid, not even looking at her, as she hugged him close. “CAEL! I…oh, Gods, what do I even say?! It’s…it’s been so long…I’ve missed you so much! Where have you been?! Cael…Cael, I-I’m so happy…!” “Let. Go. Of. Me. You. BITCH.” Mia gasped as Caelyum harshly pushed her back, nearly knocking her over. Her heart sank as she stared at the young man, who glared at her, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. She looked deeply hurt…and not because of the push. “Cael?” she whispered. “Cael…wh-what’s wrong? Why…why are you upset with me?” Cael’s eyes flashed with anger. “What’s wrong?! Why am I upset?!” he repeated. “What in Hades do you THINK is wrong?!” Mia flinched as the boy from the swamplands’ voice rose to a perfect scream. Cautiously, steadily, she approached. “Cael…please…I-I don’t understand. I…I’ve wanted to see you again for such a long time, and now-” “How DARE you?!” shouted Caelyum, silencing the aristocratic mermaid. “How dare you say something like that to me?! After what you did to me, do you expect to believe you’ve ever cared?!” “I…what…I do care!” Mia pleaded, and tears began to twinkle in her eyes. “Cael, what are you talking about?” Cael laughed; a dangerously unhinged, malicious sound. “Oh-ho-ho, you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about! You should!” he spat…then, the bitterness was replaced by pain as he went on. “Two years, Mia. Two years I waited, and you never returned. You…y-you broke your promise to me…and did you ever think of me in those two years? Did you think of me even once in all the time since, until now?” Cael’s eyes began to brim with tears of his own; he was shaking. Mia felt her heart sinking further in her chest. “Of course I did,” she said, softly. “You’re…you’re my best friend.” One could almost hear Caelyum’s last heartstring break. “Best friend,” he repeated, in a dead, soulless voice…then hung his head. “You still don’t get it, do you, Mia? You broke my heart, Corazón…” Head still hung low, dreadlocks casting shadow over his eyes, Caelyum De Macabre lifted one arm, and snapped his fingers…and Mia nervously stepped back as a swarm of crabs appeared to trail across his arm and mesh together…forming a silver cutlass. “…And now, I’m going to break yours. Literally.” Ominously, Caelyum began to approach. Mia felt panic rise in her, and started to back away…then yiped, almost comically, as she tripped on her own dress and tumbled back. “C-Cael…Cael, PLEASE!” she cried out, as the boy loomed over her, his face twisted in anger as he began to lift the sword above his head… “HEY! BACK OFF!” FWOOSH! A jet of blue flame shot between Mia Corazón and Cael De Macabre; the lad from the swamplands jumped back, then growled angrily, turning to face the source. You had finally arrive, with Grim at your side, both of you glaring at the bokor’s assistant. “That’s enough, Caelyum,” you warned. Cael sneered. “It’s not enough,” he hissed, “Until she endures the same amount of PAIN and AGONY I HAVE!” With a roar, he rounded about to try and strike Mia down…then froze in place when he found she had seemingly disappeared. Startled and caught greatly off guard, he was unable to avoid the green scaled fist that grabbed hold of the back of his jacket, and cried out as, with a roar, the owner of the fist hurled about seven feet away, sending him rolling through the send. His sword spun through the air before stabbing into the ground right at the edge of the shore. Caelyum coughed and snarled and spat as he got onto his hands and knees…then glared as he found Tock Crockwork – now in his full “true form” – glaring at him, fangs and claws bared. “Keep away from the fishstick, swamp meat,” he spat. “Thank you,” Mia whispered. Tock just smirked at her – somewhat cockily but not cruelly – then glarde back at Caelyum as yourself and Grim moved to stand beside him, all of you making sure to create a barrier before poor Mia. Cael rose to his feet shakily. “Leave her alone, Caelyum,” you said. “This is not your fight!” he snapped back. “Uh…yeah, it kinda is,” Grim snorted. “We told you, this is our job today!” “You don’t know who you’re protecting,” Cael viciously sneered, his shoulders trembling with fury, his fingers clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white as the bones under his skin. “She cursed me!” “Cursed you?!” Mia exclaimed. “Caelyum, I never did ANYTHING to you!” “Yes, you did!” Cael answered…and gulped back a sob before explaining: “You made me love you.” All eyes widened; you and your friends looked to Mia, then back at Caelyum. “Ohhhh…now the pieces are coming together,” Grim murmured. “I know the look in your eyes, meat, and it’s not love,” Tock said, darkly. “Not love as it should be, anyway.” “Cael…I-I’m so sorry,” Mia quavered. “Of course you’re sorry,” Cael scoffed. “Everyone’s sorry when it’s too late.” So saying, he lifted his hand…and the sword that had stabbed into the ground “dissolved” into a group of crabs. They scurried across the beach, crawled up his side…and reformed into a cutlass in his grasp once more. “Put the weapon away, Caelyum!” you beseeched. “It doesn’t have to be like this!” “Yes it does!” Cael yelled. “Don’t you get it?! I can’t be free! I’ll always remember! I’ll always feel that pain! Love is a curse; a curse that hurts me, every day of my existence…but after today, I’m going to change that.” He closed his eyes. You had a bad feeling you knew what you’d see when he opened them again…and you were correct. One of his eyes was suddenly surrounded by a fiery aura. “Today, I break the curse.” KA-ZAM! The familiar black cloud of Overblot surrounded the shopkeeper’s boy. Blue and orange light flashed in the gaps between the vapor as it swirled around the fellow from the swamplands…until finally, the mist parted. When it did, you all found that Caelyum De Macabre had gone through an alarming transformation. His brown-tinted clothes had vanished, replaced with a blue-gray uniform like a navy seaman. One of his arms was stuck into the sleeve of a long, tattered cerulean coat with gold lining, which hung about his shoulders almost like a cape. A blood red sash was lashed about his middle. While his left eye was surrounded by orange aura, a tattoo had appeared over his right, in the image of a pirate medallion. His dreadlocks had transformed into a head of writhing, wriggling, pinkish-purple tentacles, like those of a squid; each tendril’s tip was smeared with ink. His left arm had become a white crab claw, ink oozing from its joins; his right leg had become a crab’s leg, too, and was also oozing with Blot. A single black boot covered his one human foot…and he still held his cutlass in his one human hand. Cael grinned viciously, pupils pinpricks as he pointed his sword at you. “Yo-Ho, me hearties!” he bellowed. “Shiver ‘em from stem to stern!” At these words, the ground before his feet seemed to ripple…and then, a swarm of Locker Crabs came scrambling from the ground, racing towards your group. “I’ll take care of this!” Grim pronounced, and summoned a wall of flame. As the fire struck the crabs, they vanished in a cloud of silver smoke…but more just kept coming! Caelyum laughed and began to move towards your group, swaggering as the point of his crab-leg stabbed into the ground repeatedly. Seeing the approaching dark mage, Grim paused to hurl a fireball in his direction…only for Cael to split in half, crab legs showing in the “seam” of his being, as the fireball hurtled past without causing any harm. He stitched himself back together and kept moving forward, as if nothing had happened. Tock Crockwork roared and charged at Cael, swinging a punch at him…but De Macabre simply swept up his crab claw and, in a fluid, wrenching motion, whirled Tock about and flung him to the beach floor. He grinned with deranged excitement as he moved closer to yourself and Mia, leaving Tock to choke in the dust. “Hold them off, Grim!” you called out as he continued to scorch the crabs. “I’ll try!” Grim called back. “Run for it, Minion! RUN NOW!” And you did, holding onto Mia’s arm as you dragged her after yourself. With a wild laugh, Caelyum lifted his sword up…and then “melted” into a swarm of crabs, which scurried after the two of you as you raced along the beach. Behind you, Tock snarled, clutching his banged skull as he watched the horde of crabs vanish. He angrily kicked away a few that Grim didn’t manage to stop, and then charged forward. Grim panted; he was already growing weary. “I…I can’t hold them off!” he meowed. “There’s…there’s too many-EEP!” “Stop whining and shut up,” snarled Tock, whisking Grim up in one arm and sprinting on, the pair pursued by the remaining Locker Crabs. “We’ve got more important things to worry about, come on!” Unaware that your friends were on the chase, you hurried along with Mia Corazón. The crabs that made up Cael’s being clicked and scraped behind you with a deeply unsettling sound, urging you to go faster and faster. “Wait!” Mia gasped. “If…I…can…talk…to him…!” “I don’t think he’s in a mood to talk!” you replied. “Right now, all we can do is…!” You trailed off and stopped short as the crabs suddenly caught up with you…and then moved around you, reforming in front of you into a column. Thinking fast you looked around… …And were just in time to grab hold of sturdy tree branch, as a sword reshaped and then stabbed at you. You barely had a moment to parry the strike, the blade cutting a notch into the wooden limb you held. “Stay behind me!” you hissed to Mia, as Cael reformed fully. “So, it’s a duel then?” Cael cackled. “Alright! EN GARDE!” You yelped, instinctively blocking as the sword slashed at you once more. The slash was followed by a lunge; you jumped back quickly and parried that strike, too. CLING-CLANG-CLING-CLANG! The cutlass and the branch clattered against each other, the sound of the steel against wood that was tougher than it looked ringing out. Each time Cael tried to get around you to lunge at Mia, you blocked his path. You laughed softly, amazed you were holding out; guess one didn’t know how good they’d be at something like a swordfight till they tried! You ducked another slash, and responded by swinging your stick around. WHACK! Caelyum reeled as you managed to smack him across the face…then slowly turned back. He looked…annoyed. “Ow,” was all he said, almost sarcastically, before swinging his blade around again. You quickly lifted your branch… SWACK! And gulped nervously as the cutlass sliced it clean in half. “Oh, boy.” “HA HA!” laughed Cael, and lifted his crab leg, kicking you hard in the stomach. You coughed, dazed and winded as you crumpled to the ground. Now, nothing was standing between the enraged Caelyum and his prey: Mia. The mermaid with legs began to back away in fright…then cried out sharply as Cael thrust out his crab claw and grabbed her by the throat with it. A grin of evil triumph spread across his face as he lifted his weapon above his head. “And here we are at last,” he crooned with twisted delight, and squeezed, making Mia gasp for air. “Any last words, my dear?” Mia gulped…and looked pleadingly into the Swamplander’s eyes as she uttered five simple words. “Cael…please…I love you!” Just before the last three words were uttered, Cael had prepared to attack…but then he froze. The grip of his pincer loosened as she said those three golden words, and the demented smile vanished from his face. He hesitated, as if those words had caused something in his brain to just shut down… Which was all the opportunity you needed. CRACK! “GAH!” exclaimed Caelyum, and dropped Mia, who coughed as she hit the ground. His tentacle hairdo wriggled like a horde of angry snakes as he glared at you in rage: the stone you had thrown at his shoulder had hurt! With a furious roar, he swung his sword around his head three times, trying to cut you into pieces. You ducked and dodged each strike as fast as you could…only to fall back as Cael summoned a horde of sand crabs. You squirmed and grimaced as the crabs pinned you to the ground, acting like organic shackles. You winced as each time you moved, they pinched you hard, making you stay still. Caelyum smirked victoriously, and pointed the tip of his cutlass at your heart. “Tell me, Prefect,” he taunted. “Do you fear death?” “Do you?” CHOMP! Caelyum began to turn around towards the voice, his face etched with surprise…and stayed perfectly still, as if he’d become a statue, paralyzed in shock. The red marking of Tock Crockwork’s unique power – One Minute to Die – was evident on his left arm. “NOW!” the crocodile shouted, as Grim hurried over. The feline-like creature wasted no time: he focused his power, a bright blue aura surrounding him…before, with a spiteful hiss, sending a huge jet of flame towards Caelyum. Caelyum was sent flying through the air, clothing scorched, and rolled across the dirt, still in the position he had been stuck in. Only a few seconds later, he convulsed, and groaned, trying to stand up… …Only to find Tock looming over him. “This,” the crocodile hissed, “Is why I’M top of the food chain, snack meat!” WHAM! He spun around, slapping his tail across Cael’s face…and the Overblotting mage fell still and silent, rendered swiftly unconscious. The sword disappeared without warning from his hand, as if it had never been there. The crabs he had summoned all vanished in the blink of an eye: just like at the shop, one moment they were there, and the next they were not. All four of you – yourself, Mia, and your friends – sighed with relief. “Thanks,” you nodded to Tock as he helped you to your feet. “Hey, I’ve gotta protect my territory; that includes you,” Crockwork shrugged. You decided not to comment on that. “Are you okay, Miss Corazón?” meowed Grim, nuzzling up against the mermaid’s side. She smiled weakly and patted his head before standing. “Physically, yes,” she said. The teenaged girl’s eyes then lit up with concern as she hurried over to Cael’s side. “Cael…Cael, are you okay? S-Speak to me!” she pleaded. “He just tried to kill you!” Grim snapped out. “He wasn’t thinking straight,” Mia defended him. “Just…h-he didn’t understand…” She sniffled and bowed her head. “…C-Caelyum…I’m so sorry…” You and Grim shared a sad sort of look. Tock just looked confused, above all else. “What happened between you two?” the croc grimaced, crossing his scaly arms. “I think we’re about to find out,” you said, and pointed as silver mist began to wisp off of Caelyum De Macabre’s form. A moment later, a blinding white light surrounded the young man…and the mist formed a cloud, inside of which – as always seemed to happen – pictures from the past began to appear… “Tag! You’re it!” “I’ll get you! Ha Ha Ha!” In the swamplands of the Jubilee Port, a small boy with pink dreadlocks giggled and hid behind a tree by the riverbank. For several seconds, he sat anxiously…then yelped when, out of the river burst a familiar, dark face with flowing raven hair. “GOTCHA!” sang out the girl with the gold and ruby tail, and reached out a hand to playfully tap his shoulder. “No fair!” huffed the boy. “I always have to stay near the water; you never let me have an advantage!” The girl giggled and smirked teasingly. “Not my fault you’re a lousy swimmer,” she cooed. The boy grumbled and pouted. She smiled gently. “I’m sorry, Cael; I didn’t mean it,” she said, placing a hand on his leg… “AHA!” the boy laughed, and tapped her hand before jumping away. “You’re it again!” “HEY! THAT’S CHEATING!” The two laughed as the girl swam through the river, chasing the bayou boy up and down the banks…before finally leaping out of the river with a victorious cry. “RAAAAH!” “EEK!” Young Caelyum yelped as he was thrown to the ground. The girl with the fish tail grinned, flippers wagging happily as she kept him pinned. “Gotcha again!” she sang out. Young Cael giggled and wiggled under her. “Hey, lemme go!” he demanded with a slight laugh. “Hmmmm…if I do, will you just tag me again?” “…Maybe?” The mermaid glared…and tickled her friend with her tail. Cael squealed with laughter before flashing an evil smile. “Ohhhhh, you wanna play that way, huh?” He tickled her back and the two rolled across the bank…before yelping and splashing into the river. A moment later, both rose from the depths Caelyum coughing and floundering. “Help! Mia, help! I’m drowning!” “I’ve got you, hold on!” Mia said, and helped Cael back to shore. The boy sighed with relief and began to wring out his clothes. “Thank you,” he gasped out. “No problem,” Mia smiled. “I’m sorry you got all wet…” “It’s okay; I’ve got other clothes,” Cael smiled. Mia nodded, then smiled a bit more sadly. “I still should have been more careful: there may be more clothes, but there’s only one Caelyum.” Cael blushed. “Hush, you’re just teasing me now…” “No. I’m not,” Mia said seriously. “You’re my best friend, Cael.” Cael blinked, pausing in his activities. “…But…don’t you have other mermaid friends?” “I may have OTHER friends, but you’re my BEST friend,” smiled Mia. “And there’s only one of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Cael blinked again…then smiled sentimentally. “Heh…well, um…you’re my best friend, too, Mia. And, uh…a-and I feel the same.” “I’m glad,” Mia smiled. A pause. “You should really suck less at swimming though.” “Oh, hush. Say! Maybe you can teach me?” “Sure!” That word seemed to be a cue, for the scene changed to a few years later; the same river on the bayou, the same boy and girl, just a little older. “MARCO!” “POLO!” The Mermaid floated with her upper half above the water, eyes closed, flapping her tail as she blindly searched for her friend. Cael would pop up now and again with a gleaming, gloating grin as he watched her try to find him: he’d learned to swim VERY well in the years since that time playing tag. “MARCO!” Mia called out again. “POLO!” laughed Cael. “Oh, this is impossible, you’re too fast!” “Suck less at swimming,” teased Caelyum. “I’m a MERMAID, all we DO is swim!” “You can walk!” “I need a potion or a spell for that,” huffed Mia, and turned around, trying to feel about for her friend. Cael smirked and dove under again, swimming cautiously around her in the wide river… …But as he popped up again, he was due for a terrible sight. He gasped as he saw Mia blindly reaching closer to the shore…where a venomous serpent glared at her oncoming form almost hungrily… “MARCO!” “MIA, WATCH OUT!” Confused, Mia opened her eyes…then gasped as she saw the snake rearing back to bite her! She pulled away just in time, and at the same moment, Cael glared and snapped his fingers. The snake heard a clicking noise, and turned its head to find a white crab snapping its pincers. The pincers swung towards its throat… SNICKER-SNACK! And that was the end of the snake. Mia swam back to Caelyum’s side as she snapped his fingers again and the crab disappeared. He hugged her close. “Are you okay?” he whispered, worriedly. “Yeah…i-it didn’t get me,” she panted with relief, and squeezed him tightly. “Thank…th-thank you…” Caelyum smiled warmly and returned the hug…then froze up as Mia leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said again, and nuzzled against his bare chest. Cael blinked…then blushed red as a tomato and grumbled. “…Hey, what are friends for…? More time passed, and the swamp disappeared. The scene now became a lonely pier. On it sat Caelyum and Mia, who was now in full human form. “Do you really have to go?” he whispered. Mia nodded sadly, hanging her head. Cael bit his lip, and looked away, tragedy in his eyes. “…When…w-when will you be back?” he asked, timidly. “I don’t know,” Mia admitted sadly, then smiled gently up at her friend. “My mother said I need to start learning more about the family business; spending less time on land and…well…with you.” Cael frowned and clenched his fists. “I see.” Mia’s smile fell…and she gave Caelyum a hug. He relaxed. “She’s set in her ways,” she said softly. “But I will never forget you. And I WILL come back.” “Do you promise?” “Of course. You’re my best friend,” smiled Mia…then reached into a bag she had with her, stationed between the two. “Here…I have proof…” Cael tilted his head as out of the bag she pulled two silver necklaces with heart shaped lockets. She gave him one, and clasped the other around her neck. “What is this?” Cael asked, crinkling his nose in confusion. “A sign that we both share the same heart,” Mia said, and giggled. “That’s the really sappy way of saying it, anyway. Put it on and open it!” Cael did, and at the same time he opened the locket, Mia did too…and soft, beautiful melody chimed from the music box contained. Caelyum’s eyes widened. “That’s the song you taught me,” he recognized, and looke dup to Mia. “The one about the pirate and the goddess of the sea?” Mia nodded. “It’s your favorite…my favorite…OUR favorite,” she said gently, and took Cael’s hands in hers, looking into his eyes with deep-rooted affection. “And as long as we share these lockets, share these songs…we’ll never truly be away from each other.” Caelyum smiled weakly. “I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, wryly. “But…thank you, Mia.” He paused. “You…you know I love you…right?” Mia blushed. “Yes. And I love you too.” Cael gaped. “You do?” “Of course, silly! You’re my best friend!” Cael blinked…then smiled and shook his head wearily. “Yeah…I know,” he said softly. “I…I know.” A pause…and the pair began to sing together to the mingled tune on their music boxes as they watched the sun sink on the horizon beyond the sea. “Warm and welcoming as the sea, someday I will return to thee. Hear my voice, sing with the tide: Our Love Will Never Die.” Time passed once more, but the music box still played. The next scene played in silence, as Cael lay on his bed silently one night. He hummed to the tune on the locket, and glanced sorrowfully towards a calendar on his wall. Every date was crossed out with a red X. He sighed…then snapped the locket shut…before a lightbulb seemed to go off over his head, and he reached towards his book case, grabbing a specific spell book… This short tableaux was followed by another as Caelyum was now found…underwater. His lower half had become a white-scaled fish’s tail as he swam through the water, using a spell that would turn him into a merman for a few short hours. He’d taken a boat out to the coordinates where he knew Mia lived. Now, he swam quickly and quietly through the city, looking for Mia. His eyes darted this way and that, seeking some sign of his long lost friend; two years without any sort of contact – never a call, never anything written – and he was now so close to seeing her again! He smiled wider as he moved into one of the higher rent neighborhoods of the underwater area, carefully brushing past other, natural merfolk going about their business. His heart was beating fast in his chest; when he found her, he’d tell her everything. How he felt, how much it hurt to be without her, how much he never wanted to be separated again! Then he found her, as he turned an alley…and that fast beating heart seemed to skip a beat… …As his face filled with sorrow. Only yards away – never noticing he was there, he saw a strong, burly-looking merman with blonde hair…hugging his Mia and kissing her full on the lips. He clamped his eyes shut…and swam away, out of the city and back towards the surface. His tears were lost with the tides. Thus ended the vision, as the blinding light faded, leaving an unconscious Caelyum De Macabre lying on the ground, back to his usual self. “…Prefect?” “Yeah, Grim?” “Is it, like��a requirement that we stand here for several seconds in total silence after we see those?” “No, I think it just happens.” “Ah. Okay then.” Tock Crockwork said nothing. A few moments later, Cael groaned and began to stir. He blinked his eyes and clutched his pink-haired head as he started to sit up. “Ugh…what…wh-what happened?” he slurred out. “You tried to turn my food into shish-kabob,” droned Tock, thumbing towards you. “Shut up,” you grumbled. Confused, Cael turned towards your voices, and looked about to say something…until he heard sniffling and whimpering. He turned…and found the teary-eyed face of Mia staring back at him. “C-Cael,” she whimpered…then let out a squealing cry that caught him off guard as she threw herself upon him and began to cry. “CAEL, I’M SO SORRY! I’m so, so sorry…please…please, I’m sorry, PLEASE…!” Caelyum, as you might imagine, looked beyond uncomfortable…and with a growl, he managed to push Mia off of him. She whimpered like a kicked puppy as, without a word, he got to his feet and turned away from her, one hand on his chest, clutching his silver locket. “Sorry isn’t enough,” he answered, coldly. Mia gulped…and stood up. “Cael…please don’t walk away,” she begged. “Why not?” Caelyum snarled back over his shoulder, and began to stumble away. “Because I love you!” Cael stopped. He didn’t turn around…but he stopped. Mia paused…and took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said, firmly now, not desperately. “I…I always loved you, but…but I was…I don’t know, I…I was worried…” She hung her head and paused before going on. Cael turned his head slightly to show he was listening. “When I returned to the sea, my mother didn’t want me to ever go back to the land. She forbid it. She told me I had to stay under the water, and…and find a proper husband. She told me to forget about you, and…that merman you saw? He was…my betrothed.” Cael growled. “WAS,” Mia pointed out, and then went on quickly: “Cael, I could NEVER forget you, and I could NEVER stop loving you. Those two years…they were agony for me. That time in the alley…I asked him to kiss me because I wanted to show him we WEREN’T right for each other. He agreed; there just…wasn’t a spark. We liked each other, but…we both knew it would be wrong.” She swallowed, and lifted her head. “So…we both spoke to my mother. And…she realized what she’d been doing was wrong. The very next day, I went back to the swamplands; I looked everywhere for you…you weren’t there.” Silence. “I’m so sorry, Caelyum,” she sniffled. “I’m…I’m so-” Cael stopped her with a raised hand…and slowly turned towards her. All of you were surprised to see tears in his eyes. “…I just tried to kill you.” “Yes.” “I ran off over this whole misunderstanding.” “Yes.” “All this pain, all this time…and you really loved me?” “Yes.” “And…you…still love me? After all that?” Mia smiled. “Yes.” Cael blinked…then let out a wet laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled. “I…I guess swimming isn’t the only thing we both suck at. I mean…we’re n-not very good at this whole ‘relationship’ thing, either, are we?” Mia shared a sniffling laugh…and the pair promptly ran into each other’s arms. “I’m so happy I found you,” Mia sobbed with joy. “I’ve missed you so much…” “Not half as much as I’ve missed you,” Cael choked. The pair squeezed each other…then backed up, holding each other’s hands and staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. “Play the song you sang long ago,” Cael began. “And wherever the storm may blow,” Mia continued. “You will find the key to my heart,” both finished. “We’ll never be apart.” “Aaaaand…kiss,” you murmured to yourself with a smile, as the pair did exactly that. Tock snorted, rolling his eyes as Grim stuck out his tongue and grumbled something about “soppy mush.” The two lovebirds parted after a few seconds…then seemed to remember you were all standing nearby, and blushed before backing away from each other like scalded cats. “Um…s-sorry,” Caelyum mumbled. “About trying to destroy us, or for that sappy display?” droned Tock. “Because I can forgive one of those…” “It’s the destroying us part, isn’t it?” you guessed. “Yyyyep.” Cael hung his head and shuffled his feet guiltily. “…I’ve…had a lot of pain bottled up for years,” he said silently. “And…when I heard she was coming here…I…well…” “It’s alright,” you soothed, moving closer. “I can understand. And for the record, we won’t tell the Headmaster.” “Nya…or Chief Jehan,” Grim added. “Claude Jehan?” Mia spoke up, and tilted her head. “Is he really as scary as they say back home? The Ashengrottos and Leeches have a LOT of stories to tell.” “I’d imagine,” you snickered. “And no. He’s not that scary.” “Right. He’s WORSE,” Tock responded. “Amen,” you and Grim chorused. Mia gulped nervously; Cael chuckled softly, smiling at her with puppy-eyed affection. “I…hope he’s not going to be at the play tonight,” she said slowly. “Trust me, you’ll be fine,” you soothed. “Well, we won’t be if we don’t get there on time!” Grim reminded you. “We’re already behind schedule, thanks to all this!” “The hairball has a point,” nodded Tock, stiffly, then grumbled under his breath: “I still say it’s all for pansies, though…” All of you chuckled…except Mia, who took Cael by the hand. “Can…can he come, too?” she asked, shyly. Cael looked shocked, as did Grim and Tock. You just smiled wider. “If he wants to,” you answered. Cael blinked…then grinned so wide his face nearly seemed to split in two. “Please!” he nodded eagerly. “Then come on!” you called, and gestured for the reunited lovers to follow. “Let’s get moving before my pay gets docked! I have a pet to feed, you know!” “I AM NOT YOUR PET!” snapped Grim, while Tock cackled with amusement, snapping his fingers and resuming his humanoid form. Caelyum De Macabre and Mia Corazón just smiled and squeezed each other’s hands, following at a steady pace. It took longer than it should have to reach the theater, in the end, but you still made it in the nick of time. When asked why it took so long, you had an honest answer: Cael and Mia were so busy staring into one another’s eyes with everlasting love, it made getting there quickly difficult. In your mind, and theirs, it was more than worth it.

The End

#disney #twisted wonderland #fanfic #grim #dire crowley #lots of ocs #caelyum de macabre #davy jones #mia corazon #tia dalma #tock crockwork #tick tock #the crocodile #claude jehan #frollo #non-kink

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Your not-boyfriend is dead and you might just do something crazy like, I dunno, murder a serial killer.

2,815 words

Red.

All you could see was red. It boiled in your veins, it choked your thoughts, and gripped your throat with its skeletal fingers as you tried to sleep at night. It made your hands shake. Your world was swallowed whole by the pigment of blood and you could not escape.

It shouldn’t have been possible to hurt this much. He wasn’t supposed to mean that much to you.

But he did.

He did and you knew it, but admitting it would have given him too much power. You still weren’t even sure why he was stuck so deeply in your heart. He was rude, spoiled, and an idiot, somehow both over- and under-confident at the same time, always grating on the wrong people’s nerves. But beneath all the posturing, there was something soft you wanted to protect at all costs—something you had barely glimpsed and could only infer its shape by the outline of the walls he built around it.

You could never get him out of your head, no matter the time of day or how you distracted yourself. His pull only quieted when you were in the same room, and now that he was gone, he was cannon fire booming ceaselessly through every chamber of your memory. A deafening reverberation of regret. At the end of each day you just wanted to find yourself back in his arms again. He must have known how you felt. But you never told him. You never said it out loud.

He was never supposed to be this important to you. It was just sex.

It shouldn’t hurt this much.

You shouldn’t have been this angry.

For a week or two, you hid it well. The last thing Chilton said to you was don’t get involved. He wanted you to survive, and you wanted honor his last wishes and not die. But the red followed and you could not shake it.

You were the only one mourning for him; there didn't even seem to be a funeral. It was as if he just disappeared and nobody cared. Except you. The world moved on, and everything went back to normal. Nobody faced any consequences for what they did to him.

Chilton had gone to Will for help, and Will called Crawford to arrest him. Crawford was stupid enough to believe another of Hannibal’s frame jobs, stupid enough to let Miriam Lass grab the gun from his holster and fire. Your blood boiled red every time you saw them, and you struggled to contain your fury. But there was only one man who was really to blame. The Chesapeake Ripper. The one who had manipulated the whole situation to make Dr. Chilton take the fall for his crimes and then be swept six feet under.

Hannibal Lecter was still assisting on cases with Jack Crawford, and every time you saw him free, your blood boiled hotter, and hotter, until you came to the only resolution that allowed you to breathe: you were going to kill him.

You should have gone to Chilton’s house the moment you knew he was in trouble, stayed by his side, and fought. You were a coward. You didn’t protect the man you… the man you were sleeping with. The man you promised to protect.

Chilton was dead, and you knew who was responsible. Nobody was doing a thing about it, but you could—like you should have done in the first place.

Hannibal wouldn’t see it coming if you simply walked into his office with a gun and shot him point-blank in the face. You would go to jail, but the problem would be solved. Just like that.

It was smart for anyone involved with FBI investigations, even as a consultant, to own a gun, and so you did, though you’d never used it. You got it out of its safe, and looked at it. It was terrifyingly heavy in your hand. Then you put it back and locked it. Tomorrow.

The plan fermented for what felt like months of sleepless nights, ruminating on just how you would do it, and building up your resolve. Every time you thought, today! you found a reason to put it off. You took the gun out and cleaned it, then put it back. You avoided Hannibal—avoided everyone—because the murderous look in your eyes would be too clear, and you didn’t know who to trust—even Will Graham, who should have been your ally in revenge, seemed to be cozying up to Lecter in a creepy way.

You took the gun out.

It was Valentine’s Day. Romantic movies marathoned mockingly on your TV set, and red hearts and roses flooded the stores and streets as couples held hands in the snow.

Today.

This time you meant it. This time you wouldn’t be a coward.

What were you doing?

Hannibal’s office loomed above you, and you circled the block again. It was suddenly too real. You couldn't kill a person! You didn't want to die! What if you were wrong? What if Will was wrong and you were gullible to believe him and you would be killing an innocent man? No. You’re going to be strong. You can do it.

You took a resolute step up the short stone staircase to the entrance landing. The office was a brick Victorian building in the historic district, next to an old stone cathedral, which gave the whole location a flare of drama. You stepped into the foyer, the ancient wood floors creaking beneath you. You wouldn’t be able to sneak up on anyone in this place, but that wasn’t the plan. He would think you were just here to talk to him.

“Don’t.” The man’s voice so close in your ear made you jump with a startled yelp.

“You’re not a killer,” he whispered. “Even now with that gun in your pocket, you’re undecided. But Hannibal won’t be.”

“Will.”

Emergency lights flashed Danger! Danger! in your head, even as you breathed a sigh of relief that it was him.

“I thought you wanted to stay away from Hannibal Lecter. You were supposed to be the smart one,” he chuckled morbidly. “Though I understand your impulse,” he said, reassuring you that he was here as your friend, not the Ripper’s date. “He killed your lover. Hannibal made it happen as surely as he pulled the trigger himself.”

You stiffened and blushed, but what was the point in stammering out denials? Of course Will would know. Will knew everything. That beautiful brain of his.

“Was it that obvious?” you groaned.

“I don’t think Crawford knows.”

Your lower jaw trembled, teeth chattering together as your knees suddenly went weak. You were finished. You took your hand off the gun and rubbed your eyes with your sleeve to hide the redness. “If you know, then Hannibal must know too,” you grit your teeth to keep your voice steady. “I thought I could just... get the drop on him…”

“I’m going to catch him,” Will stated as a fact.

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer. Something had changed in Will. Part of him was still that innocent puppy who had been your friend, who had made you jealous of his unwavering gaze for Alana, and you hoped that part would win in the end.

“Is Hannibal going to kill me?”

“Don’t give him a reason to,” Will warned with a sort of shrug that was more in his face than his shoulders. He would have told you if you were in immediate danger. You had trusted him when no one else would, and that still bought you some favor, whatever dark place he was in. If he told you trying to kill Hannibal now would only lead to your death, you had to believe him.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“What does anyone do? Grieve? Keep going? I promise I will catch him. Don’t do anything rash to get in the way.” With that, he brushed you off and went up to Hannibal’s office for therapy.

A shiver ran up your spine at whatever “therapy” between those two entailed. You turned, and didn’t stop walking until you were home.

It was a miracle Hannibal didn’t kill you. In hindsight, he was probably just as aware of your relationship as Will Graham, and predicted your half-baked vengeance plan from the start. You were spared because he preferred to watch you suffer in impotent rage.

*****

Crawford pulled you aside, arms crossed, shrugging into the raised lapel of his wool coat against the cold Maryland breeze.

“You need to calm down.”

“I can’t.” Everything was red. “You’re not doing anything about Hannibal, and he murdered Beverly! He murdered… he…”

Crawford could be dense at times, but he was still an FBI agent. The clandestine relationship you had with Frederick Chilton had not, in fact, escaped his notice—at least it became painfully clear when Chilton was shot in the face, and you melted down and became as obsessed with Hannibal Lecter as Will. The people Crawford worked with made his job so fun, sometimes. So fun. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Come with me.”

You climbed into Crawford’s car, and were surprised when he kept driving for two hours. It was starting to feel like a kidnapping. In a different city, he pulled up in front of an extravagantly baroque beachfront hotel and medical spa. It reminded you of those addiction treatment resorts where rich people go when they spend too much of their yacht money on cocaine.

“It is critical to the investigation that this remain secret, but hopefully seeing this will help you get your head back on straight. I need you thinking.”

A glass elevator brought you up to a suite on the 23rd floor. Jack knocked three times on the door, then crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

Paranoid bolts and locks slid and clicked open one by one, and the door tentatively opened a crack at a time, until a familiar eye and fluffy brown hair neatly styled back appeared in the opening. It took a moment for your brain to believe what your eyes were seeing, but there was no mistake.

Your heart cracked open and rainbows spilled out.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Chilton squealed as you launched yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet, heedless of the fact that he was probably still injured. His cane went clattering across the hardwood floor.

“You’re alive,” you said. “You’re alive!”

“I am.” Anything sarcastic or clever he meant to say was lost to the smile tugging on his lips, and his hands finding their way around your back, pressing your body against his. An ache he had mistaken for the background misery of his life was soothed, filled like an empty crater.

He was surprised how genuinely happy he was to see you again.

“You’re alive.”

“You’re alive” was all you could manage to repeat like a poorly-programmed robot as you stared at his face, his suit, his posture—it was really him?—as you patted the sides of his face up and down making sure he was corporeal. It was impossible! There was a red scar where the bullet had entered his left cheek, but otherwise he was perfectly fine. You glanced around the room—a spacious luxury suite with leather furniture, an enormous bed, and a panoramic view of the skyline and ocean as purple dusk settled across it. He was the only person you knew who would stay in a place as ostentatious as this.

He was alive all right.

“But you were...”

“You always said my face was ‘punchable.’ Apparently it is also shootable,” he said dryly.

A bark of laughter sprang from your throat. You snaked your hands around the back of his head and purred, “I can think of better things to do with your face...”

Your lips met his in a clash of pent up longing. You wanted to kiss him until the pain of separation was gone forever, until you filled yourself up with so much of him that you would never miss him again. He gasped into your mouth, fingers curling up the back of your neck, through your hair, guiding you to the bed.

Falling on top of him, you pushed him down onto the mattress, lips never leaving the salt of his skin. He smelled like spicy cologne, but his antiseptic hospital smell had worn off. His hands were already busy trying to find their way underneath the hem of your shirt.

“Wait a minute—you let me think you were dead, asshole!”

*****

He explained the situation while you sat on the large hotel bed in disbelief. Jack Crawford was not ignoring Hannibal Lecter. There was a plan to catch him, but it was dangerous, and worked better if Lecter believed his plan for Chilton to take the blame for the Ripper murders and die was successful.

Chilton was also keen to remain “dead” until Lecter was apprehended, as there was a distinct possibility he might otherwise return to finish the job.

You could understand the need for secrecy, but the fact that you were left out of the plan? You shook your head, clearing away thoughts of rejection. Chilton had been in a coma for a long time, so the initial decision not to inform you wasn’t his, and it wasn’t as though you would have had visitation privileges in the hospital. You weren’t a relative or spouse. You were just his fuck buddy.

It felt as though there was yet another reason he waited until now to let you see him, but you couldn’t place it.

“To be honest,” he added, with a sheepish side-glance, “I didn’t think you would take it so hard.”

*****

When Jack rapped on the door to signal that it was time to go back home, Frederick lingered with you by the doorway. With a hand on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours, and he instructed gently and firmly, “Do not let Hannibal Lecter kill you.”

“I’ll try.” You cupped his hand under yours, and turned into it, kissing his palm. There was something else important, before you left, “Hey, one more thing. I…” The last time we saw each other, I was pretending that I didn’t care as much as I do. I never got to tell you that I love you, you thought. But you could never tell him that. You weren’t even sure if you were dating. “I missed you.”

You wrapped your arms around him and drew him into a hug. He held you so dearly, leaning his head into the crook of your neck and just breathing.

“Frederick…”

The moment that name tumbled so casually out of your lips, a sigh into his collar, the floor dropped from beneath him and he was falling from a moving airplane toward something deadly or wonderful, or perhaps both.

When your relationship had been strictly professional (and adversarial) you called him by his last name, and the habit hadn’t changed. It was what you were accustomed to calling him.

He never liked being called by his first name, in fact. He preferred Doctor Chilton. He had worked hard to earn that title and the respect it came with. “Frederick” was weak, and the only people who used it did so to demonstrate their lack of deference.

But when you said it, its meaning changed.

His feet couldn't find purchase on solid ground, so he held on to you harder, like his life depended on it.

He looked frightened, reluctant to let you go as you pulled back from the hug. If things went wrong you could end up in Lecter’s refrigerator, so you understood why. “Hey, you know, maybe it would be safer if I stayed here… with you,” you offered meekly.

The well-dressed man stepped back suddenly, stiffening. “You-you can’t stay here—there, there are rules: suites are for patients only,” he backed away and paced nervously as he explained. Then he turned on his heel just as quickly back to you, “But maybe you shouldn’t go back until this over. I can pay for a room at a different hotel, without the fussy restrictions…”

“No, no, never mind,” you hushed him with a tense not-laugh. It was unclear why he was so panicked about you staying, but he was recently shot in the face, so you would give him as much space as he needed.

“It was a silly idea, anyway. I have work. Thank you for the thought.” You pulled him into a goodbye kiss, and went for the door. Before turning the handle, however, you turned around one last time, a broad grin across your face, and practically tackled him into an embrace.

He could tell by your sappy expression what you were about to blurt out.

“Do not say it...”

“You’re alive!” you cheered, and the world felt alive again, too.

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #my writing

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smallheathgangsters · 5 years ago

Text

Let Me Guide You | A.S.

A/N: Did this turn out longer than I expected? Yes. Do I mind? Not at all. Please enjoy my messy writing!! Also, thank you anon for your kind words ❤️

Request: “Hi! I Ioved your Arthur fic♥ He deserves all the love in the word, so if you feel like it, you may write something fluffy, funny maybe? With prompts 25 and 28? Keep the good work!♥” by Anon

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader

AU: set before the war, young Arthur

Word Count: 2874

Type: pure fluff

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You were waiting in the back seat of a car for you friend Ella to show up. You had made plans to go dancing together, something you both had been doing every weekend for more than a year now. Your parents owned a couple of fancy clubs in Birmingham, making both of your names permanent on all of the guest lists. Although lately, Ella had been calling off your dates to go dancing more and more due to the fact that she now had a boyfriend who seemed to be needing a ridiculous amount of attention.

You noticed your driver look over his shoulder to you. You sighed, rolling your eyes at him. “Please don’t say anything.”

You knew he was thinking about asking you if your friend had ditched you once more. He’d been your loyal chauffeur for almost every evening you’d met up with Ella, so he had also been around to witness her failing to show up on multiple occasions.

You ducked your head slightly to be able to gaze out of the window to the block in front of the car in which Ella rented her apartment.

“Would you like to go home, Miss?”

You pressed your lips together. You hated being stood up. Especially by your best friend. It made you feel so worthless. It hadn’t been easy for you to find true friends as the daughter of a wealthy family, but Ella had been everything you’d ever wished for. She didn’t care about your background, treating you like any other person and not taking advantage of you.

“One more minute, please,” you answered your driver’s question, not taking your eyes away from the building. Suddenly, you saw the front door open. You gasped quietly, hoping that it was your best friend, very late but at least not having forgotten about you.

You let out a disappointed sigh when you saw the older man stepping out into the cold, dirty Birmingham air while putting on his hat before closing the door behind him carefully.

“Are you sure, Miss?”

You inhaled slowly and closed your eyes, trying your best to hide your sadness in front of him. After a moment of silence, you spoke. “I’m walking home.”

“Excuse me?”

He was confused.

“I need catch some fresh air and clear my head. I’m walking home,” you repeated, shuffling over to the door and grabbing the handle.

Your driver turned around in his seat, grabbing you by the arm. “It’s not safe for you to be out alone at this time. Your father will be very upset with me for returning without you.”

You could see the worry in his eyes. Partly because of you, the city really not being the safest place on earth at night for a young woman like you, although mostly because of the job he wanted to keep. And you had sympathy for the poor man. But in this moment, you just wanted to get out of this car more than anything.

“I’ll talk to my father tomorrow. You need to trust me when I tell you that you don’t have anything to worry about,” you said to reassure him and hopefully make him let go of you. He sighed heavily and pulled his hand back. “If you say so, Miss.”

“Thank you,” you said, trying to make him feel less guilty about letting you out into the night by yourself. Then you pulled the handle and opened the door of the car.

When your high heels reached the cobblestone, the icy wind wrapped itself around your ankles right away. The tiny hairs on your legs stood up as a reaction to the bleakness. You wrapped your coat a little tighter around your body and started walking into the direction of your home.

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea how long this walk would take you. It wasn’t that you regretted your decision, but it was colder than you had anticipated, and it hadn’t been your plan to freeze to death on your way.

It wasn’t long until you started shivering and the wind just seemed to be getting stronger since you’ve left the car.

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself, picking up the pace.

You turned around a corner, your eyes on the ground beneath you, making you clumsily bump into a person.

You felt two hands grab both of your upper arms reflexively, steadying you. “Oi, watch out!”

Your eyes fell onto a young man with blue eyes and pretty brown hair. At first, you were scared that he was angry at you for not paying attention to where you were walking, but when you spotted the cheeky grin on his lips your tensed-up muscles relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled awkwardly, stepping back from him. You repeated the act of wrapping your coat tighter around yourself.

“Are you lost? You don’t look like somebody who should be out here all alone,” you heard the young man say, his voice traced with concern.

You shook your head at his question. “No, not at all. I’m just on my way home.”

The man eyed you sceptically. “You sure? I could walk you home if you wanted to.”

He noticed your body shift uncomfortably after he offered to escort you to your house. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a self-conscious chuckle. “I’m not the creepy guy you probably think I am, I promise.”

His remark surprisingly made you return his chuckle. “I do hope so.”

“Good,” he grinned. “Which way?”

He moved so he was now stood beside you, waiting for you to point out the directions.

“Straight ahead down this street,” you said and started walking again.

The unexpected encounter had made you forget about the cold, but now your body went back to its shivering state. The chattering of your teeth was unmistakable, and it didn’t take long for the stranger to comment on it. “You’re freezing, aren’t you, eh?”

You shook your head, which made him laugh. “Don’t be so stubborn, let me give you my coat.”

“But I’m already wearing one,” you said, laughing at his offer.

“So what?”

He shed his own coat, putting it around your shoulders gently. You hated to admit it, but it helped a lot. Especially because it still held his warmth. “Thank you.”

The two of you continued walking in silence when a thought popped up in your head. “I feel like you were on your way to somewhere when I ran into you. I hope nobody’s going to worry about you not showing up.”

“No,” he laughed, “they’re most likely already drunk off their faces and don’t remember that I told them I’d be joining them later.”

You chuckled. “Evening at the bar with friends, I guess?”

He nodded. “Where are you walking home from, if I may ask?”

You let out a sigh. You’d almost forgotten about the reason you were out here in the bitter cold and unfortunately his question brought up your annoyance again.

You heard him gulp. “Oh– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to–“

“No, it’s okay,” you told him. “I was stood up by my best friend and just needed some fresh air to calm myself down and not get too angry at her.”

“Sounds like she’s very important to you.”

You let out a deep breath. “She is. And I was so excited for tonight …”

He gave you an empathetic look. “What was the plan?”

“Dancing.”

Your voice was shaky, although you didn’t understand what made you this upset. Of course, the way Ella had been treating you lately had been unfair, but she was still your best friend and it wasn’t as though she had been completely ignoring you. You still rang each other up from day to day, talking about whatever was on your minds and complaining about your mostly irrelevant problems. But somehow it hurt you more today than it had affected you on other evenings.

The stranger looked at you sadly and then placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I mean, I would love to take you dancing … but I’m fucking shit at it.”

You let out a giggle and sniffled quietly. Then you both fell silent again.

The two of you turned into a main street and the atmosphere got a lot busier. There were multiple groups of young people roaming around, some drunk, some simply having a laugh. On the other side of the street you spotted a long queue with people in fancy suits and gorgeous dresses. You watched them while walking along the cobble, wishing you could join them.

There were three guards standing at the entrance, checking the guest list and making sure nobody entered that wasn’t allowed. Your eyes fell onto the large sign above them, beaming the name of the club with yellowish lights into the night. Then it hit you. This was one of your parent’s clubs. Not the one that you and Ella had planned on going to, but one of your favourites, nevertheless.

That was when you realised that you weren’t ready to go home at all. You hadn’t put on this expensive dress and spent forty-five minutes on your make-up to walk through Birmingham in the freezing cold. And there was absolutely no reason for you to let your best friend ruin a good night out. You didn’t need her to have fun. At least not today.

You lifted your head up to the young man next to you and gave him a cheeky grin. He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to reveal to him what was going through your head.

“Let me teach you how to dance, stranger boy,” you said, giving him a teasing wink and grabbing his hand before he could protest. You pulled him over to the other side, directly towards the entrance. But instead of going up to the guards, you spotted another entry only a few feet next to them. It was the one used for the performers or other important guests, who didn’t need to queue.

Your eyes met one of the guards as you were heading towards the back door. He simply nodded to you, a way of greeting you and giving you immediate permission to use the private entry.

You pushed down the handle and stepped into the dark room behind it, pulling the young man with you, your hand still in his.

“Oi, hold up!”

“What?” you laughed, turning around to meet his confused expression.

“I’m pretty sure this is illegal,” he said, looking around nervously. “We’re going to get fucking caught and as much as I like an adventure, I don’t want to end up getting my ass beaten by those guards I saw outside.”

You chuckled at his sweet innocence. He hadn’t seen the look you and the man outside had exchanged. “Relax, stranger. Those guards work for my parents.”

Your revelation made his jaw drop and his eyes widen. “Are you some kind of rich girl?”

“My parents are rich, yes. I’m just lucky enough to never have to queue or pay to go dancing.”

“Fuck me,” he breathed out, still looking at you stunned. He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up slightly.

“Can I at least teach you to dance first?” you laughed. He joined your laughter, surprised by your unexpected wittiness. You took off both coats and tossed them onto a chair in the corner. Then you proceeded to grab his hand once more, dragging him through the dimly lit room and through another door and with that, revealing the inside of the club to him.

You noticed the young man being in awe when he stopped in his tracks, trying to take in the scene. His eyes glistened while they jumped around the dancefloor and over to the bar and the private lounges with wealthy men and woman in expensive clothes.

“I don’t belong in a place like this,” he gasped, looking down at you. He seemed overwhelmed with the situation, as if all he wanted was to storm out of here. He continued running his hands through his hair, most likely a nervous tick he had.

You huffed. “Stop ruining my good spirits! We’re going to have so much fun, trust me!”

Your hands placed themselves on his lower back, pushing his body towards the crowd on the dance floor. You felt him stiffen up, taking the smallest steps possible.

“I’m too fucking underdressed for this,” you heard him grumble.

“Shut up,” you replied.

When you arrived in the middle of the club, you spun him around and gave him a wide smile. “Let me guide you. At the end of the night you’ll be perfect at this.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I’ll step on your feet.”

“So what?” you asked, repeating his remark he used when you questioned his idea of you wearing two coats. You saw him try to suppress a grin but failing miserably.

Finally, he let you guide his hands and feet, moving them to the correct spots on the floor and on your body. He did move a little clumsily, but you didn’t mind at all, finding it adorable.

After about an hour he finally got the hang of the basics and you stopped giving him constant instructions. The music had gotten louder and wilder and the people surrounding you started bursting out into the craziest moves, making you laugh out with joy. This was where you belonged, where you were your happiest.

You let yourself get infected by the energy of the crowd, pulling your company right into it. You noticed him loosen up more and more, spinning and twirling you around while grinning widely down at you.

There was nothing that could possibly take away the happiness you felt in that moment. You forgot about your best friend standing you up, you forgot about being so very upset about it and you forgot about the fact that you probably still had an awfully long way home after this evening.

After continuing your wild movements for what felt like an eternity, you eventually calmed down and pushed yourselves through the guests towards the bar. You ordered two glasses of champagne and leaned against the counter, breathing heavily.

“This was so much fun!” you exclaimed with a content expression on your face. While dancing made you feel the most alive, you could see that your stranger was exhausted.

“My entire body hurts,” he gasped, grabbing the champagne glass right after the bartender set it down next to him, downing it in one go.

You giggled and took a sip of the bubbly beverage yourself. “But I still hope you enjoyed yourself at least a little bit.”

He looked down at you with a grin and nodded. “Yes, how could I not enjoy myself with such a pretty girl by my side?”

You blushed and rolled your eyes, although still smiling. “Good, because I wanted to ask you what you were doing next weekend?”

He tilted his head, his lips forming a cheeky grin. “Why do you ask?”

“We should totally do this again!” you burst out, putting down your glass, grabbing his hand and twirling yourself around it.

The stranger chuckled. “What about your best friend?”

“Oh, you know, she’s very occupied with her boyfriend. I don’t think she minds me having found myself a new dance partner for the times she’s not available.”

“Are you saying I’m just second-best, eh, pretty girl?” he laughed. You stuck out your tongue in response.

You and your acquaintance continued chatting and asking each other questions about your lives. He found out about your privileged upbringing and you found out about his completely different one. As much as he was impressed by your stories you were curious about his. You didn’t notice it getting awfully late when suddenly the bartender tapped you on your shoulder. “Miss? We’re closing up soon. Would you like me to call a driver to pick you up?”

Almost all the staff that worked for your parents knew who you were, so this question was only to be expected.

“Yes, please. But tell him we’ll have to make a short stop in Small Heath,” you answered. “Watery Lane, right?”

The young man smiled at the fact that you remembered. “That is very kind of you, but I’ll be fine walking home.”

“Oh, stop it! You’re coming with me if you like it or not. This is my way of saying thank you for letting me teach you to dance,” you protested, turning back to the man behind the bar. “Can you do that for me?”

The bartender nodded and headed off to the telephone in a back room.

“So …,” he began, giving you a mischievous smirk. “Would you like me to continue calling you pretty girl or do you prefer your actual name?”

“I could really get used to pretty girl, if I’m being honest,” you laughed.

“Alright then, pretty girl. It was lovely spending this evening with you and I’m very much looking forward to next weekend.”

You smiled up at him. “Me too.”

“I’m Arthur, by the way.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder x reader #peaky blinders one shot #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby one shot #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #john shelby #finn shelby #michael gray #isaiah jesus #young arthur shelby

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mordoriscalling · 4 years ago

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48 Weeks (4/4)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Throughout the 48 weeks that Geralt and Jaskier spend apart, their relationship develops.

Aka, part 3 of the Singer and the Sailor AU no one asked for but I wrote anyway. The events of this story happen after Stay or Sail Away but before Homecoming.

Weeks 37-48

Week 37

“I think I’m gonna write a book,” Jaskier announces.

“What about?”

“I’m not sure.”

Geralt snorts.

“I definitely have a story in me to tell,” Jaskier says defensively, “I can feel it. My music is about stories too, but I’m not ready to write a book yet.”

“When you think you’ll be ready?”

Jaskier smiles in a way that doesn’t bode well. “Maybe after my dear White Wolf tells me of all his sea adventures.”

Geralt does not like the implications of this. “No.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier whines, “You wound me! First you bewitch me body and soul, and now–”

“Don’t quote Pride and Prejudice at me, it’s not working.”

Jaskier pouts. “At least one little story? Pretty please?”

Geralt sighs. He still hasn’t learned to deny Jaskier anything.

Week 38

“I know this is a weird question but... is Eskel straight?”

Geralt feels a chill down to his very bones. “What?”

“I just... need this information. I don’t want to jinx it so I won’t say anything more for now.”

Geralt clenches his jaw. Eskel’s only two months older than him and in some ways, the two of them are all too similar. “He isn’t”, Geralt answers, “he’s mostly into women but there’re some men who catch his eye.”

Jaskier smiles like a cat that got all the cream. “That’s fantastic.”

Geralt grips the phone so hard his knuckle go white. “Indeed,” he grinds out.

Jakier’s face falls. “Geralt, what’s–”

“Have to go.”

He hangs up without another word and tries not to let this hurt him. He did see this coming. Yet, all the moments he and Jaskier shared, all the songs Jaskier sent him, everything of this is right there, painful like hell.

He misses home more than ever.

Week 39

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Geralt doesn’t want to. He didn’t reply to any of Jaskier’s frantic texts since the last video call. He only sent a message about when he would be able to talk this week and sure enough, Jaskier called at that time. Geralt wishes he didn’t. He wishes Jaskier just left already.

“Not bored of me yet?” he asks bitingly, all the bitterness of the past week coming up to the surface again.

Jaskier blinks. “I don’t understand.”

That angers Geralt even more. It’s not that hard to understand that he’s fucking hurt. “Stop fucking playing with me,” he growls, “Just say you want Eskel and leave me the fuck alone.”

“What.”

“You seemed happy to hear that he’s into guys,” Geralt answers, “so fuck off and go to him.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen. “Oh gods,” he says, then starts laughing.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Geralt spats, furious now. Rejection is bad enough but ridicule is so much worse than that.

Jaskier stops giggling abruptly. “Oh no. I hurt you.”

Geralt grits his teeth and doesn’t reply.

“I’m so, so sorry.” The look in Jaskier’s eyes seems sincere. “I asked about Eskel’s sexuality because I have a plan to set him up with my friend Essi. I was happy to hear that he’s mostly into women because Essi is most definitely a woman, and a wonderful one at that. I’m trying to talk them into a blind date because I’m just sure they’d hit it off.”

Geralt suddenly feels like an idiot.

“I didn’t want to give you that impression,” Jaskier goes on, “I apologize, dearest. Eskel’s great but I love you.”

Geralt finds he can’t say it back today; Jaskier is too good for him. Instead, he musters an apology. Jaskier accepts and slowly, the tension between them eases, but the hurt lingers for some time.

Week 40

“Lambert is such a prick.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I see the first meeting went well.”

Lambert returned from his deployment a few days ago. Jaskier met him and Aiden yesterday.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Jaskier replies, “We called each other names but that was the fun part.”

Geralt chuckles. Jaskier rambles on about what’s going on back at home: Ciri's doing good at her piano lessons, Yennefer still tolerates Jaskier, Eskel and Essi have agreed to go out together. As Geralt listens to the cheerful chatter, his chest tightens.

Christmas is in two days. Spending the holiday on the ship isn’t bad – their celebration is almost like home – but Geralt hasn’t seen his loved ones in nine months. Usually, he would be on his way home around this time. Nine months is how long his deployments typically last. When they’re longer than that, being away from home starts getting unbearable again.

The sea can’t soothe him today.

Week 41

It’s their last video call of the year and Geralt wants to come clean.

“My hair used to be dark brown, even darker than yours.”

“Geralt, you really don’t have to–”

“But then in went white in a matter of a few weeks.”

Jaskier says nothing for a while. He looks unsure but Geralt waits for him to ask. Finally, he does. “What? How?”

“Blaviken.”

“Blaviken?”

Geralt swallows hard. His hands start sweating but he makes himself go on. “That was the name of the ship. I was twenty-seven, only a lieutenant. There was a sub-lieutenant there, Renfri. She and I... we had an affair, but we broke it off before we got deployed. During the deployment, she... she wanted to take revenge on one of the officers in command who harassed her in the past. She had a few of the guys on the ship on her side. They... took one crew member hostage, demanding the officer’s immediate resignation.”

“Holy fuck,” Jaskier breathes out.

Geralt’s heart is hammering in his chest. He forces himself to continue. “I was ordered to reason with Renfri but I didn’t succeed. She told her guys to attack me. I defended myself and knocked them out. Then Renfri attacked me herself because I ruined her revenge, and I...” He takes a deep breath and takes in Jaskier’s face for what he knows is possibly the last time. After drinking his fill, he looks away and confesses, “I hurt her too. Really badly. She never fully recovered and left the Navy the moment she could. I faced trial, it was a miracle I didn’t get expelled. People started calling me a Butcher and I was so fucking...” He trails off because his eyes are starting to prickle. The cruel disillusionment of that time – when he realised he would never be a hero after what he’d done – hits him all over again. It haunts him, even now, just like the way Renfri’s body went limp in his arms.

When he can speak again, he only adds, “After everything, my hair went white.”

He can’t even glance at Jaskier. A mixture of self-hatred, shame and remorse rises up his throat like bile. He listens to the ringing silence, waiting for Jaskier to finally say that it’s over.

Jaskier’s words are quiet and sorrowful, “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

It’s such a shock that Geralt can only stare. Jaskier’s eyes are brimming with compassion, which he never got from anyone but his family. No one else cared what truly happened on Blaviken. He was reduced to the Butcher, hated and feared. His infamy followed him like a shadow and Geralt wanted to out-run it more than he ever wanted anything in his life. And so, he worked himself to the ground to prove himself, then to keep his job because Ciri came into his life.

Eventually, he got promoted to lieutenant commander, then to commander three years ago. From the Butcher he became the White Wolf, known not for how he had hurt people but for how he cared about crew safety, demanding complete adherence to the rules. He’s now feared for his strictness, and it’s said that he could even become a Royal Navy captain.

Yet, Geralt noticed that he'd started drifting away from his family, especially Ciri, he slowly understood that enough was enough. The sea is what Geralt knows and finds solace in, but he wouldn’t be where he is now without the support of his loved ones. He’s been choosing the sea over them for long enough.

And now, somehow, Jaskier has become one of them. It’s irrational and too quick but Jaskier tells him he loves him even when he knows about Blaviken. Geralt decides he wants to keep him in his life indefinitely.

Week 42

“Happy New Year, my love.”

“Happy New Year,” Geralt replies, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s sure the year will be happy, with Jaskier there.

“I have a song for you,” Jaskier says, “to kick this year off with something good. It’s just... what I wish for us.”

“Something good” doesn’t begin to cover it. The song is slow and sensual, and it speaks of being in love. Of Jaskier being in love with him, loving and admiring him despite and because of knowing him well. Geralt listens to the song on repeat until he dreams of it, wishing that it was true.

He suspects that Jaskier has a wrong idea of him – an ideal which he won’t be able to live up to once he comes back. There’s a good chance that he’ll let Jaskier down and what they have won’t last.

And yet, he’s selfish and wants it to be real.

Week 43

Jaskier turns thirty-six today and Geralt has only one thing to say.

“I wish this too, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s smile is watery and beautiful. “Happy birthday to me, indeed.”

Week 44

“Ciri keeps talking about that boy –”

“What boy?”

“You know, the new one in her class? Dara?” Jaskier looks at him expectantly. After a moment, the name rings a bell. He nods and Jaskier goes on, “I think she likes him.”

Geralt freezes. “Likes him?”

“Well, not likes him likes him but... they’re attached at the hip already. It’s great to see her make a friend like that, you know.”

Geralt hums in understanding. Ciri is friendly but other children are a bit hard on her. Many teachers are fond of her and the kids are jealous, thinking that it’s because Ciri’s parents are of high status. Ciri did earn her position as the favourite but it is true that no teacher would want to get into the black boots of a high-ranking government official and a Royal Navy commander. Now, Jaskier entering Ciri’s life only added fuel to fire in this aspect.

Sometimes Geralt thinks he shouldn’t have fought Yennefer tooth and nail when she wanted to send Ciri to the poshest school they could afford at the time. Geralt didn’t want his daughter to grow up in that environment but Yennefer wanted her to receive a top-quality education. In the end, Ciri went to a state school with high educational standards, but when the problem with other kids’ treatment of her appeared a few years later, Geralt regretted his stubbornness.

At least Ciri has always taken it in stride. She’s even more stubborn than he was, refusing to let it get to her, and Geralt adores her for it. It’s a relief, though, that she’s finally made a close friend.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” he tells Jaskier.

“Honestly, Geralt, I’m honoured that you allow me to do it. Yennefer would never let me.”

Geralt chuckles. “She wouldn’t.”

“And yet, despite her clear disdain of me, I’m starting to like that witch-bitch.” Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Alas, it appears she’s actually admirable and has a good taste in everything. Especially men.”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

Week 45

“Essi and Eskel are now a couple!” Jaskier exclaims excitedly in lieu of greeting.

“That was... fast.”

“That’s because they’re a perfect match!” Jaskier boasts with a grin, “I knew exactly what I was doing, I’m one of the best matchmakers out there.”

“What does it make Lambert?” Geralt asks.

“What do you mean?”

“He did matchmake you. With me.”

Geralt can clearly see the moment the realisation hits Jaskier.

“God-fucking-dammit, I’ve been bested!” he laments, "By fucking Lambert!”

Geralt quickly regrets pointing that out. Jaskier refuses to shut up about it.

Week 46

It’s Geralt’s forty-first birthday. The crew sang him happy birthday to his utter disgust, at which the fuckers were delighted, and now it seems that yet another person wants to celebrate his existence.

“I have a gift for you, love,” Jaskier says with a smile.

He props the phone against what Geralt assumes to be the music rack. When Jaskier sits down, Geralt gets a great view of his face as he starts playing.

The slow piano melody entrances Geralt at once. After some time, Jaskier starts singing, his voice low and soothing. The song is full of gentle, loving, grand promises. Geralt’s breath is taken away as he watches Jaskier sway to the music with his eyes closed, basked in the afternoon sunlight, looking like a creature from another world.

All the songs Jaskier’s written for him speak of such a strong feeling that Geralt is afraid to reach for it when he returns. If it were to crash and burn, the disaster would be spectacular. All his previous relationships ended badly; he knows he should be cautious.

And yet, Jaskier lures him in. He’s bright and full of life, ridiculous and annoying, warm but sharp. Jaskier feels like safety, he has from the start. And so, Geralt lets himself have this.

“Siren,” he murmurs after the last notes of the song die down, “thank you. It’s a beautiful gift. You are a gift.”

“Godness, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes out, “don’t say such things.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t be responsible for my actions when I hear you say something like that.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to hold back,” Geralt replies, “You are a gift.”

Jaskier’s gaze darkens. “Just you wait, Geralt Rivia,” he says huskily, “the things I’m going to do to you–”

Week 47

“All right, young lady, time to show off!”

Jaskier angles his phone so that the camera shows both him and Ciri as they sit by the piano in his house. Ciri smiles at Geralt and waves in greeting. Geralt smiles back, giving her an encouraging nod, and she places her fingers on the keys.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in-between and outside of that spectrum,” Jaskier says in an announcer voice, “I present to you Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia, who will play Chopsticks for this esteemed audience!”

Ciri snickers and then begins. She plays slowly, yet to Geralt’s untrained ear, she keeps the rhythm and doesn’t miss any notes. The song lasts only a minute or two but Geralt is still very proud of her.

“Good job, Cub,” he tells her, making her smile.

“Indeed!” Jaskier seconds, “You’re a talent, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I got it from dad,” Ciri jokes.

The joke warms him to his very core but he snorts because the very notion is beyond ridiculous. “I wouldn’t be able to play well if my life depended on it.”

“Have you tried, though?” Jaskier asks with a smirk that bodes trouble.

Ciri grins like a brat she is. “We could learn together, dad.”

“A splendid idea, Ciri!” Jaskier exclaims. “Now, how can we talk your dad into it?”

Geralt faces two pairs of bright eyes and matching mischievous smiles, and he knows he can’t say no.

Week 48

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” Jaskier lets out a small laugh. “Am I dreaming? Just... it’s been so long.”

“Hmm.”

They don’t talk much, only smile at each other. Geralt can almost sense Jaskier’s excitement through the screen, and he shares the feeling.

Tomorrow, he returns to his family. Very soon, finally, he comes back home.

To Jaskier.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you’d like to revisit this fic as a whole, you can do so on AO3.

The list of "Jaskier's" songs in this fic: Vor í Vaglaskógi by KALEO Movement by Hozier Wish That You Were Here by Florence + The Machine Pass Them By by Agnes Obel Muddy Waters by LP Venus by Sleeping At Last Coming Home, Pt. II by Skylar Grey Angels by the xx I Hold You by CLANN

It would be... a hell of an album.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU

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